Child's Story Garden by - (read aloud TXT) 📖

Mr. Gathergold was dead and buried, and the

strange part about the matter was that when his wealth left him, as it

did some time before he died, and he became a poor old man, the people

seemed to forget that there ever had been a resemblance to the Great

Stone Face. Indeed, they said it was all a mistake, and the great man

was yet to come.

 

Suddenly through the valley there ran another rumor. Years before a

young man had left the valley, had gone into the world as a warrior, and

finally had become a great commander. Such had been his character and

life that the illustrious man was called by the name of Old

Blood-and-Thunder. This old general, being worn out with warfare,

decided to return to his native valley and spend his last days in peace.

But the most wonderful thing about Old Blood-and-Thunder was the fact

that all who knew him said that he was the man so long hoped for in the

valley, for he looked exactly like the Great Stone Face.

 

Great preparations, therefore, were made to receive the General—a

banquet was to be given and speeches made in his honor. On the day of

the festival Ernest, with all the others of the village, left their work

and went to the woods, where the banquet was held. A great crowd

surrounded the tables, so that Ernest at first could not see the great

man for whom he had waited and hoped so long, so he contented himself

with looking at the great face on the mountain side, which he could see

plainly through the trees. Meanwhile he could hear those around him

talking about Old Blood-and-Thunder and the Great Stone Face.

 

“‘Tis the same face, to a hair,” cried one man, clapping his hands for

joy.

 

“Wonderfully like, that’s a fact,” said another.

 

“Like! Why, I call it Old Blood-and-Thunder himself, in a monstrous

looking-glass,” cried a third.

 

Just then a silence fell on the crowd, for the General rose to speak,

and as he did so Ernest for the first time saw the hero. There he stood,

head and shoulders above the crowd, with the golden epaulets glittering

on his uniform. Long and eagerly Ernest gazed on his face, and then

beyond, to the one on the mountain side. Were they, indeed, alike?

Ernest saw in the warrior’s face only cruelty and hardness, with none of

the tender sympathy he knew so well in the other face.

 

“This is not the man,” sighed Ernest, as he turned sadly away. “Must we

wait longer yet?”

 

But as the great mountain rose before him, once again the lips seemed to

say: “Fear not, Ernest; fear not. He will come.”

 

The years sped swiftly by. Ernest still lived in the valley, a quiet and

gentle man, doing his work as best he knew. But gradually the people of

the village had come to know and feel that Ernest knew more than they.

Not a day passed by that the world was not better because this man,

humble as he was, had lived. He would always help a neighbor in need,

and the people had learned to know where to come for aid. His thoughts

were of things good and noble, and so his deeds and words were always

good.

 

By this time the people had seen their mistake in thinking Old

Blood-and-Thunder was the great man of prophecy; but now again there

were reports saying that without doubt the great man had at last

appeared. He, like Mr. Gathergold and Old Blood-and-Thunder, was a

native of the valley, but had left it as a young man, and had now become

a great man. He had not the rich man’s wealth, nor the honor of the

General, but he had a tongue which could speak more beautiful words than

the world had ever heard before. Great crowds flocked to hear him from

all parts of the country.

 

The people of the village were proud to think that they could claim the

great man, for it was said he bore an exact likeness to the Great Stone

Face—so much so that they called him “Old Stony Phiz.”

 

And now the illustrious man was once more coming to visit his native

land, and great preparations were made to receive him.

 

With great eagerness and hope Ernest waited for his coming, and on the

day appointed went with the crowd to meet him. The air was filled with

music and the shouts of the people, for now they felt that surely the

old prophecy was to be fulfilled.

 

Then the great man’s carriage came in view. There he sat, smiling and

bowing to the people, while they threw up their hats in wild excitement

and enthusiasm, and shouted: “Hoorah for Old Stony Phiz. The great man

has come at last.”

 

Ernest looked long at the man as he sat in his carriage, but finally

turned away sadly and slowly, and said: “The features are alike, but he

has not the heart nor the love and sympathy which make a face beautiful.

He is not the man, but he might have been, had he lived the best he

knew.”

 

Then again he turned to his great teacher on the mountain side, and, as

the late afternoon sun tinted all its features, it seemed to smile on

Ernest, and once more the lips seemed to speak:

 

“Lo, here I am, Ernest. I have waited longer than thou, and am not yet

weary. Fear not. The man will come.”

 

The years hurried onward, and now they began to bring white hairs and

scatter them over the head of Ernest. They made wrinkles across his

forehead and furrows in his cheeks. He was an old man; but more than the

white hairs on his head were the beautiful thoughts in his mind, and the

loving words from his lips, and the kindly deeds from his hands. He was

no longer unknown. Great men from far and near came to see and talk with

him, and as they went away their hearts were better for having been with

him. He had become a preacher, and often, just as the sun set, he would

stand on a little knoll and talk with the people who crowded to hear the

words he spoke.

 

One evening, as Ernest sat at his doorstep, a friend came to talk with

him. He was a poet, and wrote of things which God had made, in language

so beautiful that one wished always to hear it. Ernest loved to read his

words, and this evening, as they sat together, he looked long and

earnestly at the poet and then up at the Great Stone Face, which seemed

to be smiling down upon them. Then he sighed and shook his head sadly.

 

“Why are you sad?” asked the poet.

 

Then Ernest told him of the prophecy which he had longed all his life to

see fulfilled. “And,” he said, “when I read your beautiful words, I

think surely you are worthy to be the man I have longed to see, and yet

I see no likeness.”

 

The poet sadly shook his head, and said: “No, Ernest. I am not worthy.

My words, indeed, may be beautiful, but my life has not been so great

and good as the words I write.”

 

Then, as sunset drew near, the two walked to the little knoll where

Ernest was to talk to the people.

 

He stood in a little niche, with the mountains above him, and the glory

of the evening sun shone around his silvered hair. At a distance could

be seen the Great Stone Pace, surrounded by a golden light.

 

As Ernest talked his face glowed with the depth of his feeling, and

suddenly the poet threw his arms above his head and shouted:

 

“Behold! Behold! Ernest is himself the likeness of the Great Stone

Face!”

 

Then all the people looked and saw that what the poet had said was true.

The prophecy was fulfilled. The Great Man had come at last.

 

Nathaniel Hawthorne [Adapted]

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE

In a forest in the far, far East grew a great many pine trees. Most of

them were tall trees, higher than the houses that we see, and with wide,

strong branches. But there was one tree that was not nearly so tall as

the others; in fact, it was no taller than some of the children in the

kindergarten.

 

Now, the tall trees could see far, far out over the hilltops and into

the valleys, and they could hear all the noises that went on in the

world beyond the forest, but the Little Tree was so small and the other

trees grew so high and thick about it that it could not see nor hear

these things at all; but the other trees were very kind, and they would

stoop down and tell them to the Little Tree. One night in the winter

time there seemed to be something strange happening in the little town

among the hills, for the trees did not go to sleep after the sun went

down, but put their heads together and spoke in strange, low whispers

that were full of awe and wonder. The Little Tree, from its place close

down to the ground, did not understand what it was all about. It

listened awhile, and then lifted its head as high as ever it could and

shouted to its tall neighbor: “Will you not stoop and tell me what is

happening?” And the big tree stooped down and whispered: “The shepherds

out on the hilltops are telling strange stories while they watch their

sheep. The air is filled with sweet music, and there is a wonderful star

coming up in the east, traveling westward always, and the shepherds say

that they are waiting for it to stop and shine over a humble stable in

their little town. I have not heard why it is going to stop there, but I

will look again and listen.” So the tall tree lifted up its head again,

and reached far out so that it might hear more of the wonderful story.

 

Bye and bye it stooped down again, and whispered to the Little Tree:

“Oh, Little Tree, listen! There are angels among the shepherds on the

hills, and they are all talking together. They seem to be awaiting the

birth of a little child, who will be a king among the people, and the

beautiful star will shine above the stable where the little king will be

laid in a manger.” The tree again raised its head to listen, and the

Little Tree, much puzzled, thought within itself: “It is very strange,

indeed. * Oh, how I wish that I could see it all!”

 

It waited a little longer, and everything grew quiet, and a great peace

came upon the forest. * Then suddenly the town, and even the forest

was illuminated with a strange, white light that made everything as

bright as day, and the air was filled with the flutter of angels’ wings,

and with music such as the world had never heard before.

 

The people and the trees, even the stars in the heaven, lifted up their

voices and sang together * and the whole world was filled with music

and joy and love for the little Christ-child who had come to dwell upon

the earth.

 

The Little Tree was filled with fear and wonder, for so great was the

excitement that the other trees had almost forgotten it, and it could

not understand the mysterious sounds; but bye and bye its tall friend

said: “Listen, listen, Little Tree! Such