Story Hour Readers Part 9

The king set sail with his attendants. He soon landed on the island where the seven sisters lived.

As the king and his men were marching through the forest, they found the Fairy Tree growing at the entrance to the cave.

The king tried to pick some of the leaves, but he could not.

Then he heard the sweet voice of a girl. She was singing,

"Rainbow, Rainbow, speak to me!

Bend your branches, Fairy Tree!"

And Flora came tripping along the gra.s.sy path that led to the cave.

The king said, "Fair maiden, if you can pick a leaf or a flower from this tree, you shall be my queen."

As Flora reached to pick a flower, the tree bowed low, and every leaf trembled with delight.

The maiden at once presented the flower to the king.

As he took the flower, the king exclaimed,

"To you belongs the Fairy Tree; Pray be my bride and rule with me."

Flora thought she must be dreaming, but they were married next day, beneath the branches of the Fairy Tree.

Adapted from "The Lilac Fairy Book" by Andrew Lang

HIAWATHA'S SAILING

Thus the Birch Canoe was builded In the valley, by the river, In the bosom of the forest; And the forest life was in it, All its mystery and its magic, All the lightness of the birch tree, All the toughness of the cedar, All the larch's supple sinews; And it floated on the river Like a yellow leaf in autumn, Like a yellow water lily.

HENRY W LONGFELLOW

GRAY MOLE AND THE INDIAN

An Indian was once wandering across the prairie. He was tired, and hungry, and very lonely. He had traveled many miles.

At last he came to a brook, in a meadow at the foot of a hill.

"I will rest here until noon," thought the Indian. He sat down upon the mossy bank beside the brook.

Presently he heard some one whisper, "Lift me up and carry me with you, and I will be your friend."

The Indian looked carefully about him, to find who was speaking. He saw a small, gray animal peeping from out of the moss.

"Ha, ha, Gray Mole!" laughed the Indian. "Why should I carry you?"

"I am far from my island home. If you will carry me to the cliff near the Place of Breaking Light, I can then reach my burrow safely," replied Gray Mole.

The Indian placed Gray Mole in his large wampum belt.

"Very well, little friend," he said. "You may travel with me, but I shall rest here for a time before starting on the journey."

Then, covering himself with his deerskin robe, he lay down upon the moss. He was soon fast asleep.

At about noon Sun pa.s.sed overhead. Sun traveled so close to the earth that his rays scorched and shriveled the deerskin robe.

When the Indian awoke, he found that his deerskin robe had been scorched and shriveled by Sun. He was furiously angry.

"I will follow Sun and punish him," said the Indian.

Sun had traveled far beyond the meadow and was now fast disappearing behind the hill. The Indian started to follow.

At last the Indian reached the summit of the hill and could look down the other side. Sun could no longer be seen. He had hidden in his cave beyond the Western Sea.

The Indian traveled until he came to the edge of a cliff. The Shining Big Sea Water beat high against the rocks, and in the distance he could see the Place of Breaking Light.

"We have come to the cliff, little friend. Jump out of my wampum belt,"

said the Indian. "But how are you going to reach your burrow on the island yonder?"

"I shall wait here with you until the break of day," replied Gray Mole.

Many trees grew near the cliff. East Wind blew gently through their branches, rustling the leaves and carrying messages to the Indian.

Oak Tree said proudly, "I am King of the Forest. The Great Chief summons his warriors beneath my boughs. Here he holds his councils. Of my branches the strong arrows are made."

Ash Tree whispered, "My pliant branches make the bows which speed the arrows in their flight."

Maple Tree said softly, "I am the food of the Great Chief. My sap is sweet and wholesome. People of all nations delight to show me honor."

Red Willow bowed low and said, "My bark is used for the peace pipe of the Great Chief. Of my branches the women weave baskets and mats for their wigwams."

Marsh Reeds, growing near Red Willow, chimed sweetly, "Our stalks are used for the stems of the peace pipes."

Linden Tree swayed to and fro, saying, "I am used for the cradles in which the children are rocked."

Pine Tree said gently, "My sweet singing lulls the children to sleep."

And she murmured a soft lullaby.

Birch Tree was standing near the path.

"Of what use are you, O Birch Tree?" said the Indian.