The Lion Storyteller Bedtime Book

by Bob Hartman

  The Hunter, however, had far better eyesight than that.

  ‘The goat is gone!’ he sighed. ‘But never mind, here is a nice fat turtle, just right for my dinner.’ And he picked up Turtle and dropped him into his hunter’s sack.

  Raven watched it all, and flew off to fetch Goat. He whispered a plan in her ear and, even before he had finished, she agreed, ‘I’ll do it!’

  Then, instead of running even farther away from the Hunter, she ran right towards him. He spotted her at once, and the chase began.

  Goat was too fast for him. Far too fast. The Hunter threw down his big stick. He threw off his coat. And at last he threw down the sack that held Turtle – all to gain more speed.

  ‘I’ll be back for you later!’ he shouted. And he hurried after Goat, who led him far away from Turtle before making her escape.

  Meanwhile Raven found Rat, and the two of them chopped and chewed away at the sack until there was a hole big enough for Turtle to wriggle out.

  The next evening, the four friends gathered, as usual, at the water-hole.

  ‘Good evening to you all!’ called Raven, high in the branches of a tree.

  ‘And how is everyone,’ chirped Rat, ‘after our great adventure?’

  ‘Very well indeed,’ yawned Turtle. ‘Happy to be alive!’

  ‘And happier than ever,’ added Goat, ‘to be among friends!’

  The Brave Bull Calf

  Once upon a time, there lived a boy – a boy who owned a baby bull. They raced and they wrestled. They butted and they kicked. They did everything together. They were the very best of friends.

  But the boy grew. And the baby bull did too. Until, one day, the boy’s wicked stepfather announced that it was time to take the bull to market.

  The boy was horrified. And so, that very night, he set off with the bull – to save his friend’s life and to seek his fortune.

  They walked for a night and a day, through forests and towns and fields. And, at the end of the day, the boy begged a loaf of bread from a friendly old farmer.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said to the bull. ‘Half for you and half for me.’

  ‘You have it all,’ the bull snorted. ‘I am happy just to chew on a little grass.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said the boy. ‘We are friends, and always will be. And friends share whatever they have.’

  The next day was much the same. They walked through fields and towns and forests. And at the end of the day, they begged a chunk of cheese from a tired little tinker.

  ‘Here you go,’ said the boy to the bull. ‘Half for you and half for me.’

  ‘You have it all,’ the bull said again. ‘I am happy just to munch on a bit of clover.’

  ‘Oh no,’ the boy said. ‘We are friends, and always will be. And friends share whatever they have.’

  On the third day, they walked farther still, through fields and forests and towns. And at the end of the day, they begged a fresh turnip from a short, stout shopkeeper.

  ‘Here you go,’ said the boy again. ‘Half for you and half for me.’

  But this time the bull said nothing.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked the boy. ‘You’ve been quiet all day long.’

  ‘I had a dream last night,’ whispered the bull. ‘A sad and scary dream. Tomorrow we will not walk through forests and fields and towns. We will wander into the wild woods. We will meet a tiger, a leopard, and a dragon. I will fight the first two and defeat them. And then I will fight the dragon – and he will kill me.’

  ‘No!’ cried the boy, wrapping his arms around the bull’s neck. ‘That will not happen! I won’t let it!’

  ‘But you must,’ said the bull. ‘For that is the only way you will find your fortune. When I am dead, you must cut off my right horn. It will be more powerful than ever, then. And you can use it to kill the dragon.’

  ‘No!’ said the boy. ‘I won’t!’

  ‘But you must,’ said the bull again. ‘For you are my friend, and always will be. And friends share whatever they have.’

  Neither the boy nor the bull slept well that night. And the next morning they walked, step by sorry step, towards the wild woods.

  ‘This is the place,’ said the bull, at last. ‘The place I saw in my dream. Now climb this tree. Climb high and hide yourself. And I will do my best to protect you.’

  The boy had hardly reached the top, when the tiger appeared, eyes flashing and sharp teeth bared.

  The bull snorted. The tiger roared. And soon they were fighting for their lives. But the bull’s huge horns and sharp hooves proved too much for the tiger, and before long, he limped away into the woods.

  The bull hardly had time to lick his wounds when the leopard appeared. The bull bellowed. The leopard growled. But he was no match for the bull, either. He spat and he clawed and he bit. But in the end he crept away, beaten and bruised, just like the tiger.

  The boy was about to holler, ‘Hooray!’ when he felt the tree shake beneath him. And not just the tree, but the ground as well. And that’s when the dragon appeared, mouth flaming, tail slashing, as tall as a tree himself!

  The bull snorted and pawed and rushed at the monster, but it was no use. The dragon raised its long neck, lashed out with its giant claw, and the poor bull fell to the ground. Fell to rise no more.

  The dragon shook its scaly head and roared, then lumbered away into the woods. And when he had gone, the boy climbed down from the tree and wept over his dead friend.

  ‘I will not forget you,’ he vowed, as he cut off the bull’s right horn. ‘I will use this horn, just as you said. I promise to make you proud of me.’

  With the horn tucked in his belt, the boy set off through the wild woods. He walked sadly. He walked carefully, ready to fight off any enemy he might find. But all he found was a girl – a beautiful girl – tied to an old oak tree.

  ‘Help me!’ the girl cried. ‘Please help me! My father, the king, has left me here to be eaten by the dragon. He says it’s the only way to stop the monster attacking our town.’

  The boy was sorry for the princess, but just as he was untying her he felt the ground shake once more. And, with a flash of his tail and a fiery roar, the dragon appeared!

  The princess screamed. The boy wanted to scream, too. And to run away as far as he could. But he remembered his friend’s dream, and what his friend had died for. So he ran straight at the dragon, as fast as he could.

  Just as the dragon reached out to maul him, he drove the point of the bull’s horn into the soft sole of the dragon’s foot, and the dragon fell down dead!

  The boy pulled the horn out of the dragon’s foot, and then finished untying the princess.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ came a deep voice from the woods. It was the king.

  ‘I ordered you to stay here!’ the king said to the princess. ‘To save our people from the dragon.’

  ‘But Father,’ the girl explained, ‘this boy has already done that. He has killed the dragon and saved our people – me as well!’

  ‘Excellent!’ shouted the king. ‘Then he must have a reward. What say we give him your hand in marriage? And my throne when I am gone?’

  The boy looked at the princess. The princess looked at the boy. It seemed a good idea to both of them – so they were married. And when the time came for him to be king, he ordered a new coat of arms decorated with a tree in one corner, a fallen dragon on the other – and, in the middle, the head of a bull with one horn.

  Tiger Gets Stuck

  One day, quite by accident, Tiger stumbled across Rabbit’s hidey-hole.

  He wanted to roar for joy, but decided instead to keep very quiet, and watch and wait for Rabbit to leave.

  When, at last, Rabbit hopped away into the jungle, Tiger bounded over to the hole and peered down inside. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.

  Tiger slipped one front paw down into the hole. And then he slipped in the other. Next he squeezed his head in, and his shoulders, and his long, striped body. Finally he pulled in his pow
erful back legs. And he grinned.

  ‘I will wait in here,’ Tiger chuckled. ‘I will wait very quietly. And when Rabbit comes home, I will gobble him up!’

  Unfortunately Tiger had forgotten something. Something that Rabbit saw the minute he got close to home. Tiger forgot that his tail was still sticking out of the hole – waving a warning like a black-and-orange striped flag!

  ‘Hmmm,’ thought Rabbit. ‘It looks as if I have a visitor.’

  And so he called, ‘Hey, Hidey-hole! Ho, Hidey-hole! Are you happy, Hidey-hole?’

  Tiger (who still had no idea where his tail was) looked worried.

  ‘Rabbit is talking to his hidey-hole,’ he thought. ‘I must keep very quiet indeed.’

  But just then, Rabbit called again, ‘Hey, Hidey-hole! Ho, Hidey-hole! Are you happy, Hidey-hole?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ thought Tiger. ‘What if Rabbit suspects something is wrong? Perhaps I should answer, after all.’

  So the next time Rabbit called, ‘Hey Hidey-hole! Ho, Hidey-hole! Are you happy, Hidey-hole?’, Tiger called back, ‘Yes, Mr Rabbit, I am very happy, indeed!’

  But he said it in such a ridiculous, squeaky little voice that Rabbit could not keep from laughing.

  ‘You silly Tiger,’ he called. ‘Hidey-holes don’t talk! And they don’t have long, striped tails sticking out of them either! It looks as if I’ve tricked you again.’

  ‘Oh no, you haven’t,’ Tiger growled, ‘for now I will come out and eat you!’

  But the minute Tiger tried to back himself out of the hidey-hole, he discovered that he was stuck! He scrunched and stretched and squeezed. He wrestled and wriggled and roared. But no amount of moving could get him out.

  ‘Wait right there,’ chuckled Rabbit, ‘and I will fetch some help. That is, if you promise never to visit my home again.’

  ‘I do,’ Tiger whined, for he very much wanted to get out.

  So Rabbit fetched Crocodile. And Crocodile clamped his sharp teeth round Tiger’s tail. And, after much huffing and puffing and pulling, Tiger came out with a ‘pop!’ and ran off, embarrassed, into the jungle.

  Tiger kept his promise and never came back to Rabbit’s home.

  And Rabbit never again went home without asking his hidey-hole if it was happy or not.

  The Clever Mouse

  Many years ago, in a little Welsh town, there was a famine. There was no food anywhere. And everyone – from the richest lord to the poorest peasant – was tired and thin and hungry.

  One day, a monk named Cadog came to visit the town. Cadog was good and gentle and kind. He loved God. He loved God’s creatures. And he loved to read and write and learn. In fact, that was why he had come to the town – to study under a wise and famous teacher.

  ‘You may be my student,’ the teacher promised, ‘but I must warn you. There is a famine in these parts, so I have nothing to feed you.’

  Cadog didn’t mind. Not one bit. He studied hard, day after day at his little desk. And every day he had a visitor – a tiny visitor with fine, grey whiskers, a pointed nose, and a long, pink tail. He climbed on Cadog’s desk, and scurried across his books, and scampered over his pile of goose-quill pens.

  But Cadog didn’t mind. Not one bit. He liked the little mouse and refused to chase him away. And perhaps that is why, one day, the little mouse arrived with a gift.

  He climbed onto Cadog’s desk. He scampered over Cadog’s pens. And, in the middle of Cadog’s book, he dropped one yellow grain of wheat!

  ‘Thank you, my friend,’ said Cadog to the mouse.

  And the mouse sat up and squeaked, as if to say, ‘You’re welcome.’

  Half an hour later he returned with another piece of wheat and Cadog thanked him again.

  Soon, the mouse returned a third time. Then a fourth. And a fifth. And a sixth. And when there were finally seven golden grains of wheat lying on his book, Cadog had an idea.

  He took a long piece of silken thread and gently tied one end around the mouse’s leg.

  ‘This won’t hurt at all,’ he promised. ‘And it may do a world of good.’ Then he let the mouse go and watched to see where it would run. The mouse was much too fast for Cadog, of course, but by following the silken thread he was able to trace the mouse’s path – into a hole in the wall, out the other side, across the garden, through the woods, and into a huge earthen mound.

  Cadog ran to fetch his teacher, and together they dug into the mound. Buried deep within were the ruins of an old house. And buried deep in the cellar of that old house was an enormous pile of wheat!

  Cadog and his teacher ran to tell their friends. And soon the town was filled with the smell of freshly baked bread. Now there was plenty of food for everyone!

  The next day, the little mouse came to visit, as usual. He climbed onto Cadog’s desk. He scampered over Cadog’s pens. And when he sat down in the middle of Cadog’s book, the monk gently untied the silken thread.

  ‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said. ‘God sent you to me for a reason. And now we know what it was. Your keen nose and tiny feet have saved the entire town.’

  Then he tore off a chunk of fresh, warm bread, and set it before the little creature. And the mouse and the monk shared a meal together.

  The Amazing Pine Cone

  When the old man wandered into town, no one paid attention. He tipped his tattered cap. He waved his wrinkled hand. But everyone ignored him, for he looked just like a beggar.

  When the old man wandered through town, he tottered up the hill to the mayor’s house. The house was big and bright and beautiful. It was the finest house in town by far. The old man raised his gnarled cane and rapped on the front door.

  ‘What do you want?’ called the mayor’s wife, as she eased the door open and peered through the gap.

  ‘A place to stay,’ the man replied, ‘to rest for just one night.’

  The mayor’s wife looked at the old man. She looked at his tattered cap. She looked at his shabby coat. And she quickly shut the door.

  ‘Go away!’ she shouted. ‘We have no room for beggars here!’

  The old man wandered back through town. He tipped his tattered cap. He waved his wrinkled hand. And still no on paid any attention. He came, at last, to another house – a poor, pathetic, little place. And he rapped on the door with his cane.

  A poor, little woman answered the door. And when she saw the old man and his beggar’s clothes, she felt sorry for him.

  ‘How can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘I need a place to stay,’ said the old man again, ‘to rest for just one night.’

  ‘Of course!’ she smiled. And she welcomed him into her home.

  Next morning, the old man rose early, but before he said goodbye, he reached into his pocket with his wrinkled hand.

  ‘I want to give you something,’ he said to the woman. ‘It is my way of saying thank you.’

  And he handed the woman a pine cone!

  The woman didn’t know what to say. No one had ever given her a pine cone before. So she smiled as politely as she could, and tried very hard not to giggle.

  ‘This is no ordinary pine cone,’ the old man explained. ‘It is a magic pine cone. And it will multiply by a thousand times the first thing you do today!’

  The woman smiled again. She liked the old man. She appreciated his kindness. But this was the strangest thing she had ever heard.

  She said goodbye, and when the old man had gone, she turned to a piece of cloth she had woven the night before. She pulled it out of the basket to fold it, but the more she pulled out and the more she folded, the more cloth there was! Soon, not only her living-room, but her kitchen and her bedroom and the whole of the house was filled with brand new cloth.

  The woman shook her head, amazed. So it really was a magic pine cone after all! And it wasn’t long before the whole town learned of the woman’s good fortune and the old man’s magical gift.

  Exactly one year later, the old man wandered into the town again. This time no one ignored him. He tipp
ed his tattered cap. He waved his wrinkled hand. And everyone stopped and smiled and invited him to spend the night.

  But, just as he had done before, he wandered through the town to the top of the hill, and knocked on the mayor’s door.

  The mayor’s wife welcomed him with open arms. She gave him the nicest room and the most comfortable bed, and she cooked him a delicious meal.

  And as soon as he had gone to bed, she put a pile of gold coins on the table, ready to be counted the moment she received his thank you gift.

  Next morning, just as she had expected, the old man reached into his pocket and handed her a pine cone.

  ‘This is no ordinary pine cone,’ he explained. ‘It is a magic pine cone. And it will multiply by a thousand times the first thing you do today.’

  The mayor’s wife nodded and smiled. She could hardly wait for the old man to go. And, as soon as she had shut the door behind him, she raced to the table, ready to count her gold. But before she got there, something happened. Something she had not expected.

  The mayor’s wife sneezed. And because that was the first thing she did, she sneezed not one, not twice, but a thousand times – for the rest of that day, and the next, and the one after that!

  The whole town heard of it, of course. News even reached the old man, who smiled and patted his pocketful of pine cones, and then wandered off to another town, tipping his tattered cap, waving his wrinkled hand, and looking for somewhere to spend the night.

  The Very Strong Sparrow

  ‘Too-tweet! Too-tweet! Too-tweet!’ the baby birds cried out for their mother.

  ‘Patience, patience,’ said Sparrow. ‘I’ve got food enough for everyone here.’ And she fed them and hugged them, then wrapped her wings around them. And soon they were fast asleep.

  KA-THOOM! KA-THOOM! KA-THOOM!