Then all of a sudden every cat in the place decided to have a catfight. It was a royal battle with hissing and screeching and yowling. They managed to not only knock the cup out of the girl’s hand, but to knock over the pitcher and the milk bucket too.
The girl and her mother yelled and chased the cats out of the house with brooms. They were so busy and agitated, that they didn’t notice that not one of the cats had paused to lap up any of the milk that had spilled.
“It’s all right,” said the girl. “I’m too excited to eat or drink anything.”
She went to get dressed, and her mother went along to help, as others in the family volunteered to clean up.
Soon she was dressed beautifully, and her father helped her up into the wagon, and then her mother too. The wagon was decked with flowers, and so were the horses, and the horses pranced proudly and pulled with a will, as a good horse will.
But when they got to the church, the horses stopped short of the mounting block. The father yelled “giyap!” and urged them forward, but then they went too far and pulled past it. It didn’t seem right for a beautiful bride to climb down awkwardly, so he drove the wagon around again, and he struggled with reins and whip to bring the wagon along side the block, but the horses only fought him. Then finally one of the horses twisted this way and that, and managed to land a heavy kick on the mounting block.
The block crumbled away with rot.
So the father and the best man helped the bride down gracefully to the ground, and the wedding went on with no more problems.
And while the wedding went on, the two biggest dogs ran hard through the woods to get to the house where the girl and her groom were to live. Even a large dog has short legs, and it was a long way to go. The wedding was over long before the dogs reached their destination, but luckily there were many congratulations and good byes to be said. Finally the bride and groom climbed into their own wagon, and headed off to their new home and wedding bed.
As they drove along, cows wandered onto the road and blocked the way. The cows stood and stared and chewed their cud, and paid not a bit of attention to the shouts of the groom for them to get out of the way. In the end, both bride and groom climbed down and drove the cows off the road.
They were tired and grumpy by the time they climbed back up in the carriage and drove the rest of the way home. They had little patience with the two tired dogs waiting on their porch. They tried to send them home, but as soon as they got the door opened, the dogs ran inside.
The bride ran in after them, angry that all the animals had been crazy that day. She chased them to the bedroom, where one dog snatched up the corner of the blanket in his mouth, and yanked it off the bed. She started to grab the blanket away from the dog, but then she saw the rattlesnake in the bed, ready to strike at her hand.
Just then the other dog lept, and clamped her jaws down just behind the snake’s head, and broke its neck in a single snap.
Thus the girl and her new husband were saved, and the dogs each got a bit of wedding cake. The cats and horses and cows didn’t get much, because nobody knew what they’d done, but they had the satisfaction of knowing they had saved the day.
As for the stories, some died from the rot and were forgotten, but others were remembered, and were told again, and they grew clean and healthy. Stories are meant to be shared, and only on the telling, and on the hearing do they grow and become happy and strong. Never lock a story up. Always share it, and let it grow and blossom.
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The Princess Who Would Not Smile
Smiles must come from within.
* * *
THERE ONCE WAS a princess who would not smile. She sat at her window all day long and looked out on the river valley with its green hills, and small white houses and shops. Sometimes she would sigh. When the king or queen spoke to her, she answered kindly and quietly, but never did she smile.
“She used to smile,” said the king, “when she was very little. I wonder what’s wrong?”
“Perhaps we should give her a gift,” said the queen.
The queen commanded her craftswoman to make a golden ball. It had a tiny toy bird inside, which sang softly with the wind, and little bells which would ring, and when the sun shone on it, it would reflect a rainbow and cover the room in color.
On her birthday, the king and queen brought this gift to her. She took it very carefully from her mother’s hands and looked at it.
“Thank you, Mother. Thank you, Father,” she said. “It is a beautiful gift.”
Still, she did not smile. She only sat down with it in her lap, and looked out the window.
“What’s wrong?” asked the king.
“Nothing,” said the princess.
Even when they hung the ball up, and the little bird sang and the little bells rang, and a rainbow filled the room, the princess only looked up at it and sighed.
“My court jester will make her smile,” said the king.
The court jester came and he told his best joke. This joke made the king fall out of his chair with laughter, and the queen laughed so hard that tears ran down her face and fell to her lap. The princess listened very carefully, but the joke did not make her smile at all. The jester then stood on one hand and balanced a potato on his nose. Still she did not smile, so he pretended to fall down, and he did a somersault and landed at her feet.
“Please smile, princess,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just don’t feel like smiling.”
“I know a prince who will make her smile,” said the queen. “He is always laughing and joking. He can make anyone smile.”
The prince, when he came, jumped right in front of the princess and made a scary face, with his thumbs stuck in his cheeks and his fingers wiggling, and his eyebrows going up and down.
“Boogela boogela!” he said. The princess jumped away in fear and ran to her mother.
“But that always works!” said the prince. He put his hand to his chin and thought. “I know. I’ll tickle her. That’ll make her smile.” He reached out and started to tickle her under the arms.
“No, stop!” she cried, even more frightened than before. “Go away!” She ran behind her father. The prince shrugged, and started to think again.
“Excuse me, your majesties,” said a creaky old voice behind them. They all turned around to see the old cleaning woman. “I’ve got ten kids, and I know how to make them behave. If you’ll let me do whatever I want, I’ll make her smile.”
“Of course!” said the king and queen together.
The old woman came toward the princess with a mean snarl on her face.
“You bad little girl!” she said. “You smile for your parents, or I’ll make you scrub the floors and hit you with my broom!”
She raised her broom up over her head and the princess began to cry. She was so frightened that she ran away, away from her parents and the jester and the prince and the old woman. She ran out of the room, out of the castle, and down to the river. She ran and ran and cried along the river until she could not run any more. Then she walked and cried, and then, when she was too tired to cry anymore, she just walked. Finally she was too tired to walk, so she sat down on a rock and watched the river flow by.
As she watched the water move and sparkle under the sun, she thought she heard someone sobbing. She listened very carefully, and she realized that the sound was coming from the rushes nearby. She went over and found a little girl crouched in the brush, crying as hard as she could.
“Why are you crying?” she asked, and the little girl jumped to her feet.
“Oh,” said the little girl. “I’m hungry and I’m tired and I have no place to go! I’ve been walking for three days and my feet are so sore they are bleeding.”
The princess looked down at the little girl’s feet. They were bleeding. The little girl had no shoes, or even socks.
“You can have my shoes,” said the princess, and she took her s
hoes off and gave them to her.
“Can I?” said the little girl, and she wiped the tears off her cheeks and smiled. “I’ve never had any shoes before.”
It was then that the princess felt as if a chain had been wrapped around her heart all this time, and now it had broken, and she smiled too.
The princess’ shoes were very soft, and they made the little girl’s feet feel much better. The two of them walked arm in arm back to the castle. It was a long walk, and the princess’ feet got sore without her shoes, but she felt good and she did not mind.
When the king and queen saw the smile on their daughter’s face, they were so happy that they took the little girl in to the castle. She lived with them ever after that, and though they were sometimes sad, they always came to smiling together soon.
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The Hot Bun Man
An old street vendor and a rich man discover that generosity comes in many flavors.
* * *
WITH THE RISING of the sun, the food vendors came to the streets, and the Hot Bun Man was always among them. He shuffled quietly, slowly, like an old man, his back bent under the pole across his shoulders. From the ends of the poles hung a pair of buckets, on the left a stove, on the right, supplies.
He was dressed like the other vendors, in a ragged shirt and a woven sun hat, and a short pair of trousers which came to his knobby knees. His bare feet were flat and his calves sinewy from years of trudging, winter and summer, and the left foot displayed small round scars from the hot splattering oil. He advertised his coming by clicking his wooden tongs on the lid of the stove.
Every morning he went first to the wealthy district, for only they had the money to buy a quick breakfast from the vendors. Each morning it was the same. When they heard the clicking of tongs and lids and the cries, the housewives came to their doors, or sent their maids. They called to the vendors they wanted. Many waited for the Hot Bun Man, for though he looked no different from the others, they knew he could work wonders with food. They always wanted the meat-filled Spice Buns. They never asked for the other, and he never offered. The fried sweet onion buns, the Happiness Buns, as he called them, were reserved for the poor, and for children. They cost next to nothing, made from sweet wild onions gathered for free, and flour, and a little water too, and to be sure the oil for frying, but from these simple ingredients the Hot Bun Man could make a smile. The rich people did not know what they were missing. When he looked into their thoughtless faces, he was glad he did not tell them.
The woman at the corner always came to the door herself. She wanted to bargain with him, though she was his richest customer. She would not buy unless she thought she had a deal, so he was forced to raise his price at her door just to stay alive. She never let her children out to buy. When they clamored through the door for the other kind, she tossed her hand at them.
“Happiness?” she said. “What nonsense are you talking? I want a dozen Spice Buns.”
“A dozen Spite Buns?” he replied every morning. She did not seem to notice; she thought he could not speak well. Then she began to haggle, and sometimes she brought the price down too low, because by then he only wanted to get away.
By mid-day he started the fire under the oil and began to fry up the Happiness Buns for laborers and workmen. If he had had a good day with the rich people, he would give some fried bread free to the children and beggars. He kept a secret pot of salty dark vinegar which, splashed upon the hot buns, brought a thrill to the tongue. He brought it out for those who asked, or those who needed extra cheering. Every child and beggar knew he had it, and it was hard to keep on hand.
By late afternoon he would be tired, for he stayed out until all was sold, and he ate nothing himself during the day.
It was at such a time when a man, walking quickly by–as everyone seemed to do–paused. He was well dressed, in the finest cloth and latest cut, and he seemed busy, but something had drawn his attention to the street vendor, perhaps the inviting click of tongs. His heavy lidded eyes looked slowly down and up, and an expression of pity flitted through them. He reached for his purse and took brisk strides forward. The Hot Bun Man did not notice the coin extended toward him. Instead he saw the tightness of the hand that extended it, and the tightness of the face above it, the sharpness in manner, and the weary wretchedness in the eyes.
The Hot Bun Man bowed repeatedly and set down his stoves with a smile. He snatched up a sweet onion bun and slipped it into the oil before the man could say what he wanted.
“No, no,” said the man, impatiently. “I do not want anything.” He tried to force the coin into the old vendor’s hand.
“Only a moment,” said the Hot Bun Man, smiling and bowing again. The man waited in awkward silence until he pulled the bread from the sizzling oil with his tongs and offered it. Seeing it was hot, the man whipped out a white silk handkerchief and tried to offer the coin again, but now the old man had bent down. He drew forth his ladle and splashed his salty sauce on the bun, splattering the handkerchief, and the man’s sleeve as well. The man flinched, and heaved a heavy sigh. With a glance heavenward, he finally forced the coin into the vendor’s hand.
The Hot Bun Man bowed and smiled, and he watched the man march away. That man looked too businesslike to waste good food, even unwanted food, and sure enough he raised the bun to his mouth and bit. There was a hesitation in his stride. He stopped and tilted his head, then set out again at a slower pace while he ate.
The Hot Bun Man looked down at the coin in his hand. It was gold, and large, something he had never held before. He put it in his own little purse, hoping it would not be insulted to ride with common copper and bronze. He shouldered his pole and began again to click his tongs.
* * *
IN THE EVENINGS the Hot Bun Man would come home to his family, for he did have one of his own. There was usually no meat, since it was expensive and he had to sell it all. The family had to make do with bread, but there were always the sweet onions, or if they were not in season, some other thing free for the gathering. They did not starve, and their father could work wonders with the simplest food. After dinner, they would all work to prepare for the next morning.
This particular next morning, however, when the sun came up and the vendors came out, the Hot Bun Man was not among them. The housewives, and the children, and the beggars waited, but for that one day, at least, he stayed home.
Now kings and emperors may spare no expense to feed themselves, but none have had a banquet to match the feast served in the Hot Bun Man’s house that day, for their chefs, with all the wealth, could never match what the Hot Bun Man could produce from a single gold coin
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Wild Pony Day
It’s hard to teach when something wild runs rampant in your classroom.
* * *
IT WAS A very dull day. The students in Mrs. Johnson’s math class were starting to fall asleep, and even Mrs. Johnson was tired. It was hard to teach subtraction when your students could not even keep their eyes open.
Then the door burst open, and everyone looked up in surprise as a pony galloped in. It stopped beside Mrs. Johnson’s desk, its hooves placed far apart, its eyes glaring and nostrils flaring, its mane swirling and tail twitching. Mrs. Johnson could see that this pony meant trouble.
“Out!” she said. “There are no ponies allowed in my classroom!”
“I am a wild pony, and I can go where I want!” said the pony, and it stole the apple from her desk and galloped around the room, knocking over empty chairs as it went. When it finished eating the apple, it ate the papers off the bulletin board. The students all began to laugh, and soon everyone was running around the room.
Across the hall, Mr. Faring had just settled his own class down for a quiet hour of reading. When the pony came to his room, everything was far from quiet! The pony kicked over the globe, and erased the blackboard with its tail, and knocked every
single book off the shelf.
“Pony, be quiet!” said Mr. Faring.
“I am a wild pony, and I’ll make as much noise as I want!”
In the next room, Dr. Taylor had spent hours setting up her big experiment for science class. She had wires and test tubes, and bubbling beakers all over the long counter. It only took a minute for the pony to scatter it all over the classroom floor.
“Stop!” said Dr. Taylor. “That’s not safe!”
“I am a wild pony, and I’m supposed to be dangerous!”
All the teachers rushed out to meet in the hall. They were all talking at once, and none of them knew what to do.
“Did you see that pony?”
“Where did it go?”
“We’ve got to stop it!”
Suddenly there was a loud crashing sound from the art room. The pony came out and galloped past them, splashing paint on the wall with its tail as it went.
“I’mm a wiiiiiiilllld pooooonnnnyyyyyyyyyyy!” it cried as it galloped down the hall.
They ran to the art room to see what had happened. There were crayons and chalk trampled all over the floor, and construction paper and glue were stuck all over the desks, and there was paint everywhere. Then they realized that one of the desks was not a desk at all. It was Ms. Lake, the art teacher! She had so much paint and construction paper all over her, that they could hardly recognize her.
“Get that pony!” said Ms. Lake as she stood up.
A trail of bright blue hoofprints led them to the lunchroom. When they got there they found all the peaches eaten up, and the plates of cookies which the cook always set out for the children were empty. The cook and the pony were glaring at each other.
“I’m a wild pony, and I don’t like my carrots cooked!”
The pony knocked over the bowl of cooked carrots and jumped up to gallop back and forth on top of the tables.
“We can trap it in the corner,” said Mr. Faring. The teachers joined hands and moved slowly forward to trap the pony. It laughed and danced away, but it went closer to the corner. They almost had it! Then it leaped to the side. The teachers couldn’t quite reach the wall to block the pony off. Bill the janitor saw what was happening. He and the cook tried to block off the open space. They slipped on some spilled carrots, though, and the pony jumped right over them.
Fables and Enchantments Page 3
