Читать книгу Tales from the Storyteller's House - Thornton Waldo Burgess - Страница 9
“Little Black Cricket you fiddle all day; Fiddle and fiddle while hidden away. When I wake up with the stars shining bright I’m sure, little Cricket, you fiddle all night. Little Black Cricket pray why do you hide? Music like yours is a matter for pride. Is it because you are fearful you may Find someone taking your fiddle away? Little Black Cricket we really should know What is your fiddle and what is your bow; How you can steadily use them without Having your bow and your fiddle wear out.”
ОглавлениеClapping of hands followed the shouts of “That was good!” “Where’d you learn that, Mary?” “Did you make that up?”
The Storyteller smiled down at the flushed face of the little girl. “Thank you, Mary. That was fine,” said he. Then he turned to the eager faces of the others. “Listen,” said he. “Can you-all keep a secret?”
The replies came in a chorus. “Sure!” “Easy as anything!” “Of course we can!”
“All right,” was the prompt response. “I’m going to try you out. Do you remember what kind of a story-log Billy said he would bring to-night?”
“A snappy one,” cried Nancy.
“That’s it, a snappy one,” replied the Storyteller. “Now here’s the secret: We’re going to play a little joke on Billy. This afternoon I was at his home and I saw what I suspect is to be the story-log. It won’t be a snappy one. You know some kinds of wood snap and crackle all the time they are burning, but there are other kinds that do not snap at all. Billy’s log is of the latter kind, but he, being a little fellow, doesn’t know it. Now here is a small stick that will snap like a bunch of firecrackers. When Billy’s log is placed on the fire I will slip this stick on too, but Billy isn’t to know about it. Hark! I think he’s coming now.”
The door burst open and Billy entered all out of breath. “I’m awful sorry I’m late,” he panted. “I forgot the story-log and had to go back for it. Here it is, and it’s a snappy one, I betcha!”
The Storyteller shook his head warningly at some smothered giggles. “All right, Billy,” said he. “We’ll forgive you for being late now that the story-log is here. We’ll put it on the fire right away and find out just how snappy it is.”
The log was put on the fire with the usual ceremony and the Storyteller suggested that while they were waiting for it to begin to burn Billy should say what kind of a story he wanted. “ ’Bout the king of the Green Forest,” was his prompt reply.
“Oh dear,” said the Storyteller, “that is just too bad. You see, Billy, there isn’t any king in the Green Forest now. Supposing—”
A loud snap followed by a succession of snaps interrupted. “Hi!” shouted Billy, dancing delightedly. “Didn’t I tell you that ol’ log would be a snappy one?”
There was a general laugh. “You certainly did, Billy. You certainly did,” said the Storyteller. “But now that the story-log has started, it is time the story should also start. Supposing I tell you why there is no longer a king in the Green Forest.”
“Do!” “Oh goody!” “That’s what we want!” was the chorused response, and the Storyteller promptly began.
“Well then, here is a little verse for you to remember:
