The Lion and the Puppy Page 3

  It was night. The moon cast a violet haze upon the water and lit up a lone white figure steadily falling behind the flying group. All of a sudden, with a resigned quiver of its tired wings, it ceased to flap and plunged down toward the ocean.

  Meantime, its companions flew on without a backward glance, their bodies arched in graceful silhouette against the moonlit sky No silent witness to the loss.

  Sending up a sudden spray, the lone swan landed on the water; the sea bobbed and bounced beneath it as it floated on the angry waves.

  By now the flock of swans was no more than a thin white line smeared across the distant sky And in the still of night the lone swan barely caught the faint swish of beating wings. Its sad gaze followed them out of sight until, with a heaving sigh, it curved back its neck and closed its tired eyes.

  It made no struggle: the sea rose and fell with it into the wide rolling waves. And at dawn a light breeze ruffled its feathers and sprinkled glistening drops upon its pure white breast.

  Its eyes opened. It stretched its neck, shook its wings as if reaching for the blushing dawn, and then tried to fly, its feet making a watery furrow along the surface of the sea.

  And then, with a final thrust, it rose above the water.

  Higher, ever higher, until at last it reached the open sky And it flew on alone above the silvery waves.

  THE OLD FIRE-DOG

  Careless parents sometimes go out and leave their children at home alone. If a fire should break out the children could well die, for in their panic the little ones often keep silent and hide, and no one can find them through the smoke.

  Special fire-dogs used to be trained to save children. When a house caught fire, the firemen would send in their dogs to bring out any little ones from the blazing building. One famous dog rescued as many as a dozen children. Here is the story of one of his rescues.

  When firemen once arrived at a burning house, they were met by a sobbing woman who told them that her two-year-old daughter was still trapped in the blazing house. The famous fire-dog was sent in.

  He dashed through the smoke into the building and up the stairs. Several minutes later he came running out of the door, holding the little girl by her nightgown.

  The firemen patted the good old fire-dog, inspecting his fur to see that it had not been singed in the fire. But the brave dog strained back toward the house. Thinking there must be someone left in the building, the firemen let him go.

  Bounding through the flames and smoke, the dog soon reappeared with another bundle in his teeth. The crowd gathered around in silence to take a closer look. Then smiles gradually spread over all the faces.

  For the old fire-dog was carrying a big rag doll.

  TWO MERCHANTS

  A poor merchant once went on his travels, leaving all his iron merchandise with a rich merchant for safekeeping. When he returned, he went to the wealthy merchant and asked for his ironwares back.

  But the wealthy merchant had already sold them and now had to make his excuses.

  “I’m sorry to say that your iron is all gone.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s like this: I stored your wares in my barn, and the mice came and ate them. They finished off the whole lot. I myself saw them nibbling at it. Go and see if you don’t believe me.”

  The poor merchant did not bother to argue. He simply said:

  “What is there to see? I believe you. I know mice are always eating iron.”

  And the poor merchant went off.

  Once outside, he saw the rich merchant’s son playing in the yard, and he persuaded the boy to come along with him.

  Next day the wealthy merchant met the poor man and told him of his misfortune. His son had disappeared. Had he not seen or heard anything?

  To which the poor merchant said, “Now that you ask, I did see something. I was just leaving your house yesterday when a hawk flew down and snatched up your son.”

  The wealthy merchant flew into a rage, crying, “How dare you make fun of me. Everybody knows hawks don’t carry off children.”

  Tut I’m not making fun of you,” said the poor man. “Why should a hawk not carry off a boy, when mice can eat a hundred pounds of iron?”

  At that the wealthy merchant understood.

  “Mice did not eat your iron,” he said. “I sold it and will pay you double.”

  “In that case, a hawk did not carry off your son,” replied the other. “I’ll bring him back at once.”

  THE OLD POPLAR

  For five years our garden was neglected. Then I hired some workers with axes and spades and we went to work in the garden. We cut down and hewed out deadwood and brambles and the odd bush and tree. The poplar and bird-cherry were the worst culprits in being overgrown and stunting other trees. The poplar comes up from the roots, so you simply cannot cut it down, you have to grub out the roots.

  Beyond the lake stood a huge poplar, two armfuls in girth. Around it was a glade all overgrown with poplar shoots. I gave the order to cut them down. I wanted the place to be lighter, neater, and most of all, I wanted to make life easier for the old poplar, for I thought all those young trees were coming from it and drawing the sap out of it.

  As we were cutting down those young saplings, now and again I had a pang of conscience as we dug out their sap-rich roots. It took four of us to pull up one half-hewn sapling; It was hanging on to its life for all it was worth and did not want to die. And I thought to myself, “They evidently need to live if they cling on to life so firmly.”

  But we had to cut them down, so I did. Only subsequently, when it was too late, did I realize we should not have destroyed them.

  I had thought that the shoots drew sap from the old poplar, but it turned out to be the other way around. Once I had cut them down the old poplar began to die. When leaves began to appear I noticed that half its boughs were bare, and that summer it withered altogether. It had been dying for some time and, knowing its end was near, had transferred life to its shoots.

  That is why they grew so quickly. In wanting to make life easier for it I had killed all its children.

  HOW MANY GEESE

  MAKE SIX?

  A poor peasant once went to the squire to ask for food. It did not seem proper to go empty-handed, so he stole a neighbor’s goose, roasted it, tucked it under his arm, and took the bird with him to the manor.

  Surprised and not a little suspicious, the squire accepted the roast goose but told the peasant:

  Thank you for the goose. But you give me a problem: You see, I have a wife, two sons, and two daughters — six of us altogether. Now how am I to share the goose equally, so that no one is offended?”

  The peasant smiled craftily.

  “Sire, permit me to divide it for you.”

  Taking a knife, he cut off the goose’s head, saying, “Sire, you are the head of the household, thus you rightfully get the head.”

  Next he sliced off the goose’s rump and handed it to the wife.

  “Dear Lady, you sit at home all day looking after the house — so yours are the hindquarters.”

  Then he chopped off the feet and gave them to the sons.

  The feet are for you,” he said, “because you are to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

  And the daughters got the wings.

  “Soon, my dear young ladies, you will fly from this house to find a husband — here are your wings“

  “To be fair I’ll take the rest for myself,” he said, heading for the door.

  The squire, greatly amused by the peasant’s impudence, rewarded him with food — and money

  Now this story reached the ears of a rich peasant. Being envious, he quickly set to roasting five geese for the squire.

  “I thank you for the geese,” the squire said. “But, you see, I have a problem: Here are my wife, two sons, and two daughters — six altogether. How are we to share your five geese equally?”

  The rich peasant was at a loss.

  Thereupon, the squire sent for the
poor peasant to ask his advice.

  THE “DEAD” MAN

  AND THE BEAR

  Two companions were on their way through a forest when they were suddenly attacked by a big brown bear. One quickly took to his heels, scrambled up a tree to safety, and hid, leaving the other behind.

  What was the poor man to do? It was too late to flee.

  Trembling with fear, he flung himself to the ground pretending to be dead. The bear was puzzled. He poked and sniffed the still form: first its toes and fingers, then its neck and hair.

  The man was afraid to breathe.

  After what seemed an age, the bear gave the fellow’s ears a loud snuffle, grunted, and, thinking him really dead, ambled off through the trees.

  No sooner was the bear out of sight than the first companion climbed down the tree, laughing with relief.

  “Well, friend,” he said, “what did that old bear whisper in your ear?”

  The other smiled.

  “He gave me some good advice,” he said. “He told me to beware of those who leave their friends in danger . . .”

  THE LITTLE BIRD

  It was Misha’s birthday and he had lots and lots of presents. But best of all was one from his uncle — a wooden bird cage. The cage was so cleverly made that it could catch birds all by itself: All you had to do was sprinkle seed upon a platform, hang the cage out of doors, let a bird fly in and perch on the platform. Then the platform would turn over, shutting the cage door at the same time.

  Very simple.

  Misha was overjoyed. He immediately ran to show the present to his mother. But she was not pleased at all.

  “What a nasty contraption!” she exclaimed. “Why do you want to catch birds? Leave the poor things alone.”

  “I’ll put them in my cage,” explained Misha, “and they’ll sing for me.”

  He found some seed, sprinkled it on the platform, hung the cage in the garden, and waited for birds to fly in.

  But the birds were scared of him and would not come near.

  After a while he went indoors to have his dinner and quite forgot about the cage. But when he had finished his meal and went into the garden, he was delighted to find a little bird fluttering inside the cage.

  “Mama, look, I’ve caught a bird!” he shouted in his excitement. “It’s a nightingale, I shouldn’t wonder. See how fast its heart is beating.”

  But his mother said, “It’s a sparrow. Now mind you don’t harm it. Better let it go.”

  “No, no, I’ll feed it and give it some water,” cried Misha.

  For two days Misha fed the little bird and cleaned out the cage. On the third day, however, he forgot about his sparrow and did not change its water or clean the cage.

  His mother scolded him.

  “Just as I said, you shouldn’t put birds in cages. Better let it go.”

  “No, I won’t forget again,” said Misha. “I’ll put some water in at once and clean the cage”

  Misha opened the cage door, put in his hand and began to clean the cage floor. Meanwhile, the poor sparrow fluttered about the cage, beating its wings on the bars. When the cage was clean, Misha went for some water, forgetting to shut the door.

  As soon as the little bird discovered the open door, it spread its wings and flew across the room to the window But, not noticing the glass, it flew straight into the windowpane and dropped heavily upon the sill.

  Hearing the strange noise, Misha ran back into the room and picked up the bird; though its heart was still beating, it now lay where Misha put it in the cage, on its breast, its wings outspread, breathing heavily

  Misha’s eyes filled with tears as he gazed at his little bird.

  “Mama, what am I to do?” he cried.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do, my son,” replied his mother.

  All through the day, Misha stayed by the cage, staring at the sparrow lying on its breast and panting fast.

  When Misha went to bed the little sparrow was still alive.

  For a long time he could not sleep. Each time he shut his eyes he saw his little sparrow lying on the floor of the cage. And in the morning, when he came downstairs, he found the bird upon its back, its tiny claws clenched tight, its body stiff and cold.

  From that day on Misha never caught birds again.

  THE PLUM STONE

  Mother had bought a pound of plums, washed them, and left them on a big plate in the center of the table. They were for dinner.

  Little Vanya had never tasted plums in all his life and was very curious. First he sniffed the fruit, wrinkled his nose at the pleasing smell, and decided he liked them very much. Dinnertime was still a long way off and Vanya could not wait.

  As soon as he was alone in the dining room, he seized a big plum and ate it quickly.

  When dinnertime came, Mother counted the plums and noticed that one was missing. She informed Father.

  The whole family sat around the table to eat and, in the course of the meal, Father asked, “Now then, children, have any of you eaten a plum?”

  Each child answered in turn: “No”

  But Vanya turned as red as a lobster.

  Then Father said, “It is wrong to steal a plum; but that’s not all. You see, plums have stones and if you swallow a stone you’ll die. That’s what really bothers me.”

  This time Vanya went as pale as a sheet.

  “No, no,” he stuttered. “I threw the stone out of the window”

  At that everyone laughed.

  Poor Vanya burst into tears.

  BETTER TO BE LEAN

  AND FREE THAN PLUMP

  AND CHAINED

  A lean and hungry wolf came prowling by a village one frosty morning when he met a dog, sleek and well fed.

  “Tell me, Cousin,” said the wolf, “how is it you’re so plump?”

  “People feed me,” said the dog.

  “Is that so?” said the wolf in amazement. “And is your job hard in earning your keep?”

  “Oh no,” replied the dog. “All I do is guard the farmyard at night”

  “And you get food for that?” asked the wolf “If that’s all there is to it, I’ll join you. You’ve no idea how tough it is to find food in the wild”

  “The Master is sure to feed you well,” said the dog.

  Eagerly licking his lips, the wolf set off with the dog to serve people. But just as the two animals were entering the yard, the wolf noticed a bald patch on the dog’s neck.

  “Hold on, Cousin,” he exclaimed. “How did you come to lose your fur?”

  “The chain rubbed it away . . . You see, for most of the day and night I’m chained to a post.”

  “Then farewell to you, my poor Cousin,” called the wolf as he ran off. “I’ve changed my mind about serving people after all. I may go hungry, but I prefer to be lean and free than plump and chained”

  A YOUNG BOY’S STORY

  OF HOW HE DID NOT

  GO TO TOWN

  Dad was going off to town.

  “’Dad, take me with you,” I said. But he shook his head. “You’ll freeze there. Stay home”

  I turned around, burst into tears, and hid in the scullery I cried and cried until I fell asleep.

  In my dream I see a small path leading from our village to the chapel, and I see Dad walking along this path. So I catch up to him and off we go together to the city As I go I see a chimney smoking ahead of us. So I say,

  “Dad, is that the city?“

  And he says,

  “That’s it.”

  Then we reach the chimney and I see them baking crusty rolls.

  “Please, Dad, buy me a roll,” I say

  So he does and gives it to me.

  Then I woke up, put on my sandals and gloves and went outside. I could see my friends on the Ice slides and sleds. I started to slide, too, and went on sliding until I was frozen stiff I had only just got back home and climbed on top of the stove, when I heard Dad back from town. That cheered me up.

  I jumped down and said, “Hello, D
ad, did you buy me a crusty roll?”

  “I did,” he said, handing it over.

  I hopped onto the bench and began to dance with joy.

  DEW UPON THE GRASS

  When upon a sunny summer’s morning you go to the woods or fields, you may find diamonds among the grass. Those diamonds all sparkle and glitter in the sun with different colors — yellows and reds and blues. As you come nearer and take a closer look, however, you see it is really dewdrops caught in triangular blades of grass, glittering in the sunshine.

  On the inside the blade of grass is as mossy and fluffy as velvet, and the droplets roll down it without leaving a wet mark.

  If you’re not careful in plucking a dewy blade, the droplet may cascade like a bright marble and disappear off the end of the stem before you notice it. Sometimes you can pick a tiny cup, put it slowly to your mouth, and drink the dew. That dew is sweeter than any drink in the world.

  UNCLE JACOB’S DOG

  Uncle Jacob was a watchman, that is to say he kept the village safe from wolves and bears. And he had a good helper in Old Bob — his shaggy dog with a white nose and large brown eyes.

  Once, Uncle Jacob went into the forest for wood. Before leaving, he told his wife not to let the two children out of doors, for the previous night wolves had set upon and killed a neighbor’s dog.

  Yet no sooner was their father gone and their mother’s back turned, than the children set to talking about the forest.

  “I found a wild apple tree in a thicket yesterday,” said the boy “Its apples are so red and juicy. Let’s go and pick some.“

  So they unlatched the door and slipped out unnoticed. Of course their poor mother was in despair when she found them missing. When Uncle Jacob came home he was very cross and hurried off into the forest in search of the children. He had not gone far when he heard the snarling of a wild animal and a soft whimpering. Quickly making for the spot, he soon arrived at an alarming scene.