Once there was a little pink Rosebud, and she lived down in a little dark house under the ground. One day she was sitting there, all by herself, and it was very still. Suddenly, she heard a little TAP, TAP, TAP, at the door.
"Who is that?" she said.
"It's the Rain, and I want to come in;" said a soft, sad, little voice.
"No, you can't come in," the little Rosebud said.
By and by she heard another little TAP, TAP, TAP on the window pane.
"Who is there?" she said.
The same soft little voice answered, "It's the Rain, and I want to come in!"
"No, you can't come in," said the little Rosebud.
Then it was very still for a long time. At last, there came a little rustling, whispering
sound, all round the window: RUSTLE, WHISPER, WHISPER.
"Who is there?" said the little Rosebud.
"It's the Sunshine," said a little, soft, cheery voice, "and I want to come in!"
"N--no," said the little pink rose, "you can't come in." And she sat still again.
Pretty soon she heard the sweet little rustling noise at the key-hole.
"Who is there?" she said.
"It's the Sunshine," said the cheery little voice, "and I want to come in, I want to come in!"
"No, no," said the little pink rose, "you cannot come in."
By and by, as she sat so still, she heard TAP, TAP, TAP, and RUSTLE, WHISPER, RUSTLE, all up and down the window pane, and on the door, and at the key-hole.
"WHO IS THERE?" she said.
"It's the Rain and the Sun, the Rain and the Sun," said two little voices,
together, "and we want to come in! We want to come in! We want to come in!"
"Dear, dear!" said the little Rosebud, "if there are two of you, I s'pose I shall
have to let you in."
So she opened the door a little wee crack, and in they came. And one took
one of her little hands, and the other took her other little hand, and they ran,
ran, ran with her, right up to the top of the ground. Then they said,--
"Poke your head through!"
So she poked her head through; and she was in the midst of a beautiful garden.
It was springtime, and all the other flowers had their heads poked through; and
she was the prettiest little pink rose in the whole garden!
Story from the Children's Hour collection
- Dari version of this story
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
THE SNOWMAN
THE Snow Man stood very stiff and straight in the garden. He had two triangular pieces of tile in his head instead of eyes. His mouth was made of an old rake, so he had some very fine teeth. He had been born amid the happy shouts of little boys, and welcomed by the merry sound of sleigh bells and the snap of whips.
"It is so wonderfully cold that my whole body crackles," said the Snow Man. "This is the kind of weather to blow life into one. How the gleaming one, up yonder, is staring at me!"
(It was the sun he meant, which was just about to set.)
"He shall not make me wink. I shall manage to keep the pieces."
The sun went down and the moon rose clear and beautiful in the blue sky.
"If I only knew how to move from this place I should like so much to go," sighed the Snow Man. "If I could, I would slide along on the ice with the boys; but I don't understand sliding—I don't know how to run."
"Bow, wow," barked the Yard Dog, "the sun will teach you to run. It will come some morning, and it will make you run down into the ditch by the wall. We shall soon have a change in the weather. I feel it in my bones."
The weather really changed a little. Toward morning there was a thick fog over all the garden. Then came an icy wind, and when the sun rose—oh, was it not beautiful? The branches were covered with hoar frost, and they glistened like diamonds. Where the sun shone it looked as if big diamonds had been dropped upon the snowy carpet of earth.
"Bow, wow," barked the Yard Dog, creeping out of his kennel; "a fine morning."
"The cold is charming," said the Snow Man. "Tell me, did you always lie out here in the cold, fastened to a chain?"
"Bow, wow; no, indeed," barked the Yard Dog. "I used to lie in a chair covered with velvet up in master's house. From where you are standing you can see into the room. I had my own cushion, and there was a stove there—the finest thing in the world in cold weather. I went under the stove, and I could lie beneath it. Oh, I still sometimes dream of that stove. Bow, wow!"
"Does a stove look anything like me?" asked the Snow Man.
"It's quite different," said the Dog. "It's black as a crow, with a long neck and a brazen drum. It eats firewood, and the fire spurts out of its mouth. You can see the stove through the window there."
And the Snow Man looked and saw a bright polished thing with a brazen drum and the fire gleaming from the lower part of it. The Snow Man felt strangely and his teeth chattered.
"Why did you leave her?" he asked, for he thought the stove must surely be a lady.
"I was obliged to go," said the Yard Dog. "I bit the youngest master because he kicked my bone. That was the end of the matter. They chained me up out here. Bow, wow!"
But the Snow Man was looking in the window, and he did not hear the Yard Dog. He was looking at the stove standing there on its four iron legs.
"I want to go in and lean against her," he said, "if I have to break the window!"
"You'll never get in there," said the Yard Dog. "If you go near her, you'll break up."
"I'm nearly gone now," said the Snow Man.
The whole day the Snow Man stood peering in through the window. Toward night the stove looked pleasanter than ever, for it had been given some wood to eat. The red light shone out of the window and straight into the Snow Man's face.
"Oh," he said, "how beautiful she looks when she stretches out her tongue!"
Before long, though, the windows were covered with frost. There were the most wonderful snow flowers any snow man could want, but the Snow Man was unhappy. He could no longer see the stove.
In the morning the weather had changed a great deal. It began to thaw, and the warmer it grew the smaller grew the Snow Man. At last he broke down; and, behold! Where he had stood there was something like a broomstick standing up in the ground. It was the pole about which the boys had built him.
"I wonder why he liked the stove so much," said the Yard Dog, looking at the pool of water which lay where the Snow Man had stood; but he saw directly. There was a coal shovel fastened to the broomstick, and that had been the Snow Man's head. The Snow Man had a stove rake in his body, too.
"I see," said the Yard Dog. "Bow, wow!"
And nobody thought any more about the Snow Man.
- این داستان به دری
- Baldwin Project
"It is so wonderfully cold that my whole body crackles," said the Snow Man. "This is the kind of weather to blow life into one. How the gleaming one, up yonder, is staring at me!"
(It was the sun he meant, which was just about to set.)
"He shall not make me wink. I shall manage to keep the pieces."
The sun went down and the moon rose clear and beautiful in the blue sky.
"If I only knew how to move from this place I should like so much to go," sighed the Snow Man. "If I could, I would slide along on the ice with the boys; but I don't understand sliding—I don't know how to run."
"Bow, wow," barked the Yard Dog, "the sun will teach you to run. It will come some morning, and it will make you run down into the ditch by the wall. We shall soon have a change in the weather. I feel it in my bones."
The weather really changed a little. Toward morning there was a thick fog over all the garden. Then came an icy wind, and when the sun rose—oh, was it not beautiful? The branches were covered with hoar frost, and they glistened like diamonds. Where the sun shone it looked as if big diamonds had been dropped upon the snowy carpet of earth.
"Bow, wow," barked the Yard Dog, creeping out of his kennel; "a fine morning."
"The cold is charming," said the Snow Man. "Tell me, did you always lie out here in the cold, fastened to a chain?"
"Bow, wow; no, indeed," barked the Yard Dog. "I used to lie in a chair covered with velvet up in master's house. From where you are standing you can see into the room. I had my own cushion, and there was a stove there—the finest thing in the world in cold weather. I went under the stove, and I could lie beneath it. Oh, I still sometimes dream of that stove. Bow, wow!"
"Does a stove look anything like me?" asked the Snow Man.
"It's quite different," said the Dog. "It's black as a crow, with a long neck and a brazen drum. It eats firewood, and the fire spurts out of its mouth. You can see the stove through the window there."
And the Snow Man looked and saw a bright polished thing with a brazen drum and the fire gleaming from the lower part of it. The Snow Man felt strangely and his teeth chattered.
"Why did you leave her?" he asked, for he thought the stove must surely be a lady.
"I was obliged to go," said the Yard Dog. "I bit the youngest master because he kicked my bone. That was the end of the matter. They chained me up out here. Bow, wow!"
But the Snow Man was looking in the window, and he did not hear the Yard Dog. He was looking at the stove standing there on its four iron legs.
"I want to go in and lean against her," he said, "if I have to break the window!"
"You'll never get in there," said the Yard Dog. "If you go near her, you'll break up."
"I'm nearly gone now," said the Snow Man.
The whole day the Snow Man stood peering in through the window. Toward night the stove looked pleasanter than ever, for it had been given some wood to eat. The red light shone out of the window and straight into the Snow Man's face.
"Oh," he said, "how beautiful she looks when she stretches out her tongue!"
Before long, though, the windows were covered with frost. There were the most wonderful snow flowers any snow man could want, but the Snow Man was unhappy. He could no longer see the stove.
In the morning the weather had changed a great deal. It began to thaw, and the warmer it grew the smaller grew the Snow Man. At last he broke down; and, behold! Where he had stood there was something like a broomstick standing up in the ground. It was the pole about which the boys had built him.
"I wonder why he liked the stove so much," said the Yard Dog, looking at the pool of water which lay where the Snow Man had stood; but he saw directly. There was a coal shovel fastened to the broomstick, and that had been the Snow Man's head. The Snow Man had a stove rake in his body, too.
"I see," said the Yard Dog. "Bow, wow!"
And nobody thought any more about the Snow Man.
- این داستان به دری
- Baldwin Project
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Do What You Can
THERE was once a farmer who had a large field of corn. He harrowed it and weeded it with the greatest care, for he wanted to sell the corn and buy good things for his family with the money. But after he had worked hard, he saw the corn wither and droop, for no rain fell, and he began to fear that he was to have no crop. He felt very sad, and every morning he went out to the field and looked at the thirsty stalks and wished for the rain to fall.
One day, as he stood looking up at the sky, two little raindrops saw him, and one said to the other: "Look at that farmer. I feel very sorry for him. He took such pains with his field of corn, and now it is drying up. I wish I might help him."
"Yes," said the other, "but you are only a little raindrop. What can you do? You can't wet even one hill."
"Well," said the first, "I know, to be sure, I cannot do much; but perhaps I can cheer the farmer a little, and I am going to do my best. I'll go to the field to show my good will, if I can't do anything more. Here I go!"
The first raindrop had no sooner started for the field than the second one said:
"Well, if you really insist upon going, I think I will go, too. Here I come!" And down went the raindrops. One came—pat—on the farmer's nose, and one fell on a thirsty stalk of corn.
"Dear me," said the farmer, "what's that? A raindrop! Where did it come from? I do believe we shall have a shower."
By this time a great many raindrops had come together to see what all the commotion was about. When they saw the two kind little drops going down to cheer the farmer, and water his corn, one said:
"If you two are going on such a good errand, I'll go, too!" And down he came. "And I!" said another. "And I!" And so said they all, until a whole shower came and the corn was watered. Then the corn grew and ripened—all because one little raindrop tried to do what it could.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Grandfather's Penny
ONCE upon a time, when it was so long ago that there were no trolley cars or telephones, Grandfather was a little, little boy named John.
He lived in a wee, red farmhouse set in the middle of wide fields, and there were woods all about, and only a cow path to walk in across the meadows until you came to the stage road.
In the summer Grandfather used to have just the best time, for he knew the places where the biggest blackberries hid, and he could find the patches of checker-berries in the woods, and he knew where the brook ran swiftest to sail his boats, and he could climb the tallest apple tree that ever grew.
But in the winter it was quite different. Then Grandfather wore a little cap made of coonskin, and a bright-green tippet, and a home-spun suit, and a pair of hide boots. It was always so very cold in the country in the winter time, and Grandfather had to walk two miles to the schoolhouse, with his little tin dinner pail hung over his arm. When school was let out, he must hurry home to help with the chores, for there were kindlings to split, and the cows to fodder, and paths to dig. At night he was a tired little John, and he tumbled upstairs to bed in the attic, where the walls were all hung with strings of dried apples, and the spinning-wheel in the corner pointed its long finger at him, till he pulled the patchwork quilt high up over his cold little nose and went fast asleep.
One morning when Grandfather woke up, and jumped into his clothes, and hurried down to the [138] kitchen, he found that a dreadful thing had happened. The fire in the fireplace had gone out over-night, and nobody could set it going again, for they had no matches in those days, and the tinder box was lost. The water in the tea-kettle was all ice. There could be no breakfast until the fire burned once more.
"You'll have to take the lantern, John," said Great Grandmother, "and go to Mr. Stone's for a light. I'm sorry, little lad. Pull your cap down tight over your ears, and hurry."
So Grandfather took the big brass lantern and hurried off in the early morning, across the snowy fields, for a light. It was so biting cold that not even the wood rabbits were out, and Grandfather's toes ached, and he had to blow on his fingers to keep them from freezing—and it was a mile to Mr. Stone's! But he got there at last, lighted his lantern at Mr. Stone's fireplace, and carried it home very carefully, lest the flame go out. Then Great Grandmother started the fire, and boiled the water in the tea-kettle, and they had breakfast.
When the kitchen was warm, and breakfast was over, Great Grandmother went to the blue china mug on the chimney-piece and took out of it a big copper penny as large as a silver dollar.
"This is for you, John," she said. "You had a long walk this morning. You may buy yourself a peppermint stick."
Oh, how Grandfather's eyes danced! Pennies were scarce in the little red farmhouse, and didn't he know just how beautifully red and twisted the peppermint sticks looked in the glass jar at the store; and hadn't he wished for one all winter?
So he started out early for school—the store was such a long way off the road—skipping along, with his penny held fast in his little red mitten, thinking how good the peppermint stick was going to taste.
The snow was deep, and Grandfather had to wade through the drifts, and climb the fences; and one snow bank was so high that it came up to his waist, but he didn't mind. There was the store at the crossroads, and Grandfather opened his little red fist to look at the penny—but where was it? The penny was not there at all; it was quite gone. Grandfather had dropped his penny in the high snow bank!
Poor little boy! All the morning, as he sat on the hard bench in the schoolhouse, saying his A B, AB's. and doing pothooks in his copy book, he had to squeeze back the tears. And when he went home Great Grandmother said she was sorry, but there were no more pennies in the blue china mug. She didn't know when he could have another. So Grandfather took his shovel and dug all around in the snow bank, but he could not find his penny.
Well, the winter was very long; but, one day, the red-winged blackbirds came back to sing in the south pasture, and the song-sparrows twittered in the swamp. The blue flag blossomed, and it was spring. Grandfather laid away his coon-skin cap, and began making willow whistles, and forgot all about his penny.
One morning he took a basket of eggs to the store, to change them for sugar and tea, and he went the same way that he had gone that other morning; and he was just as happy as he skipped along down the road.
"Here's the place where the big snow bank was," he said, "right in this fence corner, but it's all melted now. Why-ee, here's my penny!"
Yes; there it was—sticking up out of the mud, not bright and shining any more, but a good copper penny just the same. All winter it had been waiting there for Grandfather to take it to the store and buy a peppermint stick. And this is the true story of how Grandfather bought his peppermint stick, after all. And this is the reason why Grandfather gives you so many pennies, dear—because he remembers how he was a little boy once, with only just one.
- Read this story in Dari
- Baldwin Project
He lived in a wee, red farmhouse set in the middle of wide fields, and there were woods all about, and only a cow path to walk in across the meadows until you came to the stage road.
In the summer Grandfather used to have just the best time, for he knew the places where the biggest blackberries hid, and he could find the patches of checker-berries in the woods, and he knew where the brook ran swiftest to sail his boats, and he could climb the tallest apple tree that ever grew.
But in the winter it was quite different. Then Grandfather wore a little cap made of coonskin, and a bright-green tippet, and a home-spun suit, and a pair of hide boots. It was always so very cold in the country in the winter time, and Grandfather had to walk two miles to the schoolhouse, with his little tin dinner pail hung over his arm. When school was let out, he must hurry home to help with the chores, for there were kindlings to split, and the cows to fodder, and paths to dig. At night he was a tired little John, and he tumbled upstairs to bed in the attic, where the walls were all hung with strings of dried apples, and the spinning-wheel in the corner pointed its long finger at him, till he pulled the patchwork quilt high up over his cold little nose and went fast asleep.
One morning when Grandfather woke up, and jumped into his clothes, and hurried down to the [138] kitchen, he found that a dreadful thing had happened. The fire in the fireplace had gone out over-night, and nobody could set it going again, for they had no matches in those days, and the tinder box was lost. The water in the tea-kettle was all ice. There could be no breakfast until the fire burned once more.
"You'll have to take the lantern, John," said Great Grandmother, "and go to Mr. Stone's for a light. I'm sorry, little lad. Pull your cap down tight over your ears, and hurry."
So Grandfather took the big brass lantern and hurried off in the early morning, across the snowy fields, for a light. It was so biting cold that not even the wood rabbits were out, and Grandfather's toes ached, and he had to blow on his fingers to keep them from freezing—and it was a mile to Mr. Stone's! But he got there at last, lighted his lantern at Mr. Stone's fireplace, and carried it home very carefully, lest the flame go out. Then Great Grandmother started the fire, and boiled the water in the tea-kettle, and they had breakfast.
When the kitchen was warm, and breakfast was over, Great Grandmother went to the blue china mug on the chimney-piece and took out of it a big copper penny as large as a silver dollar.
"This is for you, John," she said. "You had a long walk this morning. You may buy yourself a peppermint stick."
Oh, how Grandfather's eyes danced! Pennies were scarce in the little red farmhouse, and didn't he know just how beautifully red and twisted the peppermint sticks looked in the glass jar at the store; and hadn't he wished for one all winter?
So he started out early for school—the store was such a long way off the road—skipping along, with his penny held fast in his little red mitten, thinking how good the peppermint stick was going to taste.
The snow was deep, and Grandfather had to wade through the drifts, and climb the fences; and one snow bank was so high that it came up to his waist, but he didn't mind. There was the store at the crossroads, and Grandfather opened his little red fist to look at the penny—but where was it? The penny was not there at all; it was quite gone. Grandfather had dropped his penny in the high snow bank!
Poor little boy! All the morning, as he sat on the hard bench in the schoolhouse, saying his A B, AB's. and doing pothooks in his copy book, he had to squeeze back the tears. And when he went home Great Grandmother said she was sorry, but there were no more pennies in the blue china mug. She didn't know when he could have another. So Grandfather took his shovel and dug all around in the snow bank, but he could not find his penny.
Well, the winter was very long; but, one day, the red-winged blackbirds came back to sing in the south pasture, and the song-sparrows twittered in the swamp. The blue flag blossomed, and it was spring. Grandfather laid away his coon-skin cap, and began making willow whistles, and forgot all about his penny.
One morning he took a basket of eggs to the store, to change them for sugar and tea, and he went the same way that he had gone that other morning; and he was just as happy as he skipped along down the road.
"Here's the place where the big snow bank was," he said, "right in this fence corner, but it's all melted now. Why-ee, here's my penny!"
Yes; there it was—sticking up out of the mud, not bright and shining any more, but a good copper penny just the same. All winter it had been waiting there for Grandfather to take it to the store and buy a peppermint stick. And this is the true story of how Grandfather bought his peppermint stick, after all. And this is the reason why Grandfather gives you so many pennies, dear—because he remembers how he was a little boy once, with only just one.
- Read this story in Dari
- Baldwin Project
Sunday, February 3, 2008
THE SNOWFLAKE AND THE LEAF
THE big sky above the hard, frozen ground was dark. The little stars had hidden their winking, yellow eyes, and the round old moon had forgotten to [118] shine. Big, black clouds were hurrying past each other, back and forth, from east to west.
Up on the old oak tree, at the corner of the lane, a little leaf still clung. He was very tiny, very brown, and very much wrinkled; but still he kept a tight hold on the stiff old branch where he had lived all his life.
"Ugh!" he said, as he shivered, and clung still closer, "it's going to rain again. I'm sure I felt a drop just then."
But it was not a drop of rain, but a soft, cold something else, which nestled down among the brown wrinkles. The leaf stirred, and then shivered again.
"What is the matter?" queried a sweet voice.
"I'm very cold," said the leaf.
"Are you? What makes you cold?" asked the voice.
"I think it is—you," said the leaf, slowly; for he did not want to hurt any one's feelings.
"Oh, no; I'm sure it's not I, because I'm not cold; and if I made you cold I would be cold, too, wouldn't I?"
"I suppose you would," said the leaf, thoughtfully. "But, anyway, I'm not as warm as I am in the summertime. I'm lonesome, too, up here alone—that is, I am when you are not here," he added, politely.
"What is summer?" asked the snowflake. "I never heard about it."
"It is a very nice time," said the leaf, hugging the old tree, and drawing his tight edges close. "It's the time when you are green and soft—and warm," he added, with a sigh.
"I don't believe we have it, then, up where I live," said the snowflake; "for I never remember being green."
[119] "It is very pleasant in summer," went on the leaf. "The birds perch upon the branches here, and sing so sweetly. Once a robin built a beautiful nest just here, where we are now. It was a large nest made of hay and threads, woven nicely together. One day, after the nest was built, and the mother bird had been staying there nearly all the time, I saw four tiny birds, with great big mouths, wide open. It seemed to me that they were always calling to be fed, and the mother and father were busy from morning till night fetching worms for those hungry little ones. But before long they learned to fly, and, one by one, they left the nest and flew out into the world.
"I am never alone in the summer, for the tree is full of leaves, but they have all fallen off until only I am left. Every time the wind blows, I expect to go, too."
"Where will you go?" asked the snowflake, with much interest.
"Oh, I shall drop to the ground below, and grow smaller and smaller. Then I shall sink down underneath, where the new grass is getting ready to sprout in the spring and the violets are waiting for the sun to bid them unfold their buds."
"Is it nice down there, in the dark?" asked the snowflake.
"Oh, yes," said the leaf. "It is very warm and sweet, and not a bit lonely, for the worms and bugs and roots and seeds are all busy, getting ready for the spring."
Just then a heavy gust of wind shook the old oak tree, and down fell the little brown leaf and the snowflake, too. The snowflake melted at once, but the little leaf waited happily there until he should reach the busy little world under the ground.
- نسخه دری این داستان
- Baldwin Project
Up on the old oak tree, at the corner of the lane, a little leaf still clung. He was very tiny, very brown, and very much wrinkled; but still he kept a tight hold on the stiff old branch where he had lived all his life.
"Ugh!" he said, as he shivered, and clung still closer, "it's going to rain again. I'm sure I felt a drop just then."
But it was not a drop of rain, but a soft, cold something else, which nestled down among the brown wrinkles. The leaf stirred, and then shivered again.
"What is the matter?" queried a sweet voice.
"I'm very cold," said the leaf.
"Are you? What makes you cold?" asked the voice.
"I think it is—you," said the leaf, slowly; for he did not want to hurt any one's feelings.
"Oh, no; I'm sure it's not I, because I'm not cold; and if I made you cold I would be cold, too, wouldn't I?"
"I suppose you would," said the leaf, thoughtfully. "But, anyway, I'm not as warm as I am in the summertime. I'm lonesome, too, up here alone—that is, I am when you are not here," he added, politely.
"What is summer?" asked the snowflake. "I never heard about it."
"It is a very nice time," said the leaf, hugging the old tree, and drawing his tight edges close. "It's the time when you are green and soft—and warm," he added, with a sigh.
"I don't believe we have it, then, up where I live," said the snowflake; "for I never remember being green."
[119] "It is very pleasant in summer," went on the leaf. "The birds perch upon the branches here, and sing so sweetly. Once a robin built a beautiful nest just here, where we are now. It was a large nest made of hay and threads, woven nicely together. One day, after the nest was built, and the mother bird had been staying there nearly all the time, I saw four tiny birds, with great big mouths, wide open. It seemed to me that they were always calling to be fed, and the mother and father were busy from morning till night fetching worms for those hungry little ones. But before long they learned to fly, and, one by one, they left the nest and flew out into the world.
"I am never alone in the summer, for the tree is full of leaves, but they have all fallen off until only I am left. Every time the wind blows, I expect to go, too."
"Where will you go?" asked the snowflake, with much interest.
"Oh, I shall drop to the ground below, and grow smaller and smaller. Then I shall sink down underneath, where the new grass is getting ready to sprout in the spring and the violets are waiting for the sun to bid them unfold their buds."
"Is it nice down there, in the dark?" asked the snowflake.
"Oh, yes," said the leaf. "It is very warm and sweet, and not a bit lonely, for the worms and bugs and roots and seeds are all busy, getting ready for the spring."
Just then a heavy gust of wind shook the old oak tree, and down fell the little brown leaf and the snowflake, too. The snowflake melted at once, but the little leaf waited happily there until he should reach the busy little world under the ground.
- نسخه دری این داستان
- Baldwin Project
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
THE TOMATO STORY
[53] "HAVE another tomato, Johnny," said Grandma, as she saw the last red slice disappear from Johnny's plate; "I think you like tomatoes."
"I do," said Johnny; "I like them raw, and stewed, and baked, and 'most any way."
"Didn't you like tomatoes when you were little, Grandma?" Johnny asked, as he saw Grandma looking down at her plate with a smile in her eyes.
"No," Grandma said, "but that was because I was a big girl before I ever tasted one. I never saw any until I was thirteen years old.
"I can remember it so well. A peddler who came by our farm once a month, bringing buttons and thread and such little things to sell, brought the seed to mother.
"He used to carry seeds and cuttings of plants from one farmer's wife to the next, and they liked to see him come. He could tell all the news, too, from up the road and down.
"One spring morning he came, and after mother had bought all she needed from his big, red wagon, and he had fed his horse and was sitting by the kitchen fire waiting for his dinner, he began fumbling about [54] in his pockets in search of something. Finally he drew out a very small package, and handed it to mother.
" 'I've brought you some love-apple seeds,' he said. 'I got them in the city, and I gave my sister half and brought half to you.'
" 'Thank you, kindly,' mother said, as she looked at the little yellow seeds. 'I'm right glad to get them. What kind of a plant is the love-apple?'
" 'Well,' said the peddler, 'the man who gave the seeds to me had his plants last year in a sunny fence corner. The flowers are small, but the fruit is bright red, and is very pretty among the dark-green leaves. You can't eat the fruit, though—it's poisonous. It's something new—the man who gave me the seeds got them from a captain of a ship from South America. They grow wild there.'
"So mother planted her love-apple seeds in a warm fence corner, and they grew, and the little yellow blossoms came, and after them the pretty red fruit. We children would go out and look at it, and talk about it, and wonder if it would hurt us if we just tasted it.
"One day mother heard us talking about it, and she called us away, and told us if we could not be satisfied with the pretty red fruit just to look at, without wanting to eat it, she would have to pull up the love-apple vines and throw them away, for the peddler had said it was poisonous.
"We knew she would hate to do that, for no one else about had them, so we kept away from the fence corner, and the vine grew and blossomed, and the red showed in new places every day. The birds did not seem to be at all afraid of the poison fruit, but ate all they wanted of it.
[55] "One day, in the early fall, my uncle came from New York to make us a visit. When he went out in the garden he stopped in surprise. 'Why, Mary,' he said, 'what fine tomato vines you have! Where did you get them?'
" 'We call them love-apples,' mother said, and then she told him how the peddler brought the seed. But when my uncle found that we were afraid to eat them he had a hearty laugh, and then he showed mother how to get some ready for supper. And that was my first taste of tomato, Johnny," Grandma said, "and you shall have some for supper fixed the same way—with cream and sugar."
- About Baldwin Project
Monday, January 7, 2008
An Anxious Leaf
ONCE upon a time a little leaf was heard to sigh and cry, as leaves often do when the wind is about. And the twig said: "What is the matter, little leaf?"
And the little leaf said: "The wind just told me that one day it would pull me off and throw me to die on the ground!"
The twig told it to the branch on which it grew, and the branch told it to the tree. And when the tree heard it, it rustled all over, and sent back word to the leaf: "Do not be afraid; hold on tightly, and you shall not go till you want to."
And so the leaf stopped sighing, and went on nestling and singing. Every time the tree shook itself and stirred up all its leaves, the branches shook themselves, and the little twig shook itself, and the little leaf danced up and down merrily, as if nothing could ever pull it off. And so it grew all summer long till October.
[121] And when the bright days of autumn came the little leaf saw all the other leaves around it becoming very beautiful. Some were yellow, and some were scarlet, and some were striped with both colors. Then it asked the tree what it meant; and the tree said: "All the leaves are getting ready to fly away, and they are putting on these beautiful colors because of joy."
Then the little leaf began to want to go, and grew very beautiful in thinking of it, and when it was very gay in color it saw that the branches of the tree had no color at all in them, and so the leaf said: "Oh, branches, why are you lead color and we golden?"
And the branches said: "We must keep on our work clothes, for our life is not done; but your clothes are for holiday, for your tasks are over."
Just then a little puff of wind came, and the leaf let go without thinking, and the wind took it up, and whirled it over and over, and tossed it like a spark of fire in the air, and then it fell gently down under the edge of the fence among hundreds of other leaves; and it fell into a dream and never waked up to tell what it dreamed about.
By Carolyn S. Bailey
Dari version of this story
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