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قراءة كتاب The Little Brown Hen Hears the Song of the Nightingale & The Golden Harvest
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The Little Brown Hen Hears the Song of the Nightingale & The Golden Harvest
The Little Brown Hen
Hears the Song of the
Nightingale
& The Golden Harvest
By Jasmine Stone Van Dresser
With an Introduction by Margaret Beecher White
The Illustrations by William T. Van Dresser
Paul Elder and Company
San Francisco and New York
by Paul Elder and Company
WILLIAM T. VAN DRESSER
BUT FOR WHOM THE STORIES
WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS LOVINGLY
DEDICATED BY THE
AUTHOR
FOREWORD.
It is the duty of all good, useful stories to give a message to their readers. The two dainty stories contained in this little volume each carries its message of truth. Pure, simple and wholesome in quality, they cannot fail to refresh as well as instruct those who receive them.
In the Golden Harvest the lesson of patience taught by the little apple tree's experience will bear rich fruit I do not doubt, and the wisdom of the little brown hen cannot help but teach us all to listen for the nightingale's song of harmony in our own lives.
The Little
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He called together all the fowls in the barn-yard, and the pigeons off the barn-roof, and told them to listen to him.
They gathered around and listened very earnestly, for they thought they would learn a great deal of wisdom.
"The first thing for you to learn," said the gander, "is to speak my language. It is very silly for you to chatter as you do. Now we will all say, 'honk!' one, two, three,—'honk!'"
The creatures all tried very hard to say "honk!" but the sounds they made were so remarkable that I cannot write them, and none of them sounded like "honk!"
"How stupid you are!" he cried. "Now you all must practise till you learn it. Do not let me hear a peep or cluck or a coo! You must all 'honk' when you have anything to say."
So they obediently tried to do as he said.
When the little brown hen laid an egg, instead of making the fact known with her sharp little "cut—cut—cut-cut-ah-cut!" as a well-ordered hen should do, she ran around the barn-yard trying to say, "honk! honk!"
But nobody heard her, and nobody came to look for the egg.
The guinea-fowls way down in the pasture ceased calling "la croik! la croik!" and there was no way of finding where they had hid their nests. In the afternoon, when their shrill cries should have warned the farmers that it was going to rain, they were still