THE
PEARL STORY BOOK
Stories and Legends of Winter, Christmas, and New Year’s Day
COMPILED BY
ADA M. SKINNER
AND
ELEANOR L. SKINNER
Editors of “The Emerald Story Book,” “The Topaz Story Book,”
“The Turquoise Story Book,” “Children’s Plays,” Etc.
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1919
Copyright 1910 by
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
Drawn by Maxfield Parrish
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The editors’ thanks are due to the following authors and publishers for the use of valuable material in this book:
To T. C. and E. C. Jack of Edinburgh for permission to use “Holly” and the legend of the “Yew” from “Shown to the Children Series”; to Frederick A. Stokes Company for “The Voice of the Pine Trees,” from “Myths and Legends of Japan”; to the Wessels Company for “The First Winter” by W. W. Canfield; to Julia Dodge for permission to use two poems by Mary Mapes Dodge; to the Christian Herald for a poem by Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.; to Lothrop, Lee and Shepherd for “The Pine and the Flax” by Albrekt Segerstedt; to the Outlook Company for a story by Mine Morishima; to the Independent for the poem “Who Loves the Trees Best?”; to Laura E. Richards for her story “Christmas Gifts”; to George Putnam and Sons for “Silver Bells” by Hamish Hendry, and “The Happy Prince” by Oscar Wilde; to the Churchman for a story by John P. Peters; to Dodd, Mead and Company for the story “Holly” from the “Story Hour”; and “Prince Winter” from “The Four Seasons” by Carl Ewald; to George Jacobs for “A Legend of St. Nicholas” from “In God’s Garden” by Amy Steedman; to A. Flanagan Company for “The New Year’s Bell” from “Christ-Child Tales” by Andrea Hofer Proudfoot; to Jay T. Stocking and the Pilgrims Press for “The Snowball That Didn’t Melt” from “The Golden Goblet”; to the New York State Museum for permission to use two stories contained in Bulletin 125, by Mrs. H. M. Converse; to Small, Maynard and Company for “A Song of the Snow,” from “Complete Works of Madison Cawein.”
The selections from James Russell Lowell, Edna Dean Proctor, Celia Thaxter, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edith M. Thomas, Margaret Deland, John Townsend Trowbridge, and Frank Dempster Sherman are used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin Company, authorized publishers of their works.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
“Once upon a time,” in the winter season suggests happy, young faces grouped about a blazing fire. A heavy snowstorm promises plenty of sport for tomorrow, but at present the cosiness indoors is very attractive, especially now that the evening story hour is at hand. And while the story-teller is slowly choosing his subjects he hears the children’s impatient whispers of “The Snow Man,” “Prince Winter,” “The Legend of Holly,” “The Animals’ Christmas
Silence! The story-teller turns his eyes from the glowing fire to the faces of his eager audience. He is ready to begin.
Each season of the year opens a treasury of suggestion for stories. In the beauty and wonder of nature are excellent themes for tales which quicken children’s interest in the promise of joyous springtime, in the rich pageantry of ripening summer, in the blessings of generous autumn, and in the merry cheer of grim old winter.
The Pearl Story Book is the fourth volume in a series of nature books each of which emphasizes the interest and beauty characteristic of a particular season. The central theme of this volume is winter, “snow-wrapped and holly-decked.”
WINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS
WINTER
From the snow five thousand summers old;
On open wold and hill-top bleak
It had gathered all the cold,
And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer’s cheek.
It carried a shiver everywhere
From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;
The little brook heard it and built a roof
’Neath which he could house him winter-proof;
All night by the white stars’ frosty gleams
He groined his arches and matched his beams;
Slender and clear were his crystal spars
As the lashes of light that trim the stars:
He sculptured every summer delight
In his halls and chambers out of sight.
James Russell Lowell.
THE ICE KING
(Indian Legend)
Once upon a time there was an Indian village built on the bank of a wide river. During the spring, summer, and autumn the people were very happy. There was plenty of fuel and game in the deep woods; the river afforded excellent fish. But the Indians dreaded the months when the Ice King reigned.
One winter the weather was terribly cold and the people suffered severely. The Ice King called forth the keen wind from the northern sky, and piled the snowdrifts so high in the forests that it was most difficult to supply the wigwams with game. He covered the river with ice so thick that the Indians feared it would never melt.
“When will the Ice King leave us?” they asked each other. “We shall all perish if he continues his cruel reign.”
At last signs of spring encouraged the stricken people. The great snowdrifts in the forests disappeared and the ice on the river broke into large pieces. All of these floated downstream except one huge cake which lodged on the bank very near the village. And when the Indians saw that the spring sunshine did not melt this great mass of ice they were puzzled and anxious.
“It is the roof of the Ice King’s lodge,” they said. “We shall never enjoy warm weather while he dwells near us. Have we no brave who is willing to do battle with this winter tyrant?”
At last, a courageous young hunter armed himself with a huge club and went forth to see if he could shatter the glittering frozen mass and rid the village of the giant who dwelt beneath it. With all his strength he struck the ice roof blow upon blow, crying out, “Begone, O cruel Ice King! Your time is past! Begone!”
Finally, there was a deafening noise like the crashing of forest trees when the lightning strikes, and the huge ice cake split into several pieces.
“Begone!” cried the young brave, as he struggled with each great lump of ice until he pushed it from the bank and tumbled it into the river below.
And when the mighty task was finished the white figure of the Ice King stood before the Indian brave.
“You have ruined my lodge,” said the giant.
“The winter season is past,” answered the brave. “Begone!”
“After several moons I shall return to stay,” threatened the Ice King. Then he stalked away toward the North.
The people were very happy when they knew that the young brave had conquered the giant; but their joy was somewhat dampened when they heard about the threatened return of the Ice King.
“I shall prepare for his return and do battle with him again,” declared the Indian conqueror.
This promise comforted the people somewhat, but still they thought of the coming winter with dread.
During the autumn the hunter built near the river a strong wigwam and stored therein abundant fuel and dried game. He filled many bags made of skin, with oil, which he procured from the animals he killed. Also, he was well supplied with fur rugs, blankets, and warm clothes.
At last the winter season came. The cold north wind blew unceasingly, the snow piled high around the wigwams; ice several feet thick covered the river.
“The Ice King has come,” said the Indians. “If he keeps his threat to stay among us we shall surely perish.”
One bitter cold day the young Indian who had prepared well for the severe weather sat in his wigwam near a blazing fire. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind tore aside the bear skin which protected the doorway and into the lodge stalked the Ice King. His freezing breath filled the place and dampened the fire. He took a seat opposite the Indian brave who said, “Welcome, Ice King.”
“I’ve come to stay,” answered the giant.
The Indian shivered with cold at the sudden change of temperature in his wigwam, but he rose and brought more logs to the fire. Also, he opened one of his bags of oil and poured the contents on the great pieces of wood. The flames soon caught the oil-soaked logs and a roaring fire crackled and blazed in the wigwam. More and more fuel the young brave piled on his fire until finally the frosty cold air was changed to summer heat.
The Ice King shifted his seat away from the glowing fire. Farther and farther away he pushed until he sat with his back against the wall of the wigwam. As he moved he seemed to grow smaller and weaker. The icy feathers of his headgear drooped about his forehead and great drops of sweat covered his face. But still the Indian brave piled fuel on the blazing fire.
“Spare me, O hunter,” cried the Ice King.
But to the words of the giant the young Indian was deaf. He opened another bag of oil and poured it on the logs.
“Have mercy, I beg you!” pleaded the Ice King. He rose and staggered toward the door.
“You have conquered me,” he said in a weak voice. “I will depart. Twice you have won a victory over me. I give up my hope of reigning continually among your people. My season shall last during three moons, only.”
He staggered out of the wigwam and stalked wearily away. Since that day the giant Ice King has not tried to reign throughout the year.
A SONG OF THE SNOW
And the snow lies deep on hill and lawn,
And the old clock ticks, “’Tis time! ’Tis time!”
And the household rises with many a yawn
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn!
Sing, Ho!
When the last star closes its icy eye
And deep in the road the snow-drifts lie,
And the old clock ticks, “’Tis late! ’Tis late!”
And the flame on the hearth leaps red—leaps high
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky!
Sing, Ho!
When the snow makes ghostly the wayside thorn,
And hills of pearl are the shocks of corn,
And the old clock ticks, “Tick-tock; tick-tock;”
And the goodman bustles about the barn
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn!
Sing, Ho!
When ermine capped are the stocks of hay,
And the wood-smoke pillars the air with gray,
And the old clock ticks, “To work! To work!”
And the goodwife sings as she churns away
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day!
Sing, Ho!
Madison Cawein.
KING FROST AND KING WINTER
Margaret T. Canby
King Winter lives in a very strong palace near the cold North Pole; it is built of great blocks of thick ice, and all around it stand high, pointed icebergs, and cross, white bears keep guard at the gate. He has many little fairy servants to do his bidding and they are like their master, cross and spiteful, and seldom do any kind actions, so that few are found who love them. King Winter is rich and powerful, but he keeps all his wealth so tightly locked up that it does no one any good; and what is worse, he often tries to get the treasures of other persons, to add to the store in his money chests.
One day when this selfish old king was walking through the woods he saw the leaves thickly covered with gold and precious stones, which had been spread upon them by King Frost, to make the trees more beautiful and give pleasure to all who saw them. But looking at them did not satisfy King Winter; he wanted to have the gold for his own, and he made up his mind to get it, somehow. Back he went to his palace to call his servants home to do this new work. As soon as he reached the gate, he blew a loud, shrill note on his horn and in a few minutes his odd little fairies came flying in at the windows and doors and stood before him quietly waiting their commands. The king ordered some to go out into the forest, at nightfall, armed with canes and clubs, and beat off all the gold and ruby leaves; and he told others to take strong bags, and gather up all the treasure, and bring it to him.
“If that silly King Frost does not think any more of gold and precious stones than to waste them on trees I shall teach him better,” said the old king.
The fairies promised to obey him, and as soon as night came, off they rushed to the forest, and a terrible noise they made, flying from one beautiful tree to another, banging and beating the leaves off. Branches were cracking and falling on all sides, and leaves were flying about, while the sound of shouting and laughing and screaming told all who heard it that the spiteful winter fairies were at some mischief. The other fairies followed, and gathered up the poor shattered leaves, cramming them into the great bags they had brought, and taking them to King Winter’s palace as fast as they were filled.
This work was kept up nearly all night and when morning came, the magic forest of many-colored leaves was changed into a dreary place. Bare trees stretched their long brown branches around and seemed to shiver in the cold wind and to sigh for the beautiful dress of shining leaves so rudely torn from them.
King Winter was very much pleased, as one great sack after another was tugged in by the fairies and when morning came he called his servants together and said, “You have all worked well, my fairies, and have saved much treasure from being wasted; I will now open these bags and show you the gold. Each of you shall have a share.”
The king took up the sack nearest to him, their surprise, when out rushed a great heap of brown leaves, which flew all over the floor and half choked them with dust! When the king saw this he growled with rage and looked at the fairies with a dark frown on his face. They begged him to look at the next sack, but when he did so, it, too, was full of brown leaves, instead of gold and precious stones. This was too much for King Winter’s patience. He tossed the bags one by one out of the palace window, and would have tossed the unlucky fairies after them, had not some of the bravest ones knelt down and asked for mercy, telling him they had obeyed his orders, and, if King Frost had taken back his treasure, they were not to blame.
This turned their master’s anger against King Frost, and very angry and fierce he was. He gnashed his great teeth with rage and rushed up and down in his palace, until it shook again. At last he made up his mind to go out that night, break down King Frost’s beautiful palace, and take away all his riches.
When night came, he started out with all his fairies. Some were armed with the clubs they had beaten off the leaves with, and others had lumps of ice to throw at their enemy; but the king had been so angry all day that he had not told them what to do; also, he had left their sharp spears locked up. He wrapped himself in his great white cloak of swan’s down in order that he might look very grand, and so they went on their way.
King Frost lived on the other side of the wood, and he had heard all the noise made by the winter fairies in spoiling the trees and had seen the next morning the mischief they had done. It made him very sorry to find the beautiful leaves all knocked off and taken away, and he determined to punish King Winter by going to attack his palace that night. He spent the day making ready and dressing himself and his servants in shining coats of ice-armour and giving each one several spears and darts of ice tipped with sharp diamond points. They looked like brave little soldiers.
The two groups of fairies met in the midst of the great wood. After some words between the kings, their servants fell to blows and a great battle they had. The winter fairies fought with their clubs and threw lumps of ice at the frost fairies; but their clubs were weak from being used so roughly the night before and soon broke; and when their ice-balls were all thrown away they could find no more. But King Frost had armed his servants well, and they threw their icy darts among the winter fairies. The trees, too, seemed to fight on the Frost King’s side. The bare twigs pulled their hair and the branches ripped their
Now this was a magic cloak and had been given to King Winter by the Queen of the fairies, so when he felt them pulling at it, he wrapped it tightly about him, and began to run. After him flew the frost fairies, pulling and plucking at his great white cloak, snatching out a bit here and a bit there and laughing and shouting while King Winter howled and roared and rushed along, not knowing where he went. On they flew up and down the wood in and out among the trees,—their way marked by the scattered bits of white down from King Winter’s cloak. When day began King Winter found himself near his own palace. He dashed his tattered cloak to the ground and rushed through the gate, shaking his fist at King Frost.
He and his fairies took the cloak. As they went home through the woods they hung beautiful wreaths of white down on all the trees and also trimmed the branches with their broken spears and darts, which shone like silver in the sunlight, and made the woods look as bright almost, as before it had been robbed of its golden and ruby leaves. Even the ground was covered with shining darts and white feathers. Every one thought it very beautiful, and no one could tell how it happened. (Adapted.)
THE SNOWSTORM
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, and river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden’s end,
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swanlike form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer’s lane from wall to wall,
Mauger the farmer’s sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone—
Built in an age, the mad wind’s night work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
Ralph Waldo Emerson.
THE FIRST WINTER
(Iroquois Legend)
There was a time when the days were always of the same length, and it was always summer. The red men lived continually in the smile of the Great Spirit and were happy. But there arose a chief who was so powerful that he at last declared himself mightier than the Great Spirit, and taught his brothers to go forth to the plain and mock him. They would call upon the Great Spirit to come and fight with them or would challenge him to take away the crop of growing corn or drive the game from the woods. They would say he was an unkind father to keep himself and their dead brothers in the Happy Hunting Grounds, where the red men could hunt forever without weariness.
They laughed at their old men who had feared for so many moons to reproach the Great Spirit for his unfair treatment of the Indians who were compelled to hunt and fish for game for their wives and children, while their own women had to plant the corn and harvest it.
“In the Happy Hunting Grounds,” they said, “the Great Spirit feeds our brothers and their wives and does not let any foes or dangers come upon them, but here he lets us go hungry many times. If he is as great as you have said, why does he not take care of his children here?”
Then the Great Spirit told them he would turn his smiling face away from them, so that they should have no more light and warmth and they must build fires in the forest if they would see.
But the red men laughed and taunted him, telling him that he had followed one trail so long that he could not get out of it, but would have to come every day and give them light and heat as usual. Then they would dance and make faces at him and taunt him with his helplessness.
In a few days the quick eyes of some of the red men saw in the morning the face of the Great Spirit appear where it was not wont to appear, but they were silent, fearing the jibes of their brothers. Finally, duller eyes noticed the change, and alarm and consternation spread among the people. Each day brought less and less of the Great Spirit’s smile and his countenance was often hidden by dark clouds, while terrible storms beat upon the frightened faces turned in appeal toward the heavens. The strong braves and warriors became as women; the old men covered their heads with skins and starved in the forests; while the women in their lodges crooned the low, mournful wail of the death song. Frosts and snows came upon an unsheltered and stricken race, and many of them perished.
Then the Great Spirit, who had almost removed his face from the sight of men, had pity and told them he would come back. Day after day the few that remained alive watched with joy the return of the sun. They sang in praise of the approaching summer and once more hailed with thankfulness the first blades of growing corn as it burst from the ground. The Great Spirit told his children that every year, as a punishment for the insults they had given their Father, they should feel for a season the might of the power they had mocked; and they murmured not, but bowed their heads in meekness.