No More Learning

' and the longer he looked at my pilgrim's staff, the more
delighted he became. 'I will lend it to you,' said I, 'but not to
keep. '

"'Oh no, we won't keep it! ' they all cried; and then they seized
the skewer, which I gave up to them, and danced with it to the spot
where the delicate moss grew, and set it up in the middle of the
green. They wanted a maypole, and the one they now had seemed cut
out on purpose for them. Then they decorated it so beautifully that it
was quite dazzling to look at. Little spiders spun golden threads
around it, and then it was hung with fluttering veils and flags so
delicately white that they glittered like snow in the moonshine. After
that they took colors from the butterfly's wing, and sprinkled them
over the white drapery which gleamed as if covered with flowers and
diamonds, so that I could not recognize my sausage skewer at all. Such
a maypole had never been seen in all the world as this. Then came a
great company of real elves. Nothing could be finer than their
clothes, and they invited me to be present at the feast; but I was
to keep at a certain distance, because I was too large for them.
Then commenced such music that it sounded like a thousand glass bells,
and was so full and strong that I thought it must be the song of the
swans. I fancied also that I heard the voices of the cuckoo and the
black-bird, and it seemed at last as if the whole forest sent forth
glorious melodies--the voices of children, the tinkling of bells,
and the songs of the birds; and all this wonderful melody came from
the elfin maypole. My sausage peg was a complete peal of bells. I
could scarcely believe that so much could have been produced from
it, till I remembered into what hands it had fallen. I was so much
affected that I wept tears such as a little mouse can weep, but they
were tears of joy. The night was far too short for me; there are no
long nights there in summer, as we often have in this part of the
world. When the morning dawned, and the gentle breeze rippled the
glassy mirror of the forest lake, all the delicate veils and flags
fluttered away into thin air; the waving garlands of the spider's web,
the hanging bridges and galleries, or whatever else they may be
called, vanished away as if they had never been. Six elves brought
me back my sausage skewer, and at the same time asked me to make any
request, which they would grant if in their power; so I begged them,
if they could, to tell me how to make soup from a sausage skewer.

"'How do we make it? ' said the chief of the elves with a smile.
'Why you have just seen it; you scarcely knew your sausage skewer
again, I am sure. '

"They think themselves very wise, thought I to myself. Then I told
them all about it, and why I had travelled so far, and also what
promise had been made at home to the one who should discover the
method of preparing this soup. 'What use will it be,' I asked, 'to the
mouse-king or to our whole mighty kingdom that I have seen all these
beautiful things? I cannot shake the sausage peg and say, Look, here
is the skewer, and now the soup will come. That would only produce a
dish to be served when people were keeping a fast. '

"Then the elf dipped his finger into the cup of a violet, and said
to me, 'Look here, I will anoint your pilgrim's staff, so that when
you return to your own home and enter the king's castle, you have only
to touch the king with your staff, and violets will spring forth and
cover the whole of it, even in the coldest winter time; so I think I
have given you really something to carry home, and a little more
than something. '"

But before the little mouse explained what this something more
was, she stretched her staff out to the king, and as it touched him
the most beautiful bunch of violets sprang forth and filled the
place with perfume. The smell was so powerful that the mouse-king
ordered the mice who stood nearest the chimney to thrust their tails
into the fire, that there might be a smell of burning, for the perfume
of the violets was overpowering, and not the sort of scent that
every one liked.

"But what was the something more of which you spoke just now? "
asked the mouse-king.

"Why," answered the little mouse, "I think it is what they call
'effect;'" and thereupon she turned the staff round, and behold not
a single flower was to be seen upon it! She now only held the naked
skewer, and lifted it up as a conductor lifts his baton at a
concert. "Violets, the elf told me," continued the mouse, "are for the
sight, the smell, and the touch; so we have only now to produce the
effect of hearing and tasting;" and then, as the little mouse beat
time with her staff, there came sounds of music, not such music as was
heard in the forest, at the elfin feast, but such as is often heard in
the kitchen--the sounds of boiling and roasting. It came quite
suddenly, like wind rushing through the chimneys, and seemed as if
every pot and kettle were boiling over. The fire-shovel clattered down
on the brass fender; and then, quite as suddenly, all was still,--nothing
could be heard but the light, vapory song of the tea-kettle,
which was quite wonderful to hear, for no one could rightly
distinguish whether the kettle was just beginning to boil or going
to stop. And the little pot steamed, and the great pot simmered, but
without any regard for each; indeed there seemed no sense in the
pots at all. And as the little mouse waved her baton still more
wildly, the pots foamed and threw up bubbles, and boiled over; while
again the wind roared and whistled through the chimney, and at last
there was such a terrible hubbub, that the little mouse let her
stick fall.

"That is a strange sort of soup," said the mouse-king; "shall we
not now hear about the preparation? "

"That is all," answered the little mouse, with a bow.

"That all! " said the mouse-king; "then we shall be glad to hear
what information the next may have to give us. "


WHAT THE SECOND MOUSE HAD TO TELL

"I was born in the library, at a castle," said the second mouse.
"Very few members of our family ever had the good fortune to get
into the dining-room, much less the store-room. On my journey, and
here to-day, are the only times I have ever seen a kitchen. We were
often obliged to suffer hunger in the library, but then we gained a
great deal of knowledge. The rumor reached us of the royal prize
offered to those who should be able to make soup from a sausage
skewer. Then my old grandmother sought out a manuscript which,
however, she could not read, but had heard it read, and in it was
written, 'Those who are poets can make soup of sausage skewers. ' She
then asked me if I was a poet. I felt myself quite innocent of any
such pretensions. Then she said I must go out and make myself a
poet. I asked again what I should be required to do, for it seemed
to me quite as difficult as to find out how to make soup of a
sausage skewer. My grandmother had heard a great deal of reading in
her day, and she told me three principal qualifications were
necessary--understanding, imagination, and feeling. 'If you can manage
to acquire these three, you will be a poet, and the sausage-skewer
soup will be quite easy to you. '

"So I went forth into the world, and turned my steps towards the
west, that I might become a poet. Understanding is the most
important matter in everything. I knew that, for the two other
qualifications are not thought much of; so I went first to seek for
understanding. Where was I to find it? 'Go to the ant and learn
wisdom,' said the great Jewish king. I knew that from living in a
library. So I went straight on till I came to the first great
ant-hill, and then I set myself to watch, that I might become wise.
The ants are a very respectable people, they are wisdom itself. All
they do is like the working of a sum in arithmetic, which comes right.
'To work and to lay eggs,' say they, and to provide for posterity,
is to live out your time properly;' and that they truly do. They are
divided into the clean and the dirty ants, their rank is pointed out
by a number, and the ant-queen is number ONE; and her opinion is the
only correct one on everything; she seems to have the whole wisdom
of the world in her, which was just the important matter I wished to
acquire. She said a great deal which was no doubt very clever; yet
to me it sounded like nonsense. She said the ant-hill was the loftiest
thing in the world, and yet close to the mound stood a tall tree,
which no one could deny was loftier, much loftier, but no mention
was made of the tree. One evening an ant lost herself on this tree;
she had crept up the stem, not nearly to the top, but higher than
any ant had ever ventured; and when at last she returned home she said
that she had found something in her travels much higher than the
ant-hill. The rest of the ants considered this an insult to the
whole community; so she was condemned to wear a muzzle and to live
in perpetual solitude. A short time afterwards another ant got on
the tree, and made the same journey and the same discovery, but she
spoke of it cautiously and indefinitely, and as she was one of the
superior ants and very much respected, they believed her, and when she
died they erected an eggshell as a monument to her memory, for they
cultivated a great respect for science. I saw," said the little mouse,
"that the ants were always running to and fro with her burdens on
their backs. Once I saw one of them drop her load; she gave herself
a great deal of trouble in trying to raise it again, but she could not
succeed. Then two others came up and tried with all their strength
to help her, till they nearly dropped their own burdens in doing so;
then they were obliged to stop for a moment in their help, for every
one must think of himself first. And the ant-queen remarked that their
conduct that day showed that they possessed kind hearts and good
understanding. 'These two qualities,' she continued, 'place us ants in
the highest degree above all other reasonable beings. Understanding
must therefore be seen among us in the most prominent manner, and my
wisdom is greater than all. ' And so saying she raised herself on her
two hind legs, that no one else might be mistaken for her. I could not
therefore make an error, so I ate her up. We are to go to the ants
to learn wisdom, and I had got the queen.

"I now turned and went nearer to the lofty tree already mentioned,
which was an oak. It had a tall trunk with a wide-spreading top, and
was very old. I knew that a living being dwelt here, a dryad as she is
called, who is born with the tree and dies with it. I had heard this
in the library, and here was just such a tree, and in it an
oak-maiden. She uttered a terrible scream when she caught sight of
me so near to her; like many women, she was very much afraid of
mice. And she had more real cause for fear than they have, for I might
have gnawed through the tree on which her life depended. I spoke to
her in a kind and friendly manner, and begged her to take courage.
At last she took me up in her delicate hand, and then I told her
what had brought me out into the world, and she promised me that
perhaps on that very evening she should be able to obtain for me one
of the two treasures for which I was seeking. She told me that
Phantaesus was her very dear friend, that he was as beautiful as the
god of love, that he remained often for many hours with her under
the leafy boughs of the tree which then rustled and waved more than
ever over them both. He called her his dryad, she said, and the tree
his tree; for the grand old oak, with its gnarled trunk, was just to
his taste. The root, spreading deep into the earth, the top rising
high in the fresh air, knew the value of the drifted snow, the keen
wind, and the warm sunshine, as it ought to be known. 'Yes,' continued
the dryad, 'the birds sing up above in the branches, and talk to
each other about the beautiful fields they have visited in foreign
lands; and on one of the withered boughs a stork has built his
nest,--it is beautifully arranged, and besides it is pleasant to
hear a little about the land of the pyramids. All this pleases
Phantaesus, but it is not enough for him; I am obliged to relate to
him of my life in the woods; and to go back to my childhood, when I
was little, and the tree so small and delicate that a stinging-nettle
could overshadow it, and I have to tell everything that has happened
since then till now that the tree is so large and strong. Sit you
down now under the green bindwood and pay attention, when Phantaesus
comes I will find an opportunity to lay hold of his wing and to pull
out one of the little feathers. That feather you shall have; a
better was never given to any poet, it will be quite enough for you. '

"And when Phantaesus came the feather was plucked, and," said
the little mouse, "I seized and put it in water, and kept it there
till it was quite soft. It was very heavy and indigestible, but I
managed to nibble it up at last. It is not so easy to nibble one's
self into a poet, there are so many things to get through. Now,
however, I had two of them, understanding and imagination; and through
these I knew that the third was to be found in the library. A great
man has said and written that there are novels whose sole and only use
appeared to be that they might relieve mankind of overflowing tears--a
kind of sponge, in fact, for sucking up feelings and emotions. I
remembered a few of these books, they had always appeared tempting
to the appetite; they had been much read, and were so greasy, that
they must have absorbed no end of emotions in themselves. I retraced
my steps to the library, and literally devoured a whole novel, that
is, properly speaking, the interior or soft part of it; the crust,
or binding, I left. When I had digested not only this, but a second, I
felt a stirring within me; then I ate a small piece of a third
romance, and felt myself a poet. I said it to myself, and told
others the same. I had head-ache and back-ache, and I cannot tell what
aches besides. I thought over all the stories that may be said to be
connected with sausage pegs, and all that has ever been written
about skewers, and sticks, and staves, and splinters came to my
thoughts; the ant-queen must have had a wonderfully clear
understanding. I remembered the man who placed a white stick in his
mouth by which he could make himself and the stick invisible. I
thought of sticks as hobby-horses, staves of music or rhyme, of
breaking a stick over a man's back, and heaven knows how many more
phrases of the same sort relating to sticks, staves, and skewers.
All my thoughts rein on skewers, sticks of wood, and staves; and as
I am, at last, a poet, and I have worked terribly hard to make
myself one, I can of course make poetry on anything. I shall therefore
be able to wait upon you every day in the week with a poetical history
of a skewer. And that is my soup. "

"In that case," said the mouse-king, "we will hear what the
third mouse has to say. "

"Squeak, squeak," cried a little mouse at the kitchen door; it was
the fourth, and not the third, of the four who were contending for the
prize, one whom the rest supposed to be dead. She shot in like an
arrow, and overturned the sausage peg that had been covered with
crape. She had been running day and night. She had watched an
opportunity to get into a goods train, and had travelled by the
railway; and yet she had arrived almost too late. She pressed forward,
looking very much ruffled. She had lost her sausage skewer, but not
her voice; for she began to speak at once as if they only waited for
her, and would hear her only, and as if nothing else in the world
was of the least consequence. She spoke out so clearly and plainly,
and she had come in so suddenly, that no one had time to stop her or
to say a word while she was speaking. And now let us hear what she
said.


WHAT THE FOURTH MOUSE, WHO SPOKE BEFORE THE THIRD, HAD TO TELL

"I started off at once to the largest town," said she, "but the
name of it has escaped me. I have a very bad memory for names. I was
carried from the railway, with some forfeited goods, to the jail,
and on arriving I made my escape, and ran into the house of the
turnkey. The turnkey was speaking of his prisoners, especially of
one who had uttered thoughtless words. These words had given rise to
other words, and at length they were written down and registered: 'The
whole affair is like making soup of sausage skewers,' said he, 'but
the soup may cost him his neck. '

"Now this raised in me an interest for the prisoner," continued
the little mouse, "and I watched my opportunity, and slipped into
his apartment, for there is a mouse-hole to be found behind every
closed door. The prisoner looked pale; he had a great beard and large,
sparkling eyes. There was a lamp burning, but the walls were so
black that they only looked the blacker for it. The prisoner scratched
pictures and verses with white chalk on the black walls, but I did not
read the verses. I think he found his confinement wearisome, so that I
was a welcome guest. He enticed me with bread-crumbs, with
whistling, and with gentle words, and seemed so friendly towards me,
that by degrees I gained confidence in him, and we became friends;
he divided his bread and water with me, gave me cheese and sausage,
and I really began to love him. Altogether, I must own that it was a
very pleasant intimacy. He let me run about on his hand, and on his
arm, and into his sleeve; and I even crept into his beard, and he
called me his little friend. I forgot what I had come out into the
world for; forgot my sausage skewer which I had laid in a crack in the
floor--it is lying there still. I wished to stay with him always where
I was, for I knew that if I went away the poor prisoner would have
no one to be his friend, which is a sad thing. I stayed, but he did
not. He spoke to me so mournfully for the last time, gave me double as
much bread and cheese as usual, and kissed his hand to me. Then he
went away, and never came back. I know nothing more of his history.

"The jailer took possession of me now. He said something about
soup from a sausage skewer, but I could not trust him. He took me in
his hand certainly, but it was to place me in a cage like a
tread-mill. Oh how dreadful it was! I had to run round and round
without getting any farther in advance, and only to make everybody
laugh. The jailer's grand-daughter was a charming little thing. She
had curly hair like the brightest gold, merry eyes, and such a smiling
mouth.

"'You poor little mouse,' said she, one day as she peeped into
my cage, 'I will set you free. ' She then drew forth the iron
fastening, and I sprang out on the window-sill, and from thence to the
roof. Free! free! that was all I could think of; not of the object
of my journey. It grew dark, and as night was coming on I found a
lodging in an old tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. I had no
confidence in either of them, least of all in the owl, which is like a
cat, and has a great failing, for she eats mice. One may however be
mistaken sometimes; and so was I, for this was a respectable and
well-educated old owl, who knew more than the watchman, and even as
much as I did myself. The young owls made a great fuss about
everything, but the only rough words she would say to them were,
'You had better go and make some soup from sausage skewers. ' She was
very indulgent and loving to her children. Her conduct gave me such
confidence in her, that from the crack where I sat I called out
'squeak. ' This confidence of mine pleased her so much that she assured
me she would take me under her own protection, and that not a creature
should do me harm. The fact was, she wickedly meant to keep me in
reserve for her own eating in winter, when food would be scarce. Yet
she was a very clever lady-owl; she explained to me that the
watchman could only hoot with the horn that hung loose at his side;
and then she said he is so terribly proud of it, that he imagines
himself an owl in the tower;--wants to do great things, but only
succeeds in small; all soup on a sausage skewer. Then I begged the owl
to give me the recipe for this soup. 'Soup from a sausage skewer,'
said she, 'is only a proverb amongst mankind, and may be understood in
many ways. Each believes his own way the best, and after all, the
proverb signifies nothing. ' 'Nothing! ' I exclaimed. I was quite
struck. Truth is not always agreeable, but truth is above everything
else, as the old owl said. I thought over all this, and saw quite
plainly that if truth was really so far above everything else, it must
be much more valuable than soup from a sausage skewer. So I hastened
to get away, that I might be home in time, and bring what was
highest and best, and above everything--namely, the truth. The mice
are an enlightened people, and the mouse-king is above them all. He is
therefore capable of making me queen for the sake of truth. "

"Your truth is a falsehood," said the mouse who had not yet
spoken; "I can prepare the soup, and I mean to do so. "


HOW IT WAS PREPARED

"I did not travel," said the third mouse; "I stayed in this country:
that was the right way. One gains nothing by travelling--everything
can be acquired here quite as easily; so I stayed at home. I
have not obtained what I know from supernatural beings. I have
neither swallowed it, nor learnt it from conversing with owls. I
have got it all from my reflections and thoughts. Will you now set the
kettle on the fire--so? Now pour the water in--quite full--up to the
brim; place it on the fire; make up a good blaze; keep it burning,
that the water may boil; it must boil over and over. There, now I
throw in the skewer. Will the mouse-king be pleased now to dip his
tail into the boiling water, and stir it round with the tail. The
longer the king stirs it, the stronger the soup will become. Nothing
more is necessary, only to stir it. "

"Can no one else do this? " asked the king.

"No," said the mouse; "only in the tail of the mouse-king is
this power contained. "

And the water boiled and bubbled, as the mouse-king stood close
beside the kettle. It seemed rather a dangerous performance; but he
turned round, and put out his tail, as mice do in a dairy, when they
wish to skim the cream from a pan of milk with their tails and
afterwards lick it off. But the mouse-king's tail had only just
touched the hot steam, when he sprang away from the chimney in a great
hurry, exclaiming, "Oh, certainly, by all means, you must be my queen;
and we will let the soup question rest till our golden wedding,
fifty years hence; so that the poor in my kingdom, who are then to
have plenty of food, will have something to look forward to for a long
time, with great joy. "

And very soon the wedding took place. But many of the mice, as
they were returning home, said that the soup could not be properly
called "soup from a sausage skewer," but "soup from a mouse's tail. "
They acknowledged also that some of the stories were very well told;
but that the whole could have been managed differently. "I should have
told it so--and so--and so. " These were the critics who are always
so clever afterwards.

When this story was circulated all over the world, the opinions
upon it were divided; but the story remained the same. And, after all,
the best way in everything you undertake, great as well as small, is
to expect no thanks for anything you may do, even when it refers to
"soup from a sausage skewer. "




THE STORKS

On the last house in a little village the storks had built a nest,
and the mother stork sat in it with her four young ones, who stretched
out their necks and pointed their black beaks, which had not yet
turned red like those of the parent birds. A little way off, on the
edge of the roof, stood the father stork, quite upright and stiff; not
liking to be quite idle, he drew up one leg, and stood on the other,
so still that it seemed almost as if he were carved in wood. "It
must look very grand," thought he, "for my wife to have a sentry
guarding her nest. They do not know that I am her husband; they will
think I have been commanded to stand here, which is quite
aristocratic;" and so he continued standing on one leg.
In the street below were a number of children at play, and when
they caught sight of the storks, one of the boldest amongst the boys
began to sing a song about them, and very soon he was joined by the
rest. These are the words of the song, but each only sang what he
could remember of them in his own way.

"Stork, stork, fly away,
Stand not on one leg, I pray,
See your wife is in her nest,
With her little ones at rest.
They will hang one,
And fry another;
They will shoot a third,
And roast his brother. "


"Just hear what those boys are singing," said the young storks;
"they say we shall be hanged and roasted. "

"Never mind what they say; you need not listen," said the
mother. "They can do no harm. "

But the boys went on singing and pointing at the storks, and
mocking at them, excepting one of the boys whose name was Peter; he
said it was a shame to make fun of animals, and would not join with
them at all. The mother stork comforted her young ones, and told
them not to mind. "See," she said, "How quiet your father stands,
although he is only on one leg. "

"But we are very much frightened," said the young storks, and they
drew back their heads into the nests.

The next day when the children were playing together, and saw
the storks, they sang the song again--

"They will hang one,
And roast another. "


"Shall we be hanged and roasted? " asked the young storks.

"No, certainly not," said the mother. "I will teach you to fly,
and when you have learnt, we will fly into the meadows, and pay a
visit to the frogs, who will bow themselves to us in the water, and
cry 'Croak, croak,' and then we shall eat them up; that will be fun. "

"And what next? " asked the young storks.

"Then," replied the mother, "all the storks in the country will
assemble together, and go through their autumn manoeuvres, so that
it is very important for every one to know how to fly properly. If
they do not, the general will thrust them through with his beak, and
kill them. Therefore you must take pains and learn, so as to be
ready when the drilling begins. "

"Then we may be killed after all, as the boys say; and hark!
they are singing again. "

"Listen to me, and not to them," said the mother stork. "After the
great review is over, we shall fly away to warm countries far from
hence, where there are mountains and forests. To Egypt, where we shall
see three-cornered houses built of stone, with pointed tops that reach
nearly to the clouds. They are called Pyramids, and are older than a
stork could imagine; and in that country, there is a river that
overflows its banks, and then goes back, leaving nothing but mire;
there we can walk about, and eat frogs in abundance. "

"Oh, o--h! " cried the young storks.

"Yes, it is a delightful place; there is nothing to do all day
long but eat, and while we are so well off out there, in this
country there will not be a single green leaf on the trees, and the
weather will be so cold that the clouds will freeze, and fall on the
earth in little white rags. " The stork meant snow, but she could not
explain it in any other way.

"Will the naughty boys freeze and fall in pieces? " asked the young
storks.

"No, they will not freeze and fall into pieces," said the
mother, "but they will be very cold, and be obliged to sit all day
in a dark, gloomy room, while we shall be flying about in foreign
lands, where there are blooming flowers and warm sunshine. "

Time passed on, and the young storks grew so large that they could
stand upright in the nest and look about them. The father brought
them, every day, beautiful frogs, little snakes, and all kinds of
stork-dainties that he could find. And then, how funny it was to see
the tricks he would perform to amuse them. He would lay his head quite
round over his tail, and clatter with his beak, as if it had been a
rattle; and then he would tell them stories all about the marshes
and fens.

"Come," said the mother one day, "Now you must learn to fly. "
And all the four young ones were obliged to come out on the top of the
roof. Oh, how they tottered at first, and were obliged to balance
themselves with their wings, or they would have fallen to the ground
below.

"Look at me," said the mother, "you must hold your heads in this
way, and place your feet so. Once, twice, once, twice--that is it. Now
you will be able to take care of yourselves in the world. "

Then she flew a little distance from them, and the young ones made
a spring to follow her; but down they fell plump, for their bodies
were still too heavy.

"I don't want to fly," said one of the young storks, creeping back
into the nest. "I don't care about going to warm countries. "

"Would you like to stay here and freeze when the winter comes? "
said the mother, "or till the boys comes to hang you, or to roast
you? --Well then, I'll call them. "

"Oh no, no," said the young stork, jumping out on the roof with
the others; and now they were all attentive, and by the third day
could fly a little. Then they began to fancy they could soar, so
they tried to do so, resting on their wings, but they soon found
themselves falling, and had to flap their wings as quickly as
possible. The boys came again in the street singing their song:--

"Stork, stork, fly away. "


"Shall we fly down, and pick their eyes out? " asked the young
storks.

"No; leave them alone," said the mother. "Listen to me; that is
much more important. Now then. One-two-three. Now to the right.
One-two-three. Now to the left, round the chimney. There now, that was
very good. That last flap of the wings was so easy and graceful,
that I shall give you permission to fly with me to-morrow to the
marshes. There will be a number of very superior storks there with
their families, and I expect you to show them that my children are the
best brought up of any who may be present. You must strut about
proudly--it will look well and make you respected. "

"But may we not punish those naughty boys? " asked the young
storks.

"No; let them scream away as much as they like. You can fly from
them now up high amid the clouds, and will be in the land of the
pyramids when they are freezing, and have not a green leaf on the
trees or an apple to eat. "

"We will revenge ourselves," whispered the young storks to each
other, as they again joined the exercising.

Of all the boys in the street who sang the mocking song about
the storks, not one was so determined to go on with it as he who first
began it. Yet he was a little fellow not more than six years old. To
the young storks he appeared at least a hundred, for he was so much
bigger than their father and mother. To be sure, storks cannot be
expected to know how old children and grown-up people are. So they
determined to have their revenge on this boy, because he began the
song first and would keep on with it. The young storks were very
angry, and grew worse as they grew older; so at last their mother
was obliged to promise that they should be revenged, but not until the
day of their departure.

"We must see first, how you acquit yourselves at the grand
review," said she. "If you get on badly there, the general will thrust
his beak through you, and you will be killed, as the boys said, though
not exactly in the same manner. So we must wait and see. "

"You shall see," said the young birds, and then they took such
pains and practised so well every day, that at last it was quite a
pleasure to see them fly so lightly and prettily. As soon as the
autumn arrived, all the storks began to assemble together before
taking their departure for warm countries during the winter. Then
the review commenced. They flew over forests and villages to show what
they could do, for they had a long journey before them. The young
storks performed their part so well that they received a mark of
honor, with frogs and snakes as a present. These presents were the
best part of the affair, for they could eat the frogs and snakes,
which they very quickly did.

"Now let us have our revenge," they cried.

"Yes, certainly," cried the mother stork. "I have thought upon the
best way to be revenged. I know the pond in which all the little
children lie, waiting till the storks come to take them to their
parents. The prettiest little babies lie there dreaming more sweetly
than they will ever dream in the time to come. All parents are glad to
have a little child, and children are so pleased with a little brother
or sister. Now we will fly to the pond and fetch a little baby for
each of the children who did not sing that naughty song to make game
of the storks. "

"But the naughty boy, who began the song first, what shall we do
to him? " cried the young storks.

"There lies in the pond a little dead baby who has dreamed
itself to death," said the mother. "We will take it to the naughty
boy, and he will cry because we have brought him a little dead
brother. But you have not forgotten the good boy who said it was a
shame to laugh at animals: we will take him a little brother and
sister too, because he was good. He is called Peter, and you shall all
be called Peter in future. "

So they all did what their mother had arranged, and from that day,
even till now, all the storks have been called Peter.




THE STORM SHAKES THE SHIELD

In the old days, when grandpapa was quite a little boy, and ran
about in little red breeches and a red coat, and a feather in his
cap--for that's the costume the little boys wore in his time when they were
dressed in their best--many things were very different from what
they are now. There was often a good deal of show in the streets--show
that we don't see nowadays, because it has been abolished as too
old-fashioned. Still, it is very interesting to hear grandfather
tell about it.

It must really have been a gorgeous sight to behold, in those
days, when the shoemaker brought over the shield, when the court-house
was changed. The silken flag waved to and fro, on the shield itself
a double eagle was displayed, and a big boot; the youngest lads
carried the "welcome," and the chest of the workmen's guild, and their
shirt-sleeves were adorned with red and white ribbons; the elder
ones carried drawn swords, each with a lemon stuck on its point. There
was a full band of music, and the most splendid of all the instruments
was the "bird," as grandfather called the big stick with the
crescent on the top, and all manner of dingle-dangles hanging to it--a
perfect Turkish clatter of music. The stick was lifted high in the
air, and swung up and down till it jingled again, and quite dazzled
one's eyes when the sun shone on all its glory of gold, and silver,
and brass.

In front of the procession ran the Harlequin, dressed in clothes
made of all kinds of colored patches artfully sewn together, with a
black face, and bells on his head like a sledge horse. He beat the
people with his bat, which made a great clattering without hurting
them, and the people would crowd together and fall back, only to
advance again the next moment. Little boys and girls fell over their
own toes into the gutter, old women dispensed digs with their
elbows, and looked sour, and took snuff. One laughed, another chatted;
the people thronged the windows and door-steps, and even all the
roofs. The sun shone; and although they had a little rain too, that
was good for the farmer; and when they got wetted thoroughly, they
only thought what a blessing it was for the country.

And what stories grandpapa could tell! As a little boy he had seen
all these fine doings in their greatest pomp. The oldest of the
policemen used to make a speech from the platform on which the
shield was hung up, and the speech was in verse, as if it had been
made by a poet, as, indeed it had; for three people had concocted it
together, and they had first drunk a good bowl of punch, so that the
speech might turn out well.

And the people gave a cheer for the speech, but they shouted
much louder for the Harlequin, when he appeared in front of the
platform, and made a grimace at them.

The fools played the fool most admirably, and drank mead out of
spirit-glasses, which they then flung among the crowd, by whom they
were caught up. Grandfather was the possessor of one of these glasses,
which had been given him by a working mason, who had managed to
catch it. Such a scene was really very pleasant; and the shield on the
new court-house was hung with flowers and green wreaths.

"One never forgets a feast like that, however old one may grow,"
said grandfather. Nor did he forget it, though he saw many other grand
spectacles in his time, and could tell about them too; but it was most
pleasant of all to hear him tell about the shield that was brought
in the town from the old to the new court-house.

Once, when he was a little boy, grandpapa had gone with his
parents to see this festivity. He had never yet been in the metropolis
of the country. There were so many people in the streets, that he
thought that the shield was being carried. There were many shields
to be seen; a hundred rooms might have been filled with pictures, if
they had been hung up inside and outside. At the tailor's were
pictures of all kinds of clothing, to show that he could stitch up
people from the coarsest to the finest; at the tobacco manufacturer's
were pictures of the most charming little boys, smoking cigars,
just as they do in reality; there were signs with painted butter,
and herring, clerical collars, and coffins, and inscriptions
and announcements into the bargain. A person could walk up and down
for a whole day through the streets, and tire himself out with looking
at the pictures; and then he would know all about what people lived in
the houses, for they had hung out their shields or signs; and, as
grandfather said, it was a very instructive thing, in a great town, to
know at once who the inhabitants were.

And this is what happened with these shields, when grandpapa
came to the town. He told it me himself, and he hadn't "a rogue on his
back," as mother used to tell me he had when he wanted to make me
believe something outrageous, for now he looked quite trustworthy.

The first night after he came to the town had been signalized by
the most terrible gale ever recorded in the newspapers--a gale such as
none of the inhabitants had ever before experienced. The air was
dark with flying tiles; old wood-work crashed and fell; and a
wheelbarrow ran up the streets all alone, only to get out of the
way. There was a groaning in the air, and a howling and a shrieking,
and altogether it was a terrible storm. The water in the canal rose
over the banks, for it did not know where to run. The storm swept over
the town, carrying plenty of chimneys with it, and more than one proud
weathercock on a church tower had to bow, and has never got over it
from that time.

There was a kind of sentry-house, where dwelt the venerable old
superintendent of the fire brigade, who always arrived with the last
engine. The storm would not leave this little sentry-house alone,
but must needs tear it from its fastenings, and roll it down the
street; and, wonderfully enough, it stopped opposite to the door of
the dirty journeyman plasterer, who had saved three lives at the
last fire, but the sentry-house thought nothing of that.

The barber's shield, the great brazen dish, was carried away,
and hurled straight into the embrasure of the councillor of justice;
and the whole neighborhood said this looked almost like malice,
inasmuch as they, and nearly all the friends of the councillor's wife,
used to call that lady "the Razor" for she was so sharp that she
knew more about other people's business than they knew about it
themselves.

A shield with a dried salt fish painted on it flew exactly in
front of the door of a house where dwelt a man who wrote a
newspaper. That was a very poor joke perpetrated by the gale, which
seemed to have forgotten that a man who writes in a paper is not the
kind of person to understand any liberty taken with him; for he is a
king in his own newspaper, and likewise in his own opinion.

The weathercock flew to the opposite house, where he perched,
looking the picture of malice--so the neighbors said.

The cooper's tub stuck itself up under the head of "ladies'
costumes. "

The eating-house keeper's bill of fare, which had hung at his door
in a heavy frame, was posted by the storm over the entrance to the
theatre, where nobody went. "It was a ridiculous list--horse-radish,
soup, and stuffed cabbage. " And now people came in plenty.

The fox's skin, the honorable sign of the furrier, was found
fastened to the bell-pull of a young man who always went to early
lecture, and looked like a furled umbrella. He said he was striving
after truth, and was considered by his aunt "a model and an example. "

The inscription "Institution for Superior Education" was found
near the billiard club, which place of resort was further adorned with
the words, "Children brought up by hand. " Now, this was not at all
witty; but, you see, the storm had done it, and no one has any control
over that.

It was a terrible night, and in the morning--only think! --nearly
all the shields had changed places. In some places the inscriptions
were so malicious, that grandfather would not speak of them at all;
but I saw that he was chuckling secretly, and there may have been some
inaccuracy in his description, after all.

The poor people in the town, and still more the strangers, were
continually making mistakes in the people they wanted to see; nor
was this to be avoided, when they went according to the shields that
were hung up. Thus, for instance, some who wanted to go to a very
grave assembly of elderly men, where important affairs were to be
discussed, found themselves in a noisy boys' school, where all the
company were leaping over the chairs and tables.

There were also people who made a mistake between the church and
the theatre, and that was terrible indeed!

Such a storm we have never witnessed in our day; for that only
happened in grandpapa's time, when he was quite a little boy.
Perhaps we shall never experience a storm of the kind, but our
grandchildren may; and we can only hope and pray that all may stay
at home while the storm is moving the shields.




THE STORY OF A MOTHER

A mother sat by her little child; she was very sad, for she feared
it would die. It was quite pale, and its little eyes were closed,
and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath, almost like a sigh; and
then the mother gazed more sadly than ever on the poor little
creature. Some one knocked at the door, and a poor old man walked
in. He was wrapped in something that looked like a great
horse-cloth; and he required it truly to keep him warm, for it was
cold winter; the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, and
the wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face. The little child
had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing that the
old man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a small mug of beer on
the stove to warm for him. The old man sat and rocked the cradle;
and the mother seated herself on a chair near him, and looked at her
sick child who still breathed heavily, and took hold of its little
hand.

"You think I shall keep him, do you not? " she said. "Our all-merciful
God will surely not take him away from me. "

The old man, who was indeed Death himself, nodded his head in a
peculiar manner, which might have signified either Yes, or No; and the
mother cast down her eyes, while the tears rolled down her cheeks.
Then her head became heavy, for she had not closed her eyes for
three days and nights, and she slept, but only for a moment. Shivering
with cold, she started up and looked round the room. The old man was
gone, and her child--it was gone too! --the old man had taken it with
him. In the corner of the room the old clock began to strike;
"whirr" went the chains, the heavy weight sank to the ground, and
the clock stopped; and the poor mother rushed out of the house calling
for her child. Out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, and
she said to the mother, "Death has been with you in your room. I saw
him hastening away with your little child; he strides faster than
the wind, and never brings back what he has taken away. "

"Only tell me which way he has gone," said the mother; "tell me the
way, I will find him. "

"I know the way," said the woman in the black garments; "but
before I tell you, you must sing to me all the songs that you have
sung to your child; I love these songs, I have heard them before. I am
Night, and I saw your tears flow as you sang. "

"I will sing them all to you," said the mother; "but do not detain
me now. I must overtake him, and find my child. "

But Night sat silent and still. Then the mother wept and sang, and
wrung her hands. And there were many songs, and yet even more tears;
till at length Night said, "Go to the right, into the dark forest of
fir-trees; for I saw Death take that road with your little child. "

Within the wood the mother came to cross roads, and she knew not
which to take. Just by stood a thorn-bush; it had neither leaf nor
flower, for it was the cold winter time, and icicles hung on the
branches. "Have you not seen Death go by, with my little child? " she
asked.

"Yes," replied the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell you which
way he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom. I am freezing
to death here, and turning to ice. "

Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so that
it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and great
drops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh green
leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's night, so warm is
the heart of a sorrowing mother. Then the bramble-bush told her the
path she must take. She came at length to a great lake, on which there
was neither ship nor boat to be seen. The lake was not frozen
sufficiently for her to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enough
for her to wade through; and yet she must cross it, if she wished to
find her child. Then she laid herself down to drink up the water of
the lake, which was of course impossible for any human being to do;
but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle might take
place to help her. "You will never succeed in this," said the lake;
"let us make an agreement together which will be better. I love to
collect pearls, and your eyes are the purest I have ever seen. If
you will weep those eyes away in tears into my waters, then I will
take you to the large hothouse where Death dwells and rears flowers
and trees, every one of which is a human life. "

"Oh, what would I not give to reach my child! " said the weeping
mother; and as she still continued to weep, her eyes fell into the
depths of the lake, and became two costly pearls.

Then the lake lifted her up, and wafted her across to the opposite
shore as if she were on a swing, where stood a wonderful building many
miles in length. No one could tell whether it was a mountain covered
with forests and full of caves, or whether it had been built. But
the poor mother could not see, for she had wept her eyes into the
lake. "Where shall I find Death, who went away with my little
child?