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Young Folks Treasury, Volume 2 (of 12) by Various

V >> Various >> Young Folks Treasury, Volume 2 (of 12)




Baucis and Philemon lived a great, great many years and grew very
old. And one summer morning when their friends came to share their
breakfast, neither Baucis nor Philemon was to be found!

The guests looked everywhere, and all in vain. Then suddenly one of
them noticed two beautiful trees in the garden, just in front of
the door. One was an oak tree and the other a linden tree, and their
branches were twisted together so that they seemed to be embracing.

No one had ever seen these trees before, and while they were all
wondering how such fine trees could possibly have grown up in a single
night, there came a gentle wind which set the branches moving, and
then a mysterious voice was heard coming from the oak tree. "I am
old Philemon," it said; and again another voice whispered, "And I am
Baucis." And the people knew that the good old couple would live for a
hundred years or more in the heart of these lovely trees. And oh, what
a pleasant shade they flung around! Some kind soul built a seat under
the branches, and whenever a traveler sat down to rest he heard a
pleasant whisper of the leaves over his head, and he wondered why the
sound should seem to say, "Welcome, dear traveler, welcome."




PANDORA

ADAPTED BY C.E. SMITH


Long, long ago, when this old world was still very young, there lived
a child named Epimetheus. He had neither father nor mother, and to
keep him company, a little girl, who was fatherless and motherless
like himself, was sent from a far country to live with him and be his
playfellow. This child's name was Pandora.

The first thing that Pandora saw, when she came to the cottage where
Epimetheus lived, was a great wooden box. "What have you in that box,
Epimetheus?" she asked.

"That is a secret," answered Epimetheus, "and you must not ask any
questions about it; the box was left here for safety, and I do not
know what is in it."

"But who gave it you?" asked Pandora, "and where did it come from?"

"That is a secret too," answered Epimetheus.

"How tiresome!" exclaimed Pandora, pouting her lip. "I wish the great
ugly box were out of the way;" and she looked very cross.

"Come along, and let us play games," said Epimetheus; "do not let
us think any more about it;" and they ran out to play with the other
children, and for a while Pandora forgot all about the box.

But when she came back to the cottage, there it was in front of her,
and instead of paying no heed to it, she began to say to herself:
"Whatever can be inside it? I wish I just knew who brought it! Dear
Epimetheus, do tell me; I know I cannot be happy till you tell me all
about it."

Then Epimetheus grew a little angry. "How can I tell you, Pandora?" he
said, "I do not know any more than you do."

"Well, you could open it," said Pandora, "and we could see for
ourselves!"

But Epimetheus looked so shocked at the very idea of opening a box
that had been given to him in trust, that Pandora saw she had better
not suggest such a thing again.

"At least you can tell me how it came here," she said.

"It was left at the door," answered Epimetheus, "just before you came,
by a queer person dressed in a very strange cloak; he had a cap that
seemed to be partly made of feathers; it looked exactly as if he had
wings."

"What kind of a staff had he?" asked Pandora.

"Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw," cried Epimetheus: "it
seemed like two serpents twisted round a stick."

"I know him," said Pandora thoughtfully. "It was Mercury, and he
brought me here as well as the box. I am sure he meant the box for me,
and perhaps there are pretty clothes in it for us to wear, and toys
for us both to play with."

"It may be so," answered Epimetheus, turning away; "but until Mercury
comes back and tells us that we may open it, neither of us has any
right to lift the lid;" and he went out of the cottage.

"What a stupid boy he is!" muttered Pandora, "I do wish he had a
little more spirit." Then she stood gazing at the box. She had called
it ugly a hundred times, but it was really a very handsome box, and
would have been an ornament in any room.

It was made of beautiful dark wood, so dark and so highly polished
that Pandora could see her face in it. The edges and the corners were
wonderfully carved. On these were faces of lovely women, and of the
prettiest children, who seemed to be playing among the leaves and
flowers. But the most beautiful face of all was one which had a wreath
of flowers about its brow. All around it was the dark, smooth-polished
wood with this strange face looking out from it, and some days Pandora
thought it was laughing at her, while at other times it had a very
grave look which made her rather afraid.

The box was not fastened with a lock and key like most boxes, but with
a strange knot of gold cord. There never was a knot so queerly
tied; it seemed to have no end and no beginning, but was twisted so
cunningly, with so many ins and outs, that not even the cleverest
fingers could undo it.

Pandora began to examine the knot just to see how it was made. "I
really believe," she said to herself, "that I begin to see how it is
done. I am sure I could tie it up again after undoing it. There could
be no harm in that; I need not open the box even if I undo the knot."
And the longer she looked at it, the more she wanted just to try.

So she took the gold cord in her fingers and examined it very
closely. Then she raised her head, and happening to glance at the
flower-wreathed face, she thought it was grinning at her. "I wonder
whether it is smiling because I am doing wrong," thought Pandora, "I
have a good mind to leave the box alone and run away."

But just at that moment, as if by accident, she gave the knot a little
shake, and the gold cord untwisted itself as if by magic, and there
was the box without any fastening.

"This is the strangest thing I have ever known," said Pandora, rather
frightened, "What will Epimetheus say? How can I possibly tie it up
again?"

She tried once or twice, but the knot would not come right. It had
untied itself so suddenly she could not remember in the least how the
cord had been twisted together. So there was nothing to be done but to
let the box remain unfastened until Epimetheus should come home.

"But," thought Pandora; "when he finds the knot untied he will know
that I have done it; how shall I ever make him believe that I have not
looked into the box?" And then the naughty thought came into her head
that, as Epimetheus would believe that she had looked into the box,
she might just as well have a little peep.

She looked at the face with the wreath, and it seemed to smile at her
invitingly, as much as to say: "Do not be afraid, what harm can there
possibly be in raising the lid for a moment?" And then she thought
she heard voices inside, tiny voices that whispered: "Let us out, dear
Pandora, do let us out; we want very much to play with you if you will
only let us out?"

"What can it be?" said Pandora. "Is there something alive in the box?
Yes, I must just see, only one little peep and the lid will be shut
down as safely as ever. There cannot really be any harm in just one
little peep."

All this time Epimetheus had been playing with the other children in
the fields, but he did not feel happy. This was the first time he had
played without Pandora, and he was so cross and discontented that the
other children could not think what was the matter with him. You see,
up to this time everybody in the world had always been happy, no one
had ever been ill, or naughty, or miserable; the world was new and
beautiful, and the people who lived in it did not know what trouble
meant. So Epimetheus could not understand what was the matter with
himself, and he stopped trying to play games and went back to Pandora.

On the way home he gathered a bunch of lovely roses, and lilies, and
orange-blossoms, and with these he made a wreath to give Pandora, who
was very fond of flowers. He noticed there was a great black cloud in
the sky, which was creeping nearer and nearer to the sun, and just as
Ejpimetheus reached the cottage door the cloud went right over the sun
and made everything look dark and sad.

Epimetheus went in quietly, for he wanted to surprise Pandora with the
wreath of flowers. And what do you think he saw? The naughty little
girl had put her hand on the lid of the box and was just going to open
it. Epimetheus saw this quite well, and if he had cried out at once it
would have given Pandora such a fright she would have let go the lid.
But Epimetheus was very naughty too. Although he had said very little
about the box, he was just as curious as Pandora was to see what was
inside: if they really found anything pretty or valuable in it, he
meant to take half of it for himself; so that he was just as naughty,
and nearly as much to blame as his companion.

When Pandora raised the lid, the cottage had grown very dark, for the
black cloud now covered the sun entirely and a heavy peal of thunder
was heard. But Pandora was too busy and excited to notice this: she
lifted the lid right up, and at once a swarm of creatures with wings
flew out of the box, and a minute after she heard Epimetheus crying
loudly: "Oh, I am stung, I am stung! You naughty Pandora, why did you
open this wicked box?"

Pandora let the lid fall with a crash and started up to find out what
had happened to her playmate. The thunder-cloud had made the room so
dark that she could scarcely see, but she heard a loud buzz-buzzing,
as if a great many huge flies had flown in, and soon she saw a crowd
of ugly little shapes darting about, with wings like bats and with
terribly long stings in their tails. It was one of these that had
stung Epimetheus, and it was not long before Pandora began to
scream with pain and fear. An ugly little monster had settled on
her forehead, and would have stung her badly had not Epimetheus run
forward and brushed it away.

Now I must tell you that these ugly creatures with stings, which had
escaped from the box, were the whole family of earthly troubles. There
were evil tempers, and a great many kinds of cares: and there were
more than a hundred and fifty sorrows, and there were diseases in many
painful shapes. In fact all the sorrows and worries that hurt people
in the world to-day had been shut up in the magic-box, and given
to Epimetheus and Pandora to keep safely, in order that the happy
children in the world might never be troubled by them. If only these
two had obeyed Mercury and had left the box alone as he told them, all
would have gone well.

But you see what mischief they had done. The winged troubles flew out
at the window and went all over the world: and they made people so
unhappy that no one smiled for a great many days. It was very strange,
too, that from this day flowers began to fade, and after a short time
they died, whereas in the old times, before Pandora opened the box,
they had been always fresh and beautiful.

Meanwhile Pandora and Epimetheus remained in the cottage: they were
very miserable and in great pain, which made them both exceedingly
cross. Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a corner with his back to
Pandora, while Pandora flung herself on the floor and cried bitterly,
resting her head on the lid of the fatal box.

Suddenly, she heard a gentle tap-tap inside. "What can that be?" said
Pandora, raising her head; and again came the tap, tap. It sounded
like the knuckles of a tiny hand knocking lightly on the inside of the
box.

"Who are you?" asked Pandora.

A sweet little voice came from inside: "Only lift the lid and you will
see."

But Pandora was afraid to lift the lid again. She looked across
to Epimetheus, but he was so cross that he took no notice. Pandora
sobbed: "No, no, I am afraid; there are so many troubles with stings
flying about that we do not want any more?"

"Ah, but I am not one of these," the sweet voice said, "they are no
relations of mine. Come, come, dear Pandora, I am sure you will let me
out."

The voice sounded so kind and cheery that it made Pandora feel better
even to listen to it. Epimetheus too had heard the voice. He stopped
crying. Then he came forward, and said: "Let me help you, Pandora, as
the lid is very heavy."

So this time both the children opened the box, and out flew a bright,
smiling little fairy, who brought light and sunshine with her. She
flew to Epimetheus and with her finger touched his brow where the
trouble had stung him, and immediately the pain was gone.

Then she kissed Pandora, and her hurt was better at once.

[Illustration: OUT FLEW A BRIGHT SMILING LITTLE FAIRY.]

"Pray who are you, kind fairy?" Pandora asked.

"I am called Hope," answered the sunshiny figure. "I was shut up in
the box so that I might be ready to comfort people when the family of
troubles got loose in the world."

"What lovely wings you have! They are just like a rainbow. And will
you stay with us," asked Epimetheus, "for ever and ever?"

"Yes," said Hope, "I shall stay with you as long as you live.
Sometimes you will not be able to see me, and you may think I am dead,
but you will find that I come back again and again when you have given
up expecting me, and you must always trust my promise that I will
never really leave you."

"Yes, we do trust you," cried both children. And all the rest of their
lives when the troubles came back and buzzed about their heads and
left bitter stings of pain, Pandora and Epimetheus would remember
whose fault it was that the troubles had ever come into the world
at all, and they would then wait patiently till the fairy with the
rainbow wings came back to heal and comfort them.




MIDAS

ADAPTED BY C.E. SMITH


Once upon a time there lived a very rich King whose name was Midas,
and he had a little daughter whom he loved very dearly. This King was
fonder of gold than of anything else in the whole world: or if he did
love anything better, it was the one little daughter who played so
merrily beside her father's footstool.

But the more Midas loved his daughter, the more he wished to be rich
for her sake. He thought, foolish man, that the best thing he could do
for his child was to leave her the biggest pile of yellow glittering
gold that had ever been heaped together since the world began. So he
gave all his thoughts and all his time to this purpose.

When he worked in his garden, he used to wish that the roses had
leaves made of gold, and once when his little daughter brought him
a handful of yellow buttercups, he exclaimed, "Now if these had only
been real gold they would have been worth gathering." He very soon
forgot how beautiful the flowers, and the grass, and the trees were,
and at the time my story begins Midas could scarcely bear to see or to
touch anything that was not made of gold.

Every day he used to spend a great many hours in a dark, ugly room
underground: it was here that he kept all his money, and whenever
Midas wanted to be very happy he would lock himself into this
miserable room and would spend hours and hours pouring the glittering
coins out of his money-bags. Or he would count again and again the
bars of gold which were kept in a big oak chest with a great iron lock
in the lid, and sometimes he would carry a boxful of gold dust from
the dark corner where it lay, and would look at the shining heap by
the light that came from a tiny window.

To his greedy eyes there never seemed to be half enough; he was quite
discontented. "What a happy man I should be," he said one day, "if
only the whole world could be made of gold, and if it all belonged to
me!"

Just then a shadow fell across the golden pile, and when Midas looked
up he saw a young man with a cheery rosy face standing in the thin
strip of sunshine that came through the little window. Midas was
certain that he had carefully locked the door before he opened his
money-bags, so he knew that no one, unless he were more than a mortal,
could get in beside him. The stranger seemed so friendly and pleasant
that Midas was not in the least afraid.

"You are a rich man, friend Midas," the visitor said. "I doubt if any
other room in the whole world has as much gold in it as this."

"May be," said Midas in a discontented voice, "but I wish it were much
more; and think how many years it has taken me to gather it all! If
only I could live for a thousand years, then I might be really rich.

"Then you are not satisfied?" asked the stranger. Midas shook his
head.

"What would satisfy you?" the stranger said.

Midas looked at his visitor for a minute, and then said, "I am tired
of getting money with so much trouble. I should like everything I
touch to be changed into gold."

The stranger smiled, and his smile seemed to fill the room like a
flood of sunshine. "Are you quite sure, Midas, that you would never be
sorry if your wish were granted?" he asked.

"Quite sure," said Midas: "I ask nothing more to make me perfectly
happy."

"Be it as you wish, then," said the stranger: "from to-morrow at
sunrise you will have your desire--everything you touch will be
changed into gold."

The figure of the stranger then grew brighter and brighter, so that
Midas had to close his eyes, and when he opened them again he saw
only a yellow sunbeam in the room, and all around him glittered the
precious gold which he had spent his life in gathering.

How Midas longed for the next day to come! He scarcely slept that
night, and as soon as it was light he laid his hand on the chair
beside his bed; then he nearly cried when he saw that nothing
happened: the chair remained just as it was. "Could the stranger have
made a mistake," he wondered, "or had it been a dream?"

He lay still, getting angrier and angrier each minute until at
last the sun rose, and the first rays shone through his window and
brightened the room. It seemed to Midas that the bright yellow sunbeam
was reflected very curiously from the covering of his bed, and he sat
up and looked more closely.

What was his delight when he saw that the bedcover on which his hands
rested had become a woven cloth of the purest and brightest gold!
He started up and caught hold of the bed-post--instantly it became a
golden pillar. He pulled aside the window-curtain and the tassel grew
heavy in his hand--it was a mass of gold! He took up a book from
the table, and at his first touch it became a bundle of thin golden
leaves, in which no reading could be seen.

Midas was delighted with his good fortune. He took his spectacles from
his pocket and put them on, so that he might see more distinctly what
he was about. But to his surprise he could not possibly see through
them: the clear glasses had turned into gold, and, of course, though
they were worth a great deal of money, they were of no more use as
spectacles.

Midas thought this was rather troublesome, but he soon forgot all
about it. He went downstairs, and how he laughed with pleasure when he
noticed that the railing became a bar of shining gold as he rested his
hand on it; even the rusty iron latch of the garden door turned yellow
as soon as his fingers pressed it.

How lovely the garden was! In the old days Midas had been very fond of
flowers, and had spent a great deal of money in getting rare trees and
flowers with which to make his garden beautiful.

Red roses in full bloom scented the air: purple and white violets
nestled under the rose-bushes, and birds were singing happily in the
cherry-trees, which were covered with snow-white blossoms. But since
Midas had become so fond of gold he had lost all pleasure in his
garden: this morning he did not even see how beautiful it was.

He was thinking of nothing but the wonderful gift the stranger had
brought him, and he was sure he could make the garden of far more
value than it had ever been. So he went from bush to bush and touched
the flowers. And the beautiful pink and red color faded from the
roses: the violets became stiff, and then glittered among bunches of
hard yellow leaves: and showers of snow-white blossoms no longer fell
from the cherry-trees; the tiny petals were all changed into flakes
of solid gold, which glittered so brightly in the sunbeams that Midas
could not bear to look at them.

But he was quite satisfied with his morning's work, and went back to
the palace for breakfast feeling very happy.

Just then he heard his little daughter crying bitterly, and she came
running into the room sobbing as if her heart would break. "How
now, little lady," he said, "pray what is the matter with you this
morning?"

"Oh dear, oh dear, such a dreadful thing has happened!" answered the
child. "I went to the garden to gather you some roses, and they are
all spoiled; they have grown quite ugly, and stiff, and yellow, and
they have no scent. What can be the matter?" and she cried bitterly.

Midas was ashamed to confess that he was to blame, so he said nothing,
and they sat down at the table. The King was very hungry, and he
poured out a cup of coffee and helped himself to some fish, but the
instant his lips touched the coffee it became the color of gold, and
the next moment it hardened into a solid lump. "Oh dear me!" exclaimed
the King, rather surprised.

"What is the matter, father?" asked his little daughter.

"Nothing, child, nothing," he answered; "eat your bread and milk
before it gets cold."

Then he looked at the nice little fish on his plate, and he gently
touched its tail with his finger. To his horror it at once changed
into gold. He took one of the delicious hot cakes, and he had scarcely
broken it when the white flour changed into yellow crumbs which shone
like grains of hard sea-sand.

"I do not see how I am going to get any breakfast," he said to
himself, and he looked with envy at his little daughter, who had dried
her tears and was eating her bread and milk hungrily. "I wonder if it
will be the same at dinner," he thought, "and if so, how am I going to
live if all my food is to be turned into gold?"

Midas began to get very anxious and to think about many things he
had never thought of before. Here was the very richest breakfast that
could be set before a King, and yet there was nothing that he could
eat! The poorest workman sitting down to a crust of bread and a cup of
water was better off than King Midas, whose dainty food was worth its
weight in gold.

He began to doubt whether, after all, riches were the only good thing
in the world, and he was so hungry that he gave a groan.

His little daughter noticed that her father ate nothing, and at first
she sat still looking at him and trying to find out what was the
matter. Then she got down from her chair, and running to her father,
she threw her arms lovingly round his knees.

Midas bent down and kissed her. He felt that his little daughter's
love was a thousand times more precious than all the gold he had
gained since the stranger came to visit him. "My precious, precious
little girl!" he said, but there was no answer.

Alas! what had he done? The moment that his lips had touched his
child's forehead, a change took place. Her sweet, rosy face, so full
of love and happiness, hardened and became a glittering yellow color;
her beautiful brown curls hung like wires of gold from the small head,
and her soft, tender little figure grew stiff in his arms.

Midas had often said to people that his little daughter was worth her
weight in gold, and it had become really true. Now when it was too
late, he felt how much more precious was the warm tender heart that
loved him than all the gold that could be piled up between the earth
and sky.

He began to wring his hands and to wish that he was the poorest man in
the wide world, if the loss of all his money might bring back the rosy
color to his dear child's face.

While he was in despair he suddenly saw a stranger standing near the
door, the same visitor he had seen yesterday for the first time in his
treasure-room, and who had granted his wish.

"Well, friend Midas," he said, "pray how are you enjoying your new
power?"

Midas shook his head. "I am very miserable," he said.

"Very miserable, are you?" exclaimed the stranger. "And how does that
happen: have I not faithfully kept my promise; have you not everything
that your heart desired?"

"Gold is not everything," answered Midas, "and I have lost all that my
heart really cared for."

"Ah!" said the stranger, "I see you have made some discoveries since
yesterday. Tell me truly, which of these things do you really think
is most worth--a cup of clear cold water and a crust of bread, or
the power of turning everything you touch into gold; your own little
daughter, alive and loving, or that solid statue of a child which
would be valued at thousands of dollars?"

"O my child, my child!" sobbed Midas, wringing his hands. "I would not
have given one of her curls for the power of changing all the world
into gold, and I would give all I possess for a cup of cold water and
a crust of bread."

"You are wiser than you were, King Midas," said the stranger. "Tell
me, do you really wish to get rid of your fatal gift?"

"Yes," said Midas, "it is hateful to me."

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