STORY-TELLING 



5574 



STORY-TELLING 



triumph. You will conquer me, and then you 

 must lay me in a shallow grave, where the gentle 

 rain and the warm sun may reach me. But first 

 take from me my green and yellow garments." 



And on the fourth day it happened as he had 

 said. Hiawatha felt his strength coming to him 

 in great waves, and he wrestled with such power 

 that suddenly, before he knew how it had hap- 



WON AS A GIFT FOR HIS PEOPLE 



pened, Mondamin lay before him on the grass, 

 dead. 



Not quite understanding, but willing to obey, 

 Hiawatha stripped the soiled and torn garments 

 from the young stranger and laid him under the 

 soft mold. For days he watched beside the 

 grave, keeping the earth soft above it, driving 

 away the ravens, and pulling out the weeds. And 

 at last, one morning, he saw peeping through the 

 soft black earth a tiny point of green. Soon it 

 was a long green spear, and before the summer 

 was over there stood above the grave where 

 Mondamin had been laid the first maize plant, 

 with its waving green plumes and its yellow, 

 silken tresses the wonderful Indian corn, which 

 Hiawatha had won as a gift for his people. 



The Queer Little Baker Man 



Copyright : The Mothers' Magazine. 

 All the children were glad when the Little 

 Baker came to town and hung the sign above 

 his queer little brown shop. 



"THANKSGIVING LOAVES TO SELL." 

 Each child ran to tell the news to another 

 child, until soon the streets echoed with the sound 

 of many running feet, and the clear November 



air was full of the sound of happy laughter, as 

 a crowd of little children thronged as near as 

 they dared to the Little Baker's shop, while the 

 boldest crept so close that they could feel the 

 heat from the big brick oven, and see the gleam- 

 ing rows of baker's pans. 



The Little Baker said never a word. He 

 washed his hands at the windmill waterspout 

 and dried them, waving them in the crisp air. 

 Then he unfolded a long spotless table, and set- 

 ting it up before his shop door, he began to mold 

 the loaves, while the wondering children drew 

 nearer and nearer to watch him. 



He molded big long loaves, and tiny round 

 loaves ; wee loaves filled with currants ; square 

 loaves with queer markings on them ; fat loaves 

 and flat loaves and loaves in shapes such as the 

 children had never seen before, and always as he 

 molded, he sang a soft tune to these words : 

 "Buy my loaves of brown and white 

 Molded for the child's delight. 

 Who forgets another's need 

 Eats unthankful and in greed ; 

 But the child who breaks his bread 

 With another, Love has fed." 



By and by the children began to whisper to 

 each other. 



"I shall buy that very biggest loaf," said the 

 Biggest Boy. "Mother lets me buy what I wish. 

 I shall eat it alone, which is fair if I pay for it." 



"Oh," said the Tiniest Little Girl, "that would 

 be greedy. You could never eat so big a loaf 

 alone." 



"If I pay for it, it is mine," said the Biggest 

 Boy, boastfully, "and one need not share what 

 is his own, unless he wishes." 



"Oh," said the Tiniest Little Girl, but she said 

 it more softly this time, and she drew away from 

 the Biggest Boy and looked at him with eyes 

 that had grown big and round. 



"I have a penny," she said to the Little Lame 

 Boy, "and you and I can have one of those wee 

 loaves together. They have currants in them, 

 so we shall not mind if the loaf is small." 



"No, indeed," said the Little Lame Boy, whose 

 face had grown wistful when the Biggest Boy 

 talked of the great loaf. "No, indeed, but you 

 shall take the bigger piece." 



Then the Little Baker raked out the bright 

 coals from the great oven into an iron basket 

 and he put in the loaves, every one, while the 

 children crowded closer, with eager faces. 



When the last loaf was in, he shut the oven 

 door with a clang so loud and merry that the 

 children broke into a shout of laughter. 



Then the Queer Little Baker came and stood 

 in his tent door, and he was smiling; and he 

 sang again a merry little tune to these words : 

 "Clang ! clang ! my oven floor 

 My loaves will bake as oft before, 

 And you may play where shines the sun 

 Until each loaf is brown and done." 



Then away ran the children, laughing and 

 looking back at the door of the shop where the 

 Queer Little Baker stood and where the raked 

 out coals, bursting at times, cast long red lights 

 against the brown walls ; and as they ran they 

 sang the Queer Little Baker's merry song: 

 "Clang ! clang ! my oven floor 

 The loaves will bake as oft before." 



