Sara Cone Bryant - Stories to Tell Children
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Sara Cone Bryant >> Stories to Tell Children
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12 [Illustration: STORY-TELLING TIME
George Cruikshank]
STORIES TO TELL TO
CHILDREN
FIFTY-FOUR STORIES WITH SOME
SUGGESTIONS FOR TELLING
BY
SARA CONE BRYANT
AUTHOR OF "HOW TO TELL STORIES TO CHILDREN"
[Illustration]
LONDON
GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.
2 & 3 PORTSMOUTH STREET KINGSWAY W.C.
1918
THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH
GREAT BRITAIN
PREFACE
This little book came into being at the instance of my teaching friends.
Their requests for more stories of the kind which were given in _How to
Tell Stories to Children_, and especially their urging that the stories
they liked, in my telling, should be set down in print, seemed to
justify the hope that the collection would be genuinely useful to them.
That it may be, is the earnest desire with which it is offered. I hope
it will be found to contain some stories which are new to the teachers
and friends of little children, and some which are familiar, but in an
easier form for telling than is usual. And I shall indeed be content if
its value to those who read it is proportionate to the pleasure and
mental stimulus which has come to me in the work among pupils and
teachers which accompanied its preparation.
Among the publishers and authors whose kindness enabled me to quote
material are Mr John Murray and Miss Mary Frere, to whom I am indebted
for the four stories of the Little Jackal; Messrs Little, Brown &
Company and the Alcott heirs, who allowed me the use of Louisa Alcott's
poem, _My Kingdom_; and Dr Douglas Hyde, whose letter of permission to
use his Irish material was in itself a literary treasure. To the
charming friend who gave me the outline of _Epaminondas_, as told her by
her own "Mammy," I owe a deeper debt, for _Epaminondas_ has carried joy
since then into more schools and homes than I dare to enumerate.
And to all the others,--friends in whom the child-heart lingers,--my
thanks for the laughs we have had, the discussions we have warmed to,
the helps you have given. May you never lack the right story at the
right time, or a child to love you for telling it!
SARA CONE BRYANT
CONTENTS
PAGE
SOME SUGGESTIONS FOR THE STORY-TELLER
Additional Suggestions for Method--Two Valuable
Types of Story--A Graded List of Stories to dramatise
and retell 11
STORY-TELLING IN TEACHING ENGLISH
Importance of Oral Methods--Opportunity of the
Primary Grades--Points to be observed in dramatising
and retelling, in connection with English 27
STORIES TO TELL TO CHILDREN
TWO LITTLE RIDDLES IN RHYME 43
THE LITTLE YELLOW TULIP 43
THE COCK-A-DOO-DLE-DOO 45
THE CLOUD 46
THE LITTLE RED HEN 48
THE GINGERBREAD MAN 49
THE LITTLE JACKALS AND THE LION 55
THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE CITY MOUSE 58
LITTLE JACK ROLLAROUND 62
HOW BROTHER RABBIT FOOLED THE WHALE AND THE ELEPHANT 66
THE LITTLE HALF-CHICK 70
THE BLACKBERRY-BUSH 74
THE FAIRIES 78
THE ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE FIELD MOUSE 80
ANOTHER LITTLE RED HEN 83
THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN 87
THE STORY OF EPAMINONDAS AND HIS AUNTIE 92
THE BOY WHO CRIED "WOLF!" 96
THE FROG KING 97
THE SUN AND THE WIND 99
THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR 100
THE LARKS IN THE CORNFIELD 106
A TRUE STORY ABOUT A GIRL (Louisa Alcott) 108
MY KINGDOM 113
PICCOLA 115
THE LITTLE FIR TREE 116
HOW MOSES WAS SAVED 122
THE TEN FAIRIES 126
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER 130
WHO KILLED THE OTTER'S BABIES? 133
EARLY 136
THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER, AND THE JACKAL 137
THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE CAMEL 144
THE GULLS OF SALT LAKE 147
THE NIGHTINGALE 150
MARGERY'S GARDEN 159
THE LITTLE COTYLEDONS 171
THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE 176
ROBERT OF SICILY 178
THE JEALOUS COURTIERS 185
PRINCE CHERRY 189
THE GOLD IN THE ORCHARD 199
MARGARET OF NEW ORLEANS 200
THE DAGDA'S HARP 204
THE TAILOR AND THE THREE BEASTS 208
HOW THE SEA BECAME SALT 215
THE CASTLE OF FORTUNE 220
DAVID AND GOLIATH 227
THE SHEPHERD'S SONG 233
THE HIDDEN SERVANTS 236
LITTLE GOTTLIEB 243
HOW THE FIR TREE BECAME THE CHRISTMAS TREE 246
THE DIAMOND AND THE DEWDROP 248
SOME SUGGESTIONS FOR THE STORY-TELLER
Concerning the fundamental points of method in telling a story, I have
little to add to the principles which I have already stated[1] as
necessary, in my opinion, in the book of which this is, in a way, the
continuation. But in the two years which have passed since that book was
written, I have had the happiness of working on stories and the telling
of them, among teachers and students in many parts, and in that
experience certain secondary points of method have come to seem more
important, or at least more in need of emphasis, than they did before.
As so often happens, I had assumed that "those things are taken for
granted"; whereas, to the beginner or the teacher not naturally a
story-teller, the secondary or implied technique is often of greater
difficulty than the mastery of underlying principles. The few
suggestions which follow are of this practical, obvious kind.
Take your story seriously. No matter how riotously absurd it is, or how
full of inane repetition, remember, if it is good enough to tell, it is
a real story, and must be treated with respect. If you cannot feel so
toward it, do not tell it. Have faith in the story, and in the attitude
of the children toward it and you. If you fail in this, the immediate
result will be a touch of shamefacedness, affecting your manner
unfavourably, and, probably, influencing your accuracy and imaginative
vividness.
Perhaps I can make the point clearer by telling you about one of the
girls in a class which was studying stories last winter; I feel sure if
she or any of her fellow-students recognises the incident, she will not
resent being made to serve the good cause, even in the unattractive
guise of a warning example.
A few members of the class had prepared the story of _The Fisherman and
his Wife_. The first girl called on was evidently inclined to feel that
it was rather a foolish story. She tried to tell it well, but there were
parts of it which produced in her the touch of shamefacedness to which I
have referred.
When she came to the rhyme,--
"O man of the sea, come, listen to me,
For Alice, my wife, the plague of my life,
Has sent me to beg a boon of thee,"
she said it rather rapidly. At the first repetition she said it still
more rapidly; the next time she came to the jingle she said it so fast
and so low that it was unintelligible; and the next recurrence was too
much for her. With a blush and a hesitating smile she said, "And he said
that same thing, you know!" Of course everybody laughed, and of course
the thread of interest and illusion was hopelessly broken for everybody.
Now, anyone who chanced to hear Miss Shedlock?[A] tell that same story
will remember that the absurd rhyme gave great opportunity for
expression, in its very repetition; each time that the fisherman came to
the water's edge his chagrin and unwillingness were greater, and his
summons to the magic fish mirrored his feeling. The jingle _is_ foolish;
that is a part of the charm. But if the person who tells it _feels_
foolish, there is no charm at all! It is the same principle which
applies to any assemblage: if the speaker has the air of finding what he
has to say absurd or unworthy of effort, the audience naturally tends to
follow his lead, and find it not worth listening to.
Let me urge, then, take your story seriously.
Next, "take your time." This suggestion needs explaining, perhaps. It
does not mean license[A] to dawdle. Nothing is much more annoying in a
speaker than too great deliberateness[A] or than hesitation of speech.
But it means a quiet[A] realisation of the fact that the floor is yours,
everybody wants to hear you, there is time[A] enough for every point and
shade of meaning, and no one will think the story too long. This mental
attitude must underlie proper control of speed. Never hurry. A
business-like leisure is the true attitude of the story-teller.
And the result is best attained by concentrating one's attention on the
episodes of the story. Pass lightly, and comparatively swiftly, over the
portions between actual episodes, but take all the time you need for the
elaboration of those. And above all, do not _feel_ hurried.
The next suggestion is eminently plain and practical, if not an all too
obvious one. It is this: if all your preparation and confidence fails
you at the crucial moment, and memory plays the part of traitor in some
particular,--if, in short, you blunder on a detail of the story, _never
admit it_. If it was an unimportant detail which you misstated, pass
right on, accepting whatever you said, and continuing with it; if you
have been so unfortunate as to omit a fact which was a necessary link in
the chain, put it in, later, as skilfully as you can, and with as
deceptive an appearance of its being in the intended order; but never
take the children behind the scenes, and let them hear the creaking of
your mental machinery. You must be infallible. You must be in the secret
of the mystery, and admit your audience on somewhat unequal terms; they
should have no creeping doubts as to your complete initiation into the
secrets of the happenings you relate.
Plainly, there can be lapses of memory so complete, so all-embracing,
that frank failure is the only outcome; but these are so few as not to
need consideration, when dealing with so simple material as that of
children's stories. There are times, too, before an adult audience, when
a speaker can afford to let his hearers be amused with him over a chance
mistake. But with children it is most unwise to break the spell of the
entertainment in that way. Consider, in the matter of a detail of action
or description, how absolutely unimportant the mere accuracy is,
compared with the effect of smoothness and the enjoyment of the hearers.
They will not remember the detail, for good or evil, half so long as
they will remember the fact that you did not know it. So, for their
sakes, as well as for the success of your story, cover your slips of
memory, and let them be as if they were not.
And now I come to two points in method which have to do especially with
humorous stories. The first is the power of initiating the appreciation
of the joke. Every natural humorist does this by instinct, and the value
of the power to a story-teller can hardly be overestimated. To initiate
appreciation does not mean that one necessarily gives way to mirth,
though even that is sometimes natural and effective; one merely feels
the approach of the humorous climax, and subtly suggests to the hearers
that it will soon be "time to laugh." The suggestion usually comes in
the form of facial expression, and in the tone. And children are so much
simpler, and so much more accustomed to following another's lead than
their elders, that the expression can be much more outright and
unguarded than would be permissible with a mature audience.
Children like to feel the joke coming, in this way; they love the
anticipation of a laugh, and they will begin to dimple, often, at your
first unconscious suggestion of humour. If it is lacking, they are
sometimes afraid to follow their own instincts. Especially when you are
facing an audience of grown people and children together, you will find
that the latter are very hesitant about initiating their own expression
of humour. It is more difficult to make them forget their surroundings
then, and more desirable to give them a happy lead. Often at the
funniest point you will see some small listener in an agony of endeavour
to cloak the mirth which he--poor mite--fears to be indecorous. Let him
see that it is "the thing" to laugh, and that everybody is going to.
Having so stimulated the appreciation of the humorous climax, it is
important to give your hearers time for the full savour of the jest to
permeate their consciousness. It is really robbing an audience of its
rights, to pass so quickly from one point to another that the mind must
lose a new one if it lingers to take in the old. Every vital point in a
tale must be given a certain amount of time: by an anticipatory pause,
by some form of vocal or repetitive emphasis, and by actual time. But
even more than other tales does the funny story demand this. It cannot
be funny without it.
Everyone who is familiar with the theatre must have noticed how careful
all comedians are to give this pause for appreciation and laughter.
Often the opportunity is crudely given, or too liberally offered; and
that offends. But in a reasonable degree the practice is undoubtedly
necessary to any form of humorous expression.
A remarkably good example of the type of humorous story to which these
principles of method apply, is the story of _Epaminondas_ on page 92. It
will be plain to any reader that all the several funny crises are of the
perfectly unmistakable sort children like, and that, moreover, these
funny spots are not only easy to see; they are easy to foresee. The
teller can hardly help sharing the joke in advance, and the tale is an
excellent one with which to practise for power in the points mentioned.
Epaminondas is a valuable little rascal from other points of view, and
I mean to return to him, to point a moral. But at the moment I want
space for a word or two about the matter of variety of subject and style
in school stories.
There are two wholly different kinds of story which are equally
necessary for children, I believe, and which ought to be given in about
the proportion of one to three, in favour of the second kind; I make the
ratio uneven because the first kind is more dominating in its effect.
The first kind is represented by such stories as _The Pig Brother_,[1]
which has now grown so familiar to teachers that it will serve for
illustration without repetition here. It is the type of story which
specifically teaches a certain ethical or conduct lesson, in the form of
a fable or an allegory,--it passes on to the child the conclusions as to
conduct and character, to which the race has, in general, attained
through centuries of experience and moralising. The story becomes an
inescapable part of the outfit of received ideas on manners and morals
which is a necessary possession of the heir of civilisation.
Children do not object to these stories in the least, if the stories are
good ones. They accept them with the relish which nature seems ever to
have for all truly nourishing material. And the little tales are one of
the media through which we elders may transmit some very slight share of
the benefit received by us, in turn, from actual or transmitted
experience.
The second kind has no preconceived moral to offer, makes no attempt to
affect judgment or to pass on a standard. It simply presents a picture
of life, usually in fable or poetic image, and says to the hearer,
"These things are." The hearer, then, consciously or otherwise, passes
judgment on the facts. His mind says, "These things are good"; or, "This
was good, and that, bad"; or, "This thing is desirable," or the
contrary.
The story of _The Little Jackal and the Alligator_ (page 100) is a good
illustration of this type. It is a character-story. In the naive form of
a folk tale, it doubtless embodies the observations of a seeing eye, in
a country and time when the little jackal and the great alligator were
even more vivid images of certain human characters than they now are.
Again and again, surely, the author or authors of the tales must have
seen the weak, small, clever being triumph over the bulky,
well-accoutred, stupid adversary. Again and again they had laughed at
the discomfiture of the latter, perhaps rejoicing in it the more because
it removed fear from their own houses. And probably never had they
concerned themselves particularly with the basic ethics of the struggle.
It was simply one of the things they saw. It was life. So they made a
picture of it.
The folk tale so made, and of such character, comes to the child
somewhat as an unprejudiced newspaper account of to-day's happenings
comes to us. It pleads no cause, except through its contents; it
exercises no intentioned influence on our moral judgment; it is there,
as life is there, to be seen and judged. And only through such seeing
and judging can the individual perception attain to anything of power or
originality. Just as a certain amount of received ideas is necessary to
sane development, so is a definite opportunity for first-hand judgments
essential to power.
In this epoch of well-trained minds we run some risk of an inundation of
accepted ethics. The mind which can make independent judgments, can look
at new facts with fresh vision, and reach conclusions with simplicity,
is the perennial power in the world. And this is the mind we are not
noticeably successful in developing, in our system of schooling. Let us
at least have its needs before our consciousness, in our attempts to
supplement the regular studies of school by such side-activities as
story-telling. Let us give the children a fair proportion of stories
which stimulate independent moral and practical decisions.
And now for a brief return to our little black friend. _Epaminondas_
belongs to a very large, very ancient type of funny story: the tale in
which the jest depends wholly on an abnormal degree of stupidity on the
part of the hero. Every race which produces stories seems to have found
this theme a natural outlet for its childlike laughter. The stupidity of
Lazy Jack, of Big Claus, of the Good Man, of Clever Alice, all have
their counterparts in the folly of the small Epaminondas.
Evidently, such stories have served a purpose in the education of the
race. While the exaggeration of familiar attributes easily awakens mirth
in a simple mind, it does more: it teaches practical lessons of wisdom
and discretion. And possibly the lesson was the original cause of the
story.
Not long ago, I happened upon an instance of the teaching power of these
nonsense tales, so amusing and convincing that I cannot forbear to share
it. A primary teacher who heard me tell _Epaminondas_ one evening, told
it to her pupils the next morning, with great effect. A young teacher
who was observing in the room at the time told me what befell. She said
the children laughed very heartily over the story, and evidently liked
it much. About an hour later, one of them was sent to the board to do a
little problem. It happened that the child made an excessively foolish
mistake, and did not notice it. As he glanced at the teacher for the
familiar smile of encouragement, she simply raised her hands, and
ejaculated, "'For the law's sake!'"
It was sufficient. The child took the cue instantly. He looked hastily
at his work, broke into an irrepressible giggle, rubbed the figures out,
without a word, and began again. And the whole class entered into the
joke with the gusto of fellow-fools, for once wise.
It is safe to assume that the child in question will make fewer needless
mistakes for a long time because of the wholesome reminder of his
likeness with one who "ain't got the sense he was born with." And what
occurred so visibly in his case goes on quietly in the hidden recesses
of the mind in many cases. One _Epaminondas_ is worth three lectures.
I wish there were more of such funny little tales in the world's
literature, all ready, as this one is, for telling to the youngest of
our listeners. But masterpieces are few in any line, and stories for
telling are no exception; it took generations, probably, to make this
one. The demand for new sources of supply comes steadily from teachers
and mothers, and is the more insistent because so often met by the
disappointing recommendations of books which prove to be for reading
only, rather than for telling.
For the benefit of suggestion to teachers in schools where story-telling
is newly or not yet introduced in systematic form, I am glad to append
the following list of additional stories which will be found to be
equally tellable and likeable. The list is not mine, although it
embodies some of my suggestions. I offer it merely as a practical result
of the effort to equalise and extend the story-hour throughout the
schools. The list is roughly graded in four groups. Stories in the
present volume have been excluded.
STORIES FOR REPRODUCTION
FIRST GROUP
The Lion and the Mouse, AEsop
The Fox and the Crow, AEsop
The Hare and the Tortoise, AEsop
The Wolf and the Kid, AEsop
The Crow and the Pitcher, AEsop
The Fox and the Grapes, AEsop
The Dog and his Shadow, AEsop
The Hare and the Hound, AEsop
The Wolf and the Crane, AEsop
The Elf and the Dormouse[1]
The Three Little Pigs[1]
Henny Penny
The Three Bears[1]
Why the Woodpecker's Head is Red[2]
Little Red Riding-Hood
The Cat and The Mouse, Grimm
Snow White and Rose Red, Grimm
SECOND GROUP
The Boasting Traveller, AEsop
The Wolf and the Fox, AEsop
The Boy and the Filberts, AEsop
Hercules and the Wagoner, AEsop
The Shepherd Boy and the Wolf, AEsop
The Star Dollars[1]
The Pied Piper[1]
King Midas[1]
Raggylug[1]
Peter Rabbit, B. Potter
The Tar-Baby, Joel Chandler Harris
(from _Uncle Remus_)
The Tailor and the Elephant
The Blind Men and the Elephant
(_Harrap's Dramatic Readers_, Book II.)
The Valiant Blackbird, Wm. Canton
(from _The True Annals of Fairyland_)
The Wolf and the Goslings, Grimm
The Ugly Duckling, Andersen
The Old Woman and Her Pig[1]
The Cat and the Parrot[1]
THIRD GROUP
Little Black Sambo
Why the Bear has a Short Tail[2]
Why the Fox has a White Tip to his Tail[2]
Why the Wren flies low[2]
Jack and the Beanstalk
The Golden Fleece[3]
The Pig Brother[1]
The Ugly Duckling, Andersen
How the Mole became Blind[2]
How Fire was brought to the Indians[2]
Echo[4]
Why the Morning Glory Climbs[1]
The Bay of Winds[3]
Pandora's Box[4]
The Little Match Girl, Andersen
The Story of Wylie[1]
FOURTH GROUP
Arachne[4]
The Nuernberg Stove[3]
Clytie[3]
Latona and the Frogs[4]
Dick Whittington and his Cat
Proserpine[4]
The Bell of Atri[5]
The Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon, Edgar
(from _Stories from the Earthly Paradise_)
The Guardians of the Door, Wm. Canton
(from _A Child's Book of Saints_)
The Little Lame Prince, Mrs Craik
Narcissus[5]
The Little Hero of Haarlem[6]
The Bar of Gold[5]
The Golden Fish[5]
Saint Christopher[5]
The Four Seasons[7]
A further source for excellent stories put into a form which is
suggestive for purposes of retelling to children is the series of graded
reading books known as _Harrap's Dramatic Readers_.
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