{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_29483/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_29483","id":"gutenberg_29483","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29483","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THE.LITTLE.BROWN.HEN.HEARS THE.SONG.OF.THE.NIGHTINGALE\n\nBy Jasmine Stone Van Dresser]\n\n[Illustration: AND.WITH.THE.LENGTHENING. EVENING.SHADOWS.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n          The Little Brown Hen\n          Hears the Song of the\n          Nightingale\n          & The Golden Harvest\n\n          By Jasmine Stone Van Dresser\n\n          Author of \"How to Find Happyland\"\n\n          With an Introduction by Margaret Beecher White\n\n          The Illustrations by William T. Van Dresser\n\n          [Illustration: THE.LOUDEST.TALKERS.ARE.NOT.ALWAYS.WISEST..]\n\n          Paul Elder and Company\n          San Francisco and New York\n\n_Copyright, 1908_ _by_ Paul Elder and Company\n\n\n\n\n                      TO\n             WILLIAM T. VAN DRESSER\n            BUT FOR WHOM THE STORIES\n          WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN\n           THIS LITTLE BOOK IS LOVINGLY\n                 DEDICATED BY THE\n                    AUTHOR\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD.\n\n\nIt is the duty of all good, useful stories to give a message to their\nreaders. The two dainty stories contained in this little volume each\ncarries its message of truth. Pure, simple and wholesome in quality,\nthey cannot fail to refresh as well as instruct those who receive them.\n\nIn the _Golden Harvest_ the lesson of patience taught by the little\napple tree's experience will bear rich fruit I do not doubt, and the\nwisdom of the little brown hen cannot help but teach us all to listen\nfor the nightingale's song of harmony in our own lives.\n\n                                            MARGARET BEECHER WHITE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Little Brown Hen Hears the Song of the Nightingale\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nA POMPOUS old gander who lived in a barn-yard thought himself wiser than\nthe rest of the creatures, and so decided to instruct them.\n\nHe called together all the fowls in the barn-yard, and the pigeons off\nthe barn-roof, and told them to listen to him.\n\nThey gathered around and listened very earnestly, for they thought they\nwould learn a great deal of wisdom.\n\n\"The first thing for you to learn,\" said the gander, \"is to speak my\nlanguage. It is very silly for you to chatter as you do. Now we will all\nsay, 'honk!' one, two, three,--'honk!'\"\n\nThe creatures all tried very hard to say \"honk!\" but the sounds they\nmade were so remarkable that I cannot write them, and none of them\nsounded like \"honk!\"\n\nThe gander was very angry.\n\n\"How stupid you are!\" he cried. \"Now you all must practise till you\nlearn it. Do not let me hear a peep or cluck or a coo! You must all\n'honk' when you have anything to say.\"\n\nSo they obediently tried to do as he said.\n\nWhen the little brown hen laid an egg, instead of making the fact known\nwith her sharp little \"cut--cut--cut-cut-ah-cut!\" as a well-ordered hen\nshould do, she ran around the barn-yard trying to say, \"honk! honk!\"\n\nBut nobody heard her, and nobody came to look for the egg.\n\nThe guinea-fowls way down in the pasture ceased calling \"la croik! la\ncroik!\" and there was no way of finding where they had hid their nests.\nIn the afternoon, when their shrill cries should have warned the farmers\nthat it was going to rain, they were still honking, or trying to, so\nthe nicely dried hay got wet.\n\nNext morning chanticleer, instead of rousing the place with his lusty\ncrow, made an effort at honking that could not be heard a stone's throw\naway, and so the whole farm overslept.\n\nAll day there was a Babel of sounds in the barn-yard. The turkeys left\noff gobbling and made a queer sound that they thought was \"honk!\" the\nducks left off quacking, the chicks left off peeping, and said nothing\nat all, for \"honk!\" was too big a mouthful for them; and the soft\nbilling and cooing of the doves were turned into an ugly harsh sound.\n\nThings were indeed getting into a dreadful state, and they grew worse,\ninstead of better.\n\nThe hens forgot to lay eggs, the doves became proud and pompous like\nthe gander, and as for the turkey gobblers, they kept the place in an\nuproar, for they thought they could really honk! and they never ceased\nfrom morning till night.\n\nThere's no telling what it all would have come to if there hadn't been\none in the barn-yard, with an ear that could hear something besides the\ndreadful discords.\n\nOne night the little brown hen was roosting alone in the top of the\nhen-house. All at once she was awakened by the sweetest song she had\never heard.\n\nShe called to her chicks and to some of her companions to wake up and\nlisten; but they were sleepy and soon dozed off again, so the little\nbrown hen was left listening alone.\n\n\"I will ask the gander what this beautiful song means,\" she said. \"He\nknows everything.\"\n\nSo she awoke the gander and asked him who was singing the beautiful\nsong, and what it meant.\n\nThe gander said gruffly: \"It is the nightingale. I do not know what her\nsong means. She should learn to honk!\" And he tucked his head back under\nhis wing.\n\n\"Ah!\" thought the little brown hen, \"if learning the gander's language\ndoes not help me to understand this beautiful song, I do not think it is\nworth bothering with. I shall never try to say 'honk!' again.\"\n\nSo she went back to her roost and listened till the nightingale's song\nceased. Then she tucked her head under her little brown wing and went to\nsleep, her little heart singing within her.\n\nAt daylight she awoke, and hopping down sought her companions, eager to\ntell them the wonderful thing that was singing in her heart.\n\n\"This is a beautiful, simple world,\" she cried, \"and I have learned a\nvery wonderful thing!\"\n\nBut to her surprise, the creatures had no desire to hear what it was,\nfor they were all in a flurry getting ready for their next lesson in\nhonking.\n\n\"Indeed, you need not bother about honking,\" cried the little brown hen,\nbut nobody paid any attention to her.\n\nSo she called her chicks about her, and went her way, clucking merrily,\nwhile they picked up bugs, and dared to peep once more when they found a\nnice fat worm.\n\nMeanwhile the class in honking made very little headway, for no sooner\nwere they settled than they began to wish they knew what wonderful thing\nthe little brown hen had to tell.\n\n[Illustration: THEY.GATHERED.AROUND.AND.LISTENED.VERY.EARNESTLY..]\n\nThey craned their necks to watch her, and were filled with envy, seeing\nthat she and her chicks feasted bountifully, with very little\nscratching, whereas _they_ scratched in the barn-yard all day, and found\nonly enough bugs to quarrel over.\n\n\"Indeed!\" said one old rooster, \"we have learned nothing about the best\nway of scratching for bugs, with all our gabbling.\"\n\n\"I should be glad,\" spoke up a duck, \"to learn the wonderful thing that\nthe little hen has learned, so _I_ could keep from quarreling with my\nneighbors.\"\n\nThey all grew quite uneasy, and the gander became very angry.\n\n\"Such a stupid lot I have never seen!\" he cried. \"I have a great mind to\nlet you go your ways and not bother with you!\" and thereat he dismissed\nthe class in high dudgeon.\n\nThe first thing they all did was to take after the little brown hen.\n\n\"What is the wonderful thing you have learned?\" asked the gobblers,\nshaking their red throats and looking very important.\n\n\"Oh!\" said the wise little hen, \"I learned it by listening to the\nnightingale, and so can you, I presume, if you leave off that silly\nhonking. Just gobble as nicely as you can when you have anything to say,\nbut first be sure it is worth saying.\"\n\nThe turkeys wished the little brown hen would tell them and save them\nthe trouble of listening, but as they had paid no attention when she\noffered, they had nothing to do but follow her advice.\n\nSo they stopped honking and did very little gobbling, for they found\nthat they had not much of importance to say.\n\nThe ducks and the chickens and the doves all asked the same question,\nand the little brown hen gave them much the same answer:\n\n\"Just quack and coo and cluck as nicely as you can, and have a care to\nlay nice eggs. Attend very strictly to your own affairs, for I have\nfound that one learns a great deal by listening.\"\n\nAs they all took her advice, the barn-yard became a quiet, well-ordered\nbarn-yard again, with only so much cackling and clucking, and so forth,\nas to give it a business-like air.\n\nFor each one was listening to hear when the nightingale came, and first\nthing they knew each one heard the same song as the little brown hen,\nfor it was singing in all their hearts, and they understood it, whether\nthey quacked or gobbled or cooed.\n\n\"It does seem that there's a deal of talking these days,\" said the\nlittle brown hen, \"and it's mighty hard to listen; but even if the old\ngander does honk every now and then, nobody need pay any attention to\nhim, for, after all, it isn't always those with the loudest voices that\nhave the best things to say.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Little Apple Tree Bears a Golden Harvest\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nIN A thriving apple orchard full of trees richly laden with fruit, stood\none hardy little tree whose apples remained small and green and hard.\n\nThe little tree wondered why her fruit was so small, when that on the\nother trees grew so large and fine.\n\n\"But perhaps as these are my first apples they are slow in ripening,\"\nshe thought. \"I must be patient and before long the beautiful color will\nbegin to appear.\"\n\nSo day after day she watched for some signs of color on the cheeks of\nthe hard little apples, and time seemed to drag more and more slowly.\n\nBut life in an apple orchard is not altogether uneventful, and the\nlittle tree became interested in finding she could take part in what was\ngoing on about her.\n\nOne day there was a curious squawk in among her branches, and soon two\nrobins, each with a worm in his mouth, came flying in through the\nthick-leaved boughs, to their nest in a crotch of the tree.\n\n\"Our birdies are hatched!\" they cried, filling the gaping mouths. \"The\nlittle tree sheltered our eggs from storm and sun, and hid them so\ncarefully that no one could find them. We are safer in this tree than in\nany tree in the orchard.\"\n\nThe little tree was filled with joy at finding that, after all, there\nwas something she could do to be of use.\n\n\"I have watched the little blue eggs ever since you left them here,\" she\nsaid; and she seemed to snuggle her branches more closely about the\nnest.\n\nAt last the little robins grew strong enough to fly, and the nest was\nleft empty, though the young birds stayed in the orchard and often came\nto perch in the tree, and sing their song of gratitude.\n\nIndeed all the creatures about seemed to know that here was loving\nshelter for them. A little chipmunk made its home under the rock at the\nfoot of the tree, and frisked up the trunk and among the boughs. Many\nbirds perched in the branches and told wonderful song stories of what\nwas going on in the world.\n\nA merry little flycatcher chose a small twig under one of the boughs of\nthe apple tree, where it perched for hours, darting out when a fly or\nother insect buzzed by; but always returning to the little twig as if it\nwere home. In the shade of the thick-leaved boughs, the friendly cows\nsought shelter, patiently chewing their cud, and switching their tails\nto shoo off the flies.\n\nAnd so the earnest little tree did all she could to be of use, and was\nmore beloved, though she did not know it, than any tree in the orchard.\nYet she could not but think sadly of her little green apples, that\nseemed to show no signs of ripening.\n\nMany long summer days passed. The early harvest apples in their full\nprime were picked and barreled.\n\nEach day the golden pippins grew more juicy and golden; the big jolly\nBen Davis, wine-saps, northern spies, bellflowers and many others\nripening in their turn, filled the orchard with a delightful odor and\nglow of color; but the fruit on the one tree seemed as hard and backward\nas ever.\n\nThe trees with the beautiful fruit laughed and whispered among\nthemselves, and the little tree was very unhappy, for she thought they\nwere laughing at her.\n\n\"Surely my fruit _must_ begin to ripen soon,\" she thought.\n\nBut at night when the rest of the orchard was asleep, she wept silently\nto herself, for she wondered if it could be possible that her apples\nwould not ripen at all.\n\nAt last summer seemed to hold her breath. Day after day the warm\nsunshine beat down upon the orchard, drowsy with the richness and\nfulness of its almost completed labor. The trees now and then stirred\ntheir heavy branches, as if suggesting that it was time to be relieved\nof their burden.\n\nOne day a flock of merry children came to the orchard to play. The day\nwas cool, a gentle breeze stirred,--early fall had blown its first faint\nbreath.\n\nThe children frolicked all day, ate their luncheon on the grass, shook\ndown ripe apples, and with the lengthening evening shadows, began to\ngather up their baskets, happy and contented and ready to go home.\n\nA cool evening breeze sprang up with sudden briskness.\n\n\"Look at that black cloud!\" cried a little urchin.\n\nSuddenly the rain began to come down with a brisk patter; the children\nscampered quickly under the nearest tree; the dark cloud overspread the\nwhole sky, rain pelted down, a great wind roared through the orchard,\nbending the trees, and causing their branches to wave wildly and a\nshower of apples to fall.\n\n\"Oh, where shall we go?\" cried the children. \"The apples are pelting us,\nand the rain drives in upon us.\"\n\n\"Yonder under the little tree with green apples,\" cried one. \"See how\nthickly leaved it is, and how low the boughs bend; we shall be well\nsheltered there.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE WARM SUNSHINE BEAT DOWN UPON THE DROWSY ORCHARD]\n\nQuickly they rushed to the tree, and how gladly she gathered them in,\nand kept them dry under her loving arms; and not one of her apples fell\noff.\n\nSoon the shower was over, and the children scampered home, saying:\n\n\"It's a good thing we were near that tree, or we should have been\nsoaking wet. There isn't another one like it in the orchard.\"\n\nThe little tree heard their words of gratitude, and wept for joy.\n\nThe next day was bright and warm, and pleasant sunshiny weather\nfollowed. At last the haze of Indian summer settled lovingly over the\ncountry and the orchard rang with the voices of men and boys carrying\nbaskets and ladders.\n\n\"Too bad that equinoctial storm was such a blusterer,\" said one of the\nmen. \"These lazy trees have dropped much of their fruit, and it lies\nbruised on the ground.\"\n\nBut they picked barrel after barrel of the rich harvest, and soon the\nlittle tree was left alone with her burden of useless fruit.\n\nNow the trees seemed prouder than ever, and talked boastfully about the\nfine apple harvest _they_ had furnished for mankind.\n\nThe little tree sighed softly to herself.\n\n\"But I must not be unhappy,\" she said, \"for if I cannot bear beautiful\nred and golden apples, there is surely some work for me to do, and I\nshall find out what it is.\"\n\nAnd now, though the little tree had not noticed that her apples had\ngrown, her branches were bending almost to the ground with their weight.\nShe tried to shake off some of the apples, for it seemed to add to her\ndisgrace to bear so much of this useless fruit. But she could no more\nshake them off than could the wind and storm.\n\nThe clear cool fall days were passing, growing shorter and shorter. The\nlittle tree was very lonely now, for the chipmunk was snug in his winter\nhome, the birds had flown south and the cows now looked for sun instead\nof shade. The other trees, having finished their work, were preparing\nfor their long winter nap. The little tree way down in the corner of the\norchard seldom saw any one, but she was stout of heart, and kept on\nsaying:\n\n\"I know I shall find some way to be of use.\"\n\nShe did not pay much attention to her apples, for she had long ago given\nup hopes of their becoming red and ripe.\n\nEvery night now white frost tripped daintily over the hardening ground,\nand at sunup disappeared; the days were cool and bright; the frosts grew\nheavier and the weather colder.\n\nOne day there were voices in the orchard,--men and boys carrying baskets\nand ladders were coming; and to the astonishment of the little tree,\nthey stopped under her boughs, placed the ladders in the branches and\nclimbed up.\n\n\"Good old apples!\" cried one of the boys, dropping them into his basket\nwith a plump.\n\n\"A fine yield!\" said one of the men. \"Did you ever see anything more\nbeautiful than this rich golden brown?\"\n\n\"The sweetest apple that ever grew!\" said another. \"I don't feel that\nI've had an apple till November brings these.\"\n\n\"It's a wise Providence that saves this sweetest morsel for the last,\"\ndeclared a third.\n\nThe little tree listened, trembling with happiness. Could it be true?\n\nShe gazed at the fruit on her heavy branches, and there, like drops of\ngold, tinged with the sombre violet of November, hung ball after ball of\nthe luscious sweetness.\n\n\"Oh!\" she murmured, \"how blest I am to have so much to give, when all\nthe rest of nature is silent and sleeping. How happy I shall be, and how\nearnestly I will try to bear the sweetest apples ever grown!\"\n\nAt last the apples were all picked and carried to the great bins in the\ncellar, there to lie mellowing and sweetening for the farmer's use\nduring the long winter months.\n\nAnd the little russet apple tree went to sleep, and took her long nap\nwith the rest.","title":"The Little Brown Hen Hears the Song of the Nightingale & The Golden Harvest","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":3069}