A Story for Summer :: The Wild Rose

With temperature's in the 90's it looks like summer is really "a -coming and winter has gone away-o!" At least for this week. We're in the season of the Flower Queen, and she has remained undaunted by the cold as her flower children blossom.

The wild roses are just beginning to bloom, the white in full bloom and the rose not quite yet to open.

Here's a sweet story to tell for summer. It's appropriate for children of all ages, including the wee littles. It's about Mother Nature and a wild rose. It's easy to imagine the larks and humming-birds coming to visit. For the young child, the world is alive and the notion that Mother Nature might talk to her flower children is quite natural, that's what mothers do!

The Moss Rose
~ by Leonore E. Mulets
(with a few adaptations by me)

Once upon a time a little pink wild rose bloomed by the wayside. To all who passed her way she threw out a delicate perfume and nodded in kindly welcome.

The larks and the humming-birds all loved the pink wild rose. The baby grasses and the violets snuggled up at her feet in safety. To all she was kind and sweet and helpful.

One day Mother Nature passed that way. She saw the gentle wild rose sending out her helpful cheer to all. Mother Nature was pleased.

She stopped a moment on her way to speak to the simple flower. She praised the wild rose for her sweetness and her beauty and her kindness. At last she promised her her choice of all the beautiful things that were in the store of Nature.

The pink wild rose blushed quite scarlet at the praise. For a moment she stopped to think.

"I should like," said the wild rose, blushing more and more, "I should like to have a cloak from the most beautiful thing you can think of."

Mother Nature looked down at her feet. She stooped. She arose and threw about the blushing pink rose a mantle of the softest, greenest, most beautiful moss.

Mother Nature passed on her way.

The sweet rose by the roadside drew her mantle of moss closely about her and allowed it to trail down the stem. She was very happy. She was never again to be called the simple wild rose, but in her heart she knew that her beautiful mossy mantle would only help her in spreading sweetness and kindness and beauty and the perfume of happiness through Mother Nature's world.

With a snip, snap, snout, my tale's told out!

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The Moon Maiden, A Japanese Story

~ For those of you who may be seeking a story from Japan, this is a very old story that goes by many names. It makes a beautiful puppet story.

There dwelt once on the edge of the forest, at the foot of Fujiyama, a bamboo-cutter and his wife. They were honest, industrious people who loved each other dearly, but no children had come to bless them, and therefore they were not happy.

"Ah husband," mourned the wife, "More welcome to me than cherry blossoms in springtime would be a little child of my own."

One evening, she stood on the floor of her flimsy bamboo cottage and lifted her eyes toward the everlasting snows on the top of Fujiyama. Then, with swelling breast, she bowed herself to the ground and cried out to the Honorable Mountain:

"Fuji no yama, I am sad because no little head lies on my breast, no childish laughter gladdens our home. Send thee, I pray thee, from thy eternal purity, a little one to comfort me."

As she spoke, lo! from the top of the Honorable Mountain there suddenly sparkled a gleam of light as when the face of a child is lit by a beaming smile.

" Husband, husband, come quickly," cried the good woman. See thee on the heights of Fujiyama, a child is beaming upon me."

"It is but your fancy," said the bamboo-cutter and yet he added, "I will climb up and see what is there."

So he followed the trail of silvery light through the forest, and up above the steep slope where Fujiyama stood white and still above him. At last he stopped below a tall bamboo by the bank of a mountain stream, from whence the glow seemed to come. There, cradled in the branches of a tree, he found a tiny moon-child, fragile, dainty, radiant, clad in flimsy, filmy moon-shine, more radiant than any creature he had ever seen before.

"Ah, little shining creature, who are you?" he cried. " I am the Princess Moonbeam," answered the child. " The Moon Lady is my mother but she has sent me to earth to comfort the sad heart of your wife."

" Then, little Princess," said the Woodman eagerly, " I will take you home to be our child."

So the woodman bore her carefully down the mountainside.

" See, wife" he called, "what the Moon Lady has sent you."

Then was the good woman overjoyed. She took the little moon-child and held her close, and the moon-child's little arms went twining about her neck as she nestled snug against her breast. So was the good wife's longing satisfied at last.  

As the years passed by Princess Moonbeam brought nothing but joy to the woodman and his wife. Lovelier and lovelier she grew. Fair was her face, her eyes were shining stars and her hair had the gleam of a misty silver halo. About her, too, was a strange, unearthly charm that made all who saw her love her.

One day there came riding by in state, the Mikado himself. He saw how the Princess Moonbeam lit up the humble cottage and he loved her. Then the Mikado would have taken her back with him to court, but no! - the longing of an earthly father  and mother had been fulfilled, the Princess Moonbeam had stayed with them until she was a maiden grown, and now the time had come when she must go back to her sky mother, the Lady in the Moon.

"Stay, stay with me on earth," cried the Mikado.

"Stay, stay with us on earth," cried the bamboo-cutter and his wife.

Then the Mikado got two thousand archers and set them on guard close about the house and even on the roof, that none may get through to take her. But when the moon rose white and full, a line of light like a silver bridge sprung arching down from heaven to earth and floating along that gleaming path came the Lady from the Moon. The Mikado's soldiers stood as though turned to stone. Straight through their midst the Moon Lady passed and bent caressingly down for her long-absent child. She wrapped her close in a garment of silver mist. Then she caught her tenderly in her arms, and led her gently back to the sky. The Princess Moonbeam was glad to go back home, yet as she went, she wept silvery tears for those she was leaving behind. And lo!-her bright shining tears took wings and floated away to carry a message of love that should comfort the Mikado, and her earthly father and mother.

To this very day, the gleaming tears of the little Princess Moonbeam are seen to float hither and yon about the marshes and groves of Japan. The children chase them with happy eyes and say, " See the fire-flies! ow beautiful they are!" Then their mothers, in the shadow of Fujiyama, tell their children this legend--how the fire-flies are shining love messages  of the little Princess Moonbeam, flitted down to bring comfort to earth from her far off home in the silver moon.

With prayers and love and light to all the people of Japan....

The Little Pine Tree

~ Adapted from a German Legend

Once upon a time, in the deep forest, there grew a little pine tree, and its leaves were long, slender, green needles. But the little tree did not like its needles.

"I wish that I had beautiful leaves," it thought. "I wish that I might have leaves different from any of the other trees. If I could have my wish, I would have leaves all of shining gold."

After a while it came night, and the little tree went to sleep, and the Angel of the trees walked through the woods. In the morning the little tree had leaves of shining gold.

"How very beautiful I am!" it thought. "How my leaves sparkle in the sun! Now I shall always be happy!

In the night a man came to the woods with a bag. He picked off all the gold leaves, and took them home with him. Then the poor little tree had no leaves. "What shall I do?" it cried. "I will not wish for gold leaves again."

"How pretty crystal leaves would look! They would sparkle in the sun, but the man would not take them. I wish that I could have leaves of gleaming crystal."

That night Jack Frost appeared in the woods with his crystal wand and touched the tree. In the morning, when the sun peeped over the hill it looked at the little pine tree. All the other trees looked at it, too.

How beautiful it was! It had crystal leaves now, and they sparkled in the bright sunshine. The little tree was happy all the morning. But in the afternoon black clouds hid the sun, and the rain came down. The tree shivered in the wind.

When the shower was over, there were no crystal leaves to sparkle in the sunshine. The sun had melted every one, and the drops lay on the ground under the bare branches.

"I will not wish again to be better than my neighbors," cried the pine tree.

"If I had big green leaves like them I should be happy." Then the tree went to sleep, and once more the Angel of the trees walked through the woods. When it was morning the pine looked just like the other trees, for it had fine, large green leaves.

But the big leaves looked so good and juicy that an old goat came along, and he ate every one for his dinner.

"Alas!" cried the little tree. "A man took my leaves of gold. The wind broke my leaves of glass. A goat ate my large green leaves.

"I wish that I had my long, green needles again!"

The Angel of the trees was listening to all that the little pine tree said. The next day the birds flew to the little tree, and they were happy to see that it was covered again with long needles.

"Now, we may build our nests here," they said.

"Yes," said the tree. "I will hide your nests with my needles, and in the winter I will keep you safe and warm.

"Gold leaves, crystal leaves, and large green leaves were very fine; but nothing is so good for a little pine tree as its own long needles."

Enjoy!

A Halloween Story

by Elizabeth Thompson Dillingham

Once upon a time a big orange pumpkin was growing just outside a stone wall, far off in a field, all alone. The farmer had gathered all his pumpkins and stored them carefully in his great barn. But no one knew of the big orange pumpkin growing just outside the wall, all alone. The big orange pumpkin was lonely.

"I wish I belonged to some one, " said he.

"Miew, miew! I do, too," cried a little black pussy cat, stretching herself and jumping down form the stone wall where she had been sleeping.

"It will soon be winter," said the big orange pumpkin; "lets go find some one to belong to."

"Yes, lets do," said the little black cat, eagerly.

"I want to belong to a little girl with a sweet face and shining eyes."

"And I, said the big orange pumpkin, want to belong to a jolly little boy who whistles and sings when he works. Let's hurry right away to find them."

"Yes , let's do," said the little black cat.

So off they started-the big orange pumpkin rolling and tumbling along, and chuckling to himself as he went, and the little black cat pit patting along on her soft little cushions, purring because she was happy.

On and on they went, over the fields and through the woods. It began to grow cold, oh, so cold, and dark, too. The little black cat shivered as the wind whistled through the trees.

"See here," said the big orange pumpkin, "you can't sleep outdoors to-night. What shall we do?"

Just then they saw a man coming along the path with a bundle of wood on his back.

"Ho, Mr. Woodcutter!" cried the pumpkin "have you a knife?"

"That I have," said the merry woodsman. "What can I do for you, my fine fellow?"

"Just cut off a piece of my shell where the stem is, and scoop out some of my seeds, if you please," said the pumpkin.

No sooner said than done. "There, my little black pussy cat," said the pumpkin, "when you wish to sleep to-night, you may curl inside and be as warm as a sunbeam."

"But will you not come home with me?" asked the woodsman.

"Have you a little girl with a sweet face and shining eyes?" asked the black pussy cat.

"Have you a jolly little boy who whistles and sings when he works? "asked the big orange pumpkin.

"No, ah. no," said the woodsman, "but I have a pig and some hens."

"Then we'll go on," said the pumpkin, "but thank you kindly."

So on they went, and on, until the stars began to shine. Then the tired little pussy cat curled in her hollow nest, put on the cover, and went to sleep. In the morning they went on again, but before long
it began to rain. The pussy cat's soft fur was soon very wet.

"You poor little thing," said the big orange pumpkin; "curl inside your house and I will trundle you along."

"But it's so dark inside, and I couldn't see where we were going," cried the pussy cat, holding up a tiny, dripping paw.

"Windows!" cried the pumpkin. "Of course, windows! How silly of me! Wait here under this fence, my little friend, until I come back."

Then off he hurried across the road to a carpenter's shop.

"Ho, Mr. Carpenter!" Cried the pumpkin, "have you a knife?"

"That I have," said the jolly carpenter. "What can I do for you, my fine fellow?"

"Just cut some windows for me, if you please."

So the carpenter took a sharp knife and cut four windows-just like a face he made them, two for eyes, one for a nose, and one for a mouth, and he laughed as he did it.

When he finished the mouth, the pumpkin laughed too.

"Ha, ha, ha!" cried he. "What a relief to have a mouth to laugh with! Ha, ha, ha!" And he laughed all the way back in the rain to where the little shivering pussy cat was waiting.

And she laughed, too, and climbed inside her coach, and put on the cover. So on through the rain they went, and on and on. Just as dark was drawing near, they came to a wee, brown house by the side of the road. In the yard was a little boy picking up chips and putting them into a big basket. He whistled as he worked, and then he began to sing:

"If wishes were horses, then beggars might ride;
If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side."

Then the door opened, and a little girl with a sweet face and shining eyes stood on the threshold:

"What do you wish, John?' she called.

"Oh," Laughed the boy as he came in with the chips. "I wish I had a pumpkin for a jack-o'-lantern, for this is Hallowe'en."

"And I wish I had a pussy cat to love," said the little girl.

"This is the place for us!" whispered the big orange pumpkin; and he rolled up to the door, bumpety bump!

"Look, John!" cried the little girl, "here's your jack-o'-lantern!

The fairies must have sent it. Isn't it a beauty?"

"There's something inside," said John, snatching off the cover, and out jumped a tiny black pussy cat, straight into the little girl's arms.

"Oh, oh!" they cried.

And when mother came home in the dark, a jolly jack-o'-lantern with a candle inside was shining out of the window at her, and close beside it sat a little black pussy cat.

Snip, snap, snout, my stories told out. 

Elizabeth Thompson Dillingham was born in 1880, in Honolulu, Hawaii. I tried to learn more about her life and was unable to piece together a biography.

Warmly,