THE HAPPY FAMILY by Hans Christian Andersen

small dock-leaf

Really, the largest green leaf in this country is a dock-leaf; if one holds it before one, it is like a whole apron, and if one holds it over one’s head in rainy weather, it is almost as good as an umbrella, for it is so immensely large. The burdock never grows alone, but where there grows one there always grow several: it is a great delight, and all this delightfulness is snails’ food. The great white snails which persons of quality in former times made fricassees of, ate, and said, “Hem, hem! how delicious!” for they thought it tasted so delicate—lived on dock-leaves, and therefore burdock seeds were sown.

Now, there was an old manor-house, where they no longer ate snails, they were quite extinct; but the burdocks were not extinct, they grew and grew all over the walks and all the beds; they could not get the mastery over them—it was a whole forest of burdocks. Here and there stood an apple and a plum-tree, or else one never would have thought that it was a garden; all was burdocks, and there lived the two last venerable old snails.

They themselves knew not how old they were, but they could remember very well that there had been many more; that they were of a family from foreign lands, and that for them and theirs the whole forest was planted. They had never been outside it, but they knew that there was still something more in the world, which was called the manor-house, and that there they were boiled, and then they became black, and were then placed on a silver dish; but what happened further they knew not; or, in fact, what it was to be boiled, and to lie on a silver dish, they could not possibly imagine; but it was said to be delightful, and particularly genteel. Neither the chafers, the toads, nor the earth-worms, whom they asked about it could give them any information—none of them had been boiled or laid on a silver dish.

The old white snails were the first persons of distinction in the world, that they knew; the forest was planted for their sake, and the manor-house was there that they might be boiled and laid on a silver dish.

Now they lived a very lonely and happy life; and as they had no children themselves, they had adopted a little common snail, which they brought up as their own; but the little one would not grow, for he was of a common family; but the old ones, especially Dame Mother Snail, thought they could observe how he increased in size, and she begged father, if he could not see it, that he would at least feel the little snail’s shell; and then he felt it, and found the good dame was right.

One day there was a heavy storm of rain.

“Hear how it beats like a drum on the dock-leaves!” said Father Snail.

“There are also rain-drops!” said Mother Snail. “And now the rain pours right down the stalk! You will see that it will be wet here! I am very happy to think that we have our good house, and the little one has his also! There is more done for us than for all other creatures, sure enough; but can you not see that we are folks of quality in the world? We are provided with a house from our birth, and the burdock forest is planted for our sakes! I should like to know how far it extends, and what there is outside!”

“There is nothing at all,” said Father Snail. “No place can be better than ours, and I have nothing to wish for!”

“Yes,” said the dame. “I would willingly go to the manorhouse, be boiled, and laid on a silver dish; all our forefathers have been treated so; there is something extraordinary in it, you may be sure!”

“The manor-house has most likely fallen to ruin!” said Father Snail. “Or the burdocks have grown up over it, so that they cannot come out. There need not, however, be any haste about that; but you are always in such a tremendous hurry, and the little one is beginning to be the same. Has he not been creeping up that stalk these three days? It gives me a headache when I look up to him!”

“You must not scold him,” said Mother Snail. “He creeps so carefully; he will afford us much pleasure—and we have nothing but him to live for! But have you not thought of it? Where shall we get a wife for him? Do you not think that there are some of our species at a great distance in the interior of the burdock forest?”

“Black snails, I dare say, there are enough of,” said the old one. “Black snails without a house—but they are so common, and so conceited. But we might give the ants a commission to look out for us; they run to and fro as if they had something to do, and they certainly know of a wife for our little snail!”

“I know one, sure enough—the most charming one!” said one of the ants. “But I am afraid we shall hardly succeed, for she is a queen!”

“That is nothing!” said the old folks. “Has she a house?”

“She has a palace!” said the ant. “The finest ant’s palace, with seven hundred passages!”

“I thank you!” said Mother Snail. “Our son shall not go into an ant-hill; if you know nothing better than that, we shall give the commission to the white gnats. They fly far and wide, in rain and sunshine; they know the whole forest here, both within and without.”

“We have a wife for him,” said the gnats. “At a hundred human paces from here there sits a little snail in her house, on a gooseberry bush; she is quite lonely, and old enough to be married. It is only a hundred human paces!”

“Well, then, let her come to him!” said the old ones. “He has a whole forest of burdocks, she has only a bush!”

And so they went and fetched little Miss Snail. It was a whole week before she arrived; but therein was just the very best of it, for one could thus see that she was of the same species.

And then the marriage was celebrated. Six earth-worms shone as well as they could. In other respects the whole went off very quietly, for the old folks could not bear noise and merriment; but old Dame Snail made a brilliant speech. Father Snail could not speak, he was too much affected; and so they gave them as a dowry and inheritance, the whole forest of burdocks, and said—what they had always said—that it was the best in the world; and if they lived honestly and decently, and increased and multiplied, they and their children would once in the course of time come to the manor-house, be boiled black, and laid on silver dishes. After this speech was made, the old ones crept into their shells, and never more came out. They slept; the young couple governed in the forest, and had a numerous progeny, but they were never boiled, and never came on the silver dishes; so from this they concluded that the manor-house had fallen to ruins, and that all the men in the world were extinct; and as no one contradicted them, so, of course it was so. And the rain beat on the dock-leaves to make drum-music for their sake, and the sun shone in order to give the burdock forest a color for their sakes; and they were very happy, and the whole family was happy; for they, indeed were so.

OLD NORTH WIND by Abbie Phillips Walker


Old North Wind lived away up in the North Pole Land in the winter, and there her children, the Icebergs, grew.

Old North Wind was very proud of her huge children, and when the long, cold winter was at an end she said: “My big, strong children, come with me. We will float away from this land where there is no one to see your beauty and go to the seas where the ships are sailing.

“Of course, you all cannot go, but I will take the three big brothers because they are the strongest, and show the old South Wind and the Sun we are stronger and mightier than they.”

So the three largest of the icebergs broke away from their brothers and sailed away with old North Wind, who blew her chilling breath on them as they went along.

“Ah, my beauties,” she said, “I will make you so strong that no breath of harm can come to you, and you shall crush the big ships and make all who see you tremble with fear.”

The Icebergs believed old North Wind, for they had never been away from North Pole Land and did not know anything about the warm South Wind, or how warm and melting Mr. Sun could be.

So they sailed and sailed until they came to the big ocean where the ships had to cross as they went from one land to another.

Old North Wind kept close to her big children, but one day old South Wind saw them.

“Oh, ho!” he said, “there is old North Wind with three of her sons. She is up to some mischief, I’ll be bound; so I will ask Mr. Sun to keep his eye on them.”

“I have been watching them for many days,” said Mr. Sun, “and with all of old North Wind’s cold breath I have warmed her sons more than she knows.”

At last one morning bright and early old North Wind espied a ship sailing right in their path.

“Now, my beauties,” she said, with a shrill laugh, “show your strength and crush the ship that dares to sail in your path. We are the rulers of the sea by right of might and we must show our strength.”

Blowing and shrieking, old North Wind hastened her sons toward the ship, and she was so intent on working destruction that she did not feel the warm breath of old South Wind or the rays of old Mr. Sun.

Suddenly she saw her huge sons shiver, and before she could blow a chilling blast upon them they swayed, and with a plunge sank from sight, and the water closed over them.

Old North Wind howled and blew, but the Sun and old South Wind drove her back toward her North Pole Land until the ship was safe from her wrath.

“You wait,” she shrieked as she ran away from Mr. Sun and old South Wind. “I’ll come again next year with bigger and stronger children and you shall learn who rules the seas.”

“Remember, North Wind,” said old South Wind in soft, gentle tones, “might is not always right, and while you can make much more noise than I can or old man Sun, we can always melt your children; so keep to your North Pole Land if you wish to keep them.”

Old North Wind bustled away with angry shrieks, but she knew full well the power of South Wind and Mr. Sun, but, like many people, she wanted to believe in her own strength and power; and so she roared louder and louder as she blew back to her cold homeland in order to convince herself of her might.

The Old, Rough Stone and the Gnarled Tree, by Johnny Gruelle

A great rough stone lay beneath a gnarled old tree. Years ago a tiny squirrel had climbed upon the stone to nibble some nuts, but before he had finished he was startled away.

“There!” thought the stone to himself as he saw a nut roll to the ground, “now that nut will take root and grow into a tree and I will have to lie here for ages beneath its branches. I wish the silly squirrel had gone some other place to eat the nuts!”

When the little nut took root and sent its tiny shoots up in the air, the old, rough Stone said, “There! I knew it!” and he disliked the tree from that time on.

The old, rough Stone watched the tiny green shoot grow and grow until it grew into an enormous tree.

“Just see how he pushes me up in the air with his roots!” the old, rough Stone said to himself.

When the gnarled tree was covered with leaves in the summer time, the old, rough Stone said, “Just see how he hides the blue sky from my view!”


And in the winter time when the limbs of the tree were bare, the old, rough Stone said, “Just see how he lets the snow and the cold rain fall right on me!”

One night during a heavy storm the old, rough Stone heard a crash, and in the morning he saw the gnarled tree lying upon the ground. “Now I shall be all by myself again!” he said. Then he counted the rings in the trunk of the gnarled tree until he came to three hundred, which was as far as he could count. “More than three hundred years have passed since that silly little squirrel dropped the nut from which this tree grew!” said the old, rough Stone to himself.

Then men came with axes and cut up the tree and carried all of it away.

When the hot summer days came the sun beat down upon the old, rough Stone and he missed the shade of the gnarled tree. “My! It’s hot!” said the old, rough Stone, “I wish the gnarled tree with its pretty rustling leaves were here again to shade me and keep me cool!”

When winter came the old, rough Stone missed the leaves which fell around him and kept him warm.

“Oh dear! How cold it is!” he cried, “I wish the gnarled tree would come back and scatter his leaves about me to protect me from the cold!”

So years and years and years passed, and the great old, rough Stone lay all alone.

“I wish another squirrel would come to eat nuts upon me!” he thought. “Squirrels are such knowing little creatures, I am sure another might drop a nut which would grow into a lovely tree to keep me company.”

But, many more years passed, and never again did a tiny squirrel sit upon the old, rough Stone and eat nuts. And never again did another tree grow above the old, rough Stone to keep him company.

“Ah me!” sighed the old, rough Stone, “We never know how well off we are until we lose something we really need!”