Folktales

Transcription

Folktales

Table of Contents
Lexile®
measure
3
The Unwelcome Neighbor 820L
5
Clever Hodja, Foolish Hodja 760L
7
Chickcharnies and Guava Duff 810L
9
The True Reward 670L
11
King of All Animals 13
The White Crane 700L
15
The Tailor’s Wish 740L
17
Stop the Hungry Giant Fish! 780L
20
The Woman in the Moon 760L
750L
©Highlights for Children, Inc. This item is permitted to be used by a teacher or educator free of charge for classroom use by printing or
photocopying one copy for each student in the class. Highlights ® Fun with a Purpose ®
ISBN 978-1-62091-264-5
Mother Crow snatched
a ruby necklace in
her beak and
f lew away.
The Unwelcome Neighbor
A tale from the Panchatantra retold by Santhini Govindan
Art by Barbara Knutson
The Panchatantra is a collection of
stories written long ago in India. Like
Aesop’s Fables, the stories teach how to
live a wise life.
Once upon a time a pair of crows came
across a huge old banyan tree. The tree
had strong branches and a wonderful roof
of green leaves that provided shade from
the sun. It seemed like the perfect place
to build a nest.
The crows immediately set to work.
©Highlights for Children, Inc. This item is permitted to be used by a teacher or educator free of
charge for classroom use by printing or photocopying one copy for each student in the class.
Highlights ® Fun with a Purpose ®
ISBN 978-1-62091-431-1
Soon a round nest was hidden high
among the leaves of the tree, ready for
the eggs that Mother Crow would lay.
One day, a huge black snake slithered
past the banyan. He noticed a deep, dark
hole at the bottom of the tree, and he
decided to make it his home.
This alarmed the crows. Father Crow
discussed the matter with the other
animals who lived in the banyan tree.
“Beware of the snake,” they said. “He is
dangerous. He will wait for a chance to
eat up all your babies!”
When Mother Crow heard this, she
began to cry. “How can I lay my eggs,
knowing that the snake will gobble up all
my babies as soon as they are hatched?”
she asked Father Crow.
“I want to leave! Let’s go far away and
make a new nest.”
“No, we must not leave,” said Father
Crow. “The banyan tree is the best place
for us to live. I will find some way to
drive away the snake.”
Mother Crow was reassured by Father
Crow’s words. She laid seven eggs, and
before long there were seven baby crows
in the nest. They quickly grew big and
fat under Mother Crow’s watchful eye.
Their noisy chirping could be heard all
over the banyan tree. The snake heard
it, too, and slithered up and down the
branches
of the tree every day, searching for the
crows’ nest.
“Please do something to drive away the
snake,” Mother Crow begged. “Otherwise
he will soon discover our precious babies
and eat them up!”
Father Crow decided to ask a wise old
fox for help. The fox listened to the crow’s
tale of woe and then came up with a
brilliant plan. He told the two crows to go
to the river the next morning. The ladies
of the royal household would be bathing
there. Their clothes and jewels would be
lying on the riverbank, watched over by
servants.
“Pick up a necklace and fly home,” said
the fox. “Be sure to make a loud noise so
that the servants will follow you. When
you reach the tree, drop the necklace into
the snake’s hole.”
The crows did exactly as the fox had
told them. Mother Crow snatched a ruby
necklace in her beak and flew away.
Father Crow cawed loudly to attract the
servants’ attention.
The servants chased Mother Crow, and
as they reached the banyan tree, they
saw her drop the necklace into the
snake’s hole.
When the servants tried to take the
necklace out of the hole with a stick, the
angry snake came out hissing. The
servants drew back in alarm, and then
tried to beat the snake. But the snake,
afraid for his life, slithered away as fast
as he could and never came back to the
banyan tree. Mother and Father Crow
lived there happily for many years and
raised many babies, too.
Clever Hodja,
Foolish Hodja
A Turkish Tale
Retold by Gale Sypher Jacob
Art by Allan Eitzen
Nasreddin Hodja was probably
a real person who lived in Turkey
in the thirteenth century. He is
famous in folklore for being both
clever and foolish.
Clever Hodja
Late one hot summer afternoon, Nasreddin Hodja strode
through his town of Ak Sehir
(AHK sheh-heer), heading toward
the palace of Tamerlane the Great.
Hodja carried an offering—a fat
goose roasted to a gleaming brown
by his wife, Fatima. Drops of
sweat dripped under Hodja’s
turban and loose, flowing kaftan.
His stomach felt tight with
hunger.
Outside town, Hodja stopped to
rest under a walnut tree. He
pinched his nose, trying to close
out the tempting smell of freshly
roasted goose. Then, before he
could stop himself, he ripped a
crispy brown leg from the goose
and gobbled down the tender
meat. Delicious!
He threw the bone into the
dusty roadside weeds, licked his
fingers, picked up the goose, and
walked on.
As he entered the palace, Hodja
wondered how he could explain
the one-legged goose. Ever since
Tamerlane had conquered Ak
Sehir, he and Hodja had enjoyed
each other’s company. Still, Hodja
feared offending the powerful
ruler.
“A tasty goose roasted this very
morning by my wife, Fatima,” said
Hodja, bowing and presenting the
platter to Tamerlane.
“Where l come
from, geese have
two legs.”
“I’ve heard that your wife is an
excellent cook,” replied Tamerlane. “But what is this? The goose
has only one leg! Where I come
from, geese have two legs.”
Hodja stood there, looking out
the window. His brain buzzed like
bees around flowers, searching for
an explanation.
“The geese of Ak Sehir are
famous for having only one leg,”
declared Nasreddin Hodja. “Just
look out into the palace garden.”
“Oh, Hodja, don’t be foolish,”
said Tamerlane with a chuckle.
“Let’s go and see,” insisted
Hodja. They walked outside.
In the sun-baked garden, near
the fountain, stood a flock of
sleeping white geese, each
balanced on one yellow leg.
“Perhaps I’ve been too busy to
notice,” said Tamerlane, “but you
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are correct. I see only one leg for
each goose.”
Hodja, who was anxious to be
gone before the geese woke up,
said, “Enjoy the goose. Peace be
with you.” Then he turned to
leave.
Just as Nasreddin Hodja
reached the garden gate, Tamerlane called for a servant by
clapping his hands twice. The
two loud claps woke the flock of
geese. Flapping and hissing, the
geese ran off—each on two
yellow legs.
“Ah, Hodja, you fooled me,”
cried Tamerlane the Great.
Hodja called back, “I should
have clapped my hands twice
before Fatima cooked the goose—
then it would have had two legs.”
Tamerlane laughed as Hodja
waved and disappeared.
Foolish Hodja
That evening, Hodja told Fatima
about their goose. “I fooled
Tamerlane the Great!” he boasted.
“You spoiled my perfect goose!”
she cried. “But you were also very
clever . . . instead of foolish.”
Fatima hugged him.
Hodja smiled. “Me? Foolish?”
“Only once in a while,” Fatima
replied, and they kissed each other
good-night.
Sometime after midnight, Hodja
woke and was thirsty. The water
jug near the bed was empty, so he
drowsily plodded outside to draw
water from the well. The wind
whispered in the cypress trees.
Half awake, Hodja leaned over
the well to lower the bucket. Then
his sleepy eyes popped open.
“Moon, l’ll
rescue you!”
“The moon has fallen into the
well!” he cried, his thirst forgotten. “It’s sitting down there, all
shiny and round!”
He lowered the bucket into the
well and shouted, “Moon, you
won’t drown—I’ll rescue you!”
Hodja felt the bucket scraping
the jagged rocks inside the well as
he let it down. Splash! He heard
the bucket hit the water. “Hop in
the bucket, Moon,” Hodja called.
“I’ll pull you up.”
Hodja braced himself against
the side of the well and pulled.
The bucket did not move.
Good! The moon has climbed
into the bucket, thought Hodja.
“Hold on tight!” he cried.
Hodja pulled harder. Nothing
happened.
“Moon, I’ll save you if it takes
all my strength!” Hodja called.
He drew a long breath, tightened every muscle, and yanked.
CRACK! The bucket’s handle,
which had been caught under a
rock, jumped loose, and the
bucket flew out of the well.
SMACK! It hit Nasreddin Hodja,
knocking him over. He lay there
on his back with his eyes closed,
rubbing his head.
When Hodja opened his eyes,
he looked up into the night sky.
“There it is!” he cried. “I’ve saved
the moon!”
Chickcharnies and Guava Duff
A Bahamian Tale
By Christina R. Chilcote
Art by JoAnn E. Kitchel
Sister Felice walked out of her
house to the clearing at the edge of
the forest.
“Good morning, Barque,” she
said to a skinny one-eyed dog. She
put a pan of water next to him and
scratched behind his ear.
“Good morning, Cheve,” she
said to a shaggy gray goat, and she
gave him a carrot.
“Good morning, Coquille,” she
said to a shiny strutting rooster as
she threw down a handful of
cracked corn.
“What shall I make today, dear
friends?” she asked the animals.
Sister Felice was the best cook on
all of Andros Island.
“Conch fritters?” she asked. Her
fritters made tongues tingle with
delight. But the animals didn’t
make a sound.
“Johnnycake?” she asked. Her
johnnycake made feet dance with
joy. The animals just looked at
her.
“Guava duff?” she asked. Spicy
and light, her guava duff made
you want to fly with the birds. All
at once, the dog howled, the goat
bleated, and the rooster crowed
with excitement.
Sister Felice was the best cook
on all of Andros Island.
Everyone wanted some of
Sister Felice’s guava duff—
including those red-eyed,
feathery-legged, treetop-dwelling
gremlins known as chickcharnies!
Making guava duff was hard
work. As Sister Felice peeled and
cored the fruit, she sang, “Who
makes the best guava duff?”
“You do! You do!” howled
Barque.
“What shall I make today?”
ISBN 978-1-62091-425-0
While she beat the butter and
sugar, she sang, “Who makes the
best guava duff?”
“You do! You do!” bleated Cheve.
While she waited for the guava
duff to cook, she sang, “Who makes
the best guava duff?”
“You do! You cock-a-doodle do!”
crowed Coquille.
When she’d finished making the
treat, Sister Felice realized that
she’d used all of the butter. How
would she make sauce for her
guava duff? Guava duff without
sauce was unthinkable.
Sister Felice decided that she’d
trade some of her dessert for some
of Sister Sephania’s butter. She
wrapped three of the fruit-filled
rolls and placed them in her
basket. Leaving the rest of the
warm guava duff on the table, she
hurried down the road.
Through the trees, two pairs of
glowing red eyes followed Sister
Felice as she walked down the
road. Two sets of feathered legs
stepped out of the forest. Two
elfin creatures decided to make
mischief. Chickcharnies!
Chickcharnies!
Coquille, the shiny strutting
rooster, sounded the alarm. He
puffed up his feathers, stretched
tall, and cock-a-doodle-dooed with
all his might. But the chickcharnies just smiled and locked
him in the chicken coop.
Cheve, the shaggy gray goat,
charged and tried to butt the
intruders. But the chickcharnies
just giggled and stepped aside.
Poor Cheve missed them, ran into
a tangle of vines, and got stuck.
Barque, the skinny one-eyed
dog, growled and barked. But the
chickcharnies just laughed. They
ran around and around him so fast
that he got dizzy and fell over.
Hearing the noise, Sister Felice
came running back and shouted,
“What’s happening?” When the
forest gremlins heard her voice,
they grabbed the guava duff and
headed for the trees.
Sister Felice chased them
behind the chicken coop. She
chased them around the panting
dog. She chased them past the
tangled goat right to the edge of
the forest.
Then she stopped to untangle
Cheve. “Tricky chickcharnies,”
bleated the shaggy gray goat.
She refilled Barque’s pan of
water and set it next to him.
“Tricky chickcharnies,” howled
the skinny one-eyed dog.
She let Coquille out of the coop.
“Tricky chickcharnies,” crowed
the shiny strutting rooster.
“Those chickcharnies need a
lesson,” whispered Sister Felice.
Now, Sister Felice was a
woman of magic. She reached into
the soft red bag that hung from a
leather cord around her neck.
Then she sprinkled magic powder
on the guava duff still in her
basket.
From the corner of her eye, she
saw four feathery legs at the edge
of the clearing. Loudly she said,
“Those tricky chickcharnies ate
most of my yummy guava duff,
but I still have some left. I’ll just
leave it here while I run to Sister
Sephania’s for more butter. Dear
friends, come with me so I can
keep you safe.”
She placed the last of the guava
duff on the table and led the
animals down the road.
As soon as they disappeared
from sight, the chickcharnies
dashed across the clearing and
into the cottage, where they
greedily began eating the guava
duff.
When the last piece was eaten,
patou!—the chickcharnies turned
into chick-hens. Sister Felice
jumped out from behind some
bushes, grabbed the chick-hens,
and put them into the coop.
The new chick-hens were
funny-looking birds with red eyes,
spindly legs, and mischievous
ways. Whenever they tried to
escape, the dog growled, the goat
nibbled their tails, and the rooster
scolded them.
They scratched the ground and
ate cracked corn just like other
chick-hens, but somehow their
eggs always tasted a little like . . .
guava duff.
“Those chickcharnies need a lesson.”
The True
Reward
A Mongolian Folktale
Retold by Stephen Cook
Art by Philip W. Smith
“Will you ask the
shaman to help me?”
A poor boy named Bold lived
alone in a small yurt south of the
icy vastness of the Siberian forest.
Bold decided to travel north
and request wisdom from the
White-Black Shaman to help him
overcome his poverty.
As he walked across a field, a
horseman approached and reined
in his stallion.
“My name is Ten-ThousandHorse-Owner,” said the man. “You
are trespassing on my land.”
“Forgive me,” said Bold. “I am
going north to make a request of
the White-Black Shaman.”
“Will you also make a request
for me?” asked Ten-ThousandHorse-Owner. “I have a beautiful
daughter who has never spoken a
word. Will you ask the shaman to
help my daughter speak?”
Bold nodded. “I will ask,” he
said. And he walked on.
As he approached the edge of
the Siberian forest, Bold heard
someone call to him from a small
hut.
“Help me,” said an old man in
ragged clothes as he crawled from
the hut. “My name is Wretched.
Could you give me a piece of bread
or some mutton jerky?”
“I have no food,” said Bold. “I
am going north to make a request
of the White-Black Shaman.”
“Will you make a request for
me?” asked Wretched. “Will you
ask the shaman to help me overcome my life of suffering?”
Bold nodded. “I will ask,” he
said. And he went on.
As he walked through the
forest, Bold reached a large scaly
log and began to step over it. The
log moved, and up reared the
head of an enormous snake.
“My name is Titan Snake! Why
are you walking in my forest?”
“My name is Bold. I am going
ISBN 978-1-62091-430-4
north to make a request of the
White-Black Shaman.”
“Will you also make a request
for me?” asked Titan Snake. “A
shaman told me that if I waited
nine years I would be transformed
into Rainbow Dragon. Nine years
have passed, and I am still Titan
Snake. Will you ask the WhiteBlack Shaman to help me become
Rainbow Dragon?”
Bold nodded. “I will ask.”
North of the frozen waters of
Lake Baikal, deep in a valley
surrounded by snow-covered
Siberian cedars and silver firs,
Bold found the yurt of the WhiteBlack Shaman.
Inside the yurt was a tall man
with a long mustache, seated on a
reindeer hide. “My name is
White-Black Shaman,” he said.
“Your name is Bold, is it not?”
Bold nodded in amazement.
“Yes,” he said. “I have come to
make requests.” He repeated the
requests of the three he had met
in his travels.
“As for Titan Snake,” said the
White-Black Shaman, “inside him
is a topaz gem. Have him spit out
the gem.
“As for Wretched, help him dig
under a single birch tree.
“As for Ten-Thousand-HorseOwner, his daughter will speak
when she first sees the man who
will one day become her husband.”
“I would like to make a request
of my own,” Bold said.
“No,” said the shaman. “Each
person may make only three
requests in a year.”
Bold hung his head.
“It is admirable that you asked
for the others before you asked
for yourself,” said the shaman.
“Continue to help others with a
pure heart, and you will have
your true reward.”
Bold returned to Titan Snake
and told him what the shaman
had said. The snake spit out the
gem. The gem f lashed brightly.
Suddenly Bold wore a precious
silk robe, a velvet hat, and fine
leather boots.
The gem f lashed again. Titan
Snake became Rainbow Dragon.
He soared through the sky, and
a beautiful rainbow stretched
behind him.
Bold returned to Wretched and
helped him find the lone birch
tree. Beneath the tree they found
nine golden plates.
“My suffering and poverty have
ended!” shouted Wretched. He
gave three of the plates to Bold,
and thanked him warmly.
Bold went to the home of TenThousand-Horse-Owner. He felt
confident now, and his travels
had made him wiser. His knock
was answered by the beautiful
daughter who had never spoken.
“Please tell your father that I
have traveled to see the WhiteBlack Shaman,” Bold said. “He
told me you will speak when you
first meet the man who will
become your husband.”
The daughter stepped from the
home and smiled at Bold. “How
kind you are,” she said. “And how
brave you must be to have made
such a journey. What is your
name?”
“You will
have your
true reward.”
King of All Animals
A Chinese Folktale
Retold by Vashanti Rahaman
Art by Allan Eitzen
When Tiger walked openly
through the jungle, he was Fear.
The deer fled in alarm. The
monkeys swung, screaming, to the
highest branches. The frogs dived
into the deepest pools. And the
turtles closed their shells and
hoped to be mistaken for mere
rocks. Even the wild oxen and wild
boar, crashing their way through
the undergrowth, kept a respectful
distance.
Truly, thought Tiger as he
uttered a roar that shook the
jungle, I am King.
When Tiger stalked and hunted,
none could see him.
He crouched, unmoving, in the
dappled shadows. The light that
filtered through the leaves and
branches made patterns on the
jungle floor that matched his
coat. The deer grazed quietly. The
monkeys played in the lowest
branches. The frogs basked on
the lily pads, and the turtles
lumbered by. Even the wild oxen
and wild boar crashed through the
undergrowth, just inches from
Tiger’s nose.
With one swift bound, Tiger
could have the dinner of his choice.
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There were times, however,
when Tiger got bored—bored with
deer and monkey and frog and
turtle and ox and boar. During
those times, Tiger roared his
dissatisfaction into the night and
went looking for other prey.
One day, Tiger hid in the tall
grass at the edge of the jungle.
Even there, the grass shadows
blended with his stripes, and none
could see him.
Mice and voles scurried by. A
snake slid into its hole. Tiger kept
waiting.
It was evening when a strange
creature with a pointed nose and a
bushy tail appeared, creeping
stealthily through the grass.
Tiger watched the stranger. He
had heard of such a creature, but
he had never seen it before. Stories
told of how difficult this creature
was to catch, but Tiger welcomed
the challenge.
He watched as the bushy-tailed
stranger stalked a mouse. He
waited with his powerful muscles
tensed. Then, just as the stranger
pounced on his unhappy prey,
Tiger leaped out.
The mouse darted away, but
Tiger kept a firm grip on the
stranger, who snarled in fury.
“How dare you!” cried the
stranger with great indignation.
“How dare you bare your fangs and
claws to me, Fox, King of All
Animals!”
“King, indeed!” said Tiger in
surprise. “What gives you the right
to make that claim?”
“Listen, and know,” said Fox.
“When I prowl the jungle, the deer
flee in alarm. The monkeys swing
to the highest branches. The frogs
dive into the deepest pools. And
the turtles close their shells and
hope to be mistaken for mere
rocks. Even the wild oxen and
wild boar, crashing through the
undergrowth, keep a respectful
distance.”
Tiger looked around
in wonder at the
frightened animals.
Tiger roared with fearsome
laughter. “If you can show me that
this is so,” he said, “I will let you go
free. But if you cannot, I will eat
you.”
“Very well,” said Fox, smiling
slyly. “Follow me. We will walk
together in the jungle.”
So Fox and Tiger strolled openly
along the jungle paths. Fox went
first, and Tiger followed close
behind. And indeed, the deer fled,
as did the monkeys and frogs. The
turtles lay still in fear, and the
oxen and boar kept their distance.
Tiger looked around in wonder
at the frightened animals. Could
it be possible that this small
doglike creature in front of him
was truly King of All Animals?
Something smelled of trickery.
But Tiger had made a promise,
and he always kept his promises.
“Go, strange one,” he said to
Fox. “I do not know whether or not
you are King of All Animals. But
you have shown that Fear can
walk the jungle with you. Go!”
And, lifting his bushy tail in
triumph, Fox disappeared into the
underbrush, leaving Fear behind.
The
White
Crane
A Japanese Folktale
Retold by Marilyn Bolchunos
Art by Dennis McDermott
Swirls of snow blew across the
path as the old man started home.
He had stayed out hunting longer
than he should have, but he still
had no luck. There would be no
meat to put in the soup that his
wife was cooking.
He quickened his pace so that
the storm would not overtake him
before darkness set in. But then
he heard a plaintive cry. Slowing
his pace to look, he saw that a
great bird had been caught in
a trap. It was struggling to free
itself, its wings beating the
ground and stirring up the snow.
He drew nearer and saw that
it was a white crane. Hunger
gnawed at the old man’s stomach,
but the crane was so beautiful
that he could not kill it. He
released it from the trap, and the
crane f lew away swiftly and
silently through the falling snow.
Later that evening, after finishing their thin soup, the old
man and his wife sat by the fire,
glad to be warm while the storm
“Come in! Come in!”
howled outside. Soon there was a
knock on the door, a timid knock
scarcely able to be heard above
the wind.
“Who can that be?” said the old
woman. “Who would be out on
such a night?”
Her husband went to the door
at once. Opening it a crack, he
saw a surprising sight. A tall,
slender girl, clad only in a
summer garment, stood there
trembling from the cold.
“Come in! Come in!” said the
old man. He led her to the fire.
“You poor child!” said his wife.
“Where did you come from, and
why are you out on such a cold
night?”
“I lost my way,” said the girl.
“Can I stay with you until the
storm is over?”
“Of course,” the old couple said.
Seeing that she was extremely
tired, they didn’t ask any more
questions that night. The girl was
so beautiful and looked so frail
that they were a little in awe of
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her. Soon the wife had tucked her
into bed, where the girl fell into a
deep sleep.
For a week the storm raged.
The old man finally went to the
village to see if anyone knew the
lost girl, but no one did. When
he returned home, the girl was
helping the old woman as she did
every day.
After talking it over with his
wife, the old man said to the girl,
“We would be pleased if you would
stay with us for a while. Maybe
someone will come looking for you,
but until then, please stay as long
as you’d like.”
The days passed pleasantly and
quickly. The girl was a great help
around the house, and the old
couple soon grew to love her gentle
ways. One day the girl said to
them, “You have been very kind to
me. I think of you as my parents,
and I want to repay you for your
kindness. If you will buy me some
thread, I will weave cloth that you
can sell in the village.”
“You are like the daughter we
never had,” said the old woman.
“You do not need to repay us.”
“Ah, but it would be my
pleasure to weave,” said the girl. “I
have only one request. While I am
weaving, please do not come into
my room. No one must watch me
weaving.”
Soon the loom was clicking and
clacking, ton-ka-la-ton, ton-ka-laton. Far into the night and all the
next day the girl worked.
Early the following morning she
brought out the cloth. Never had
the old man and his wife seen
such beautiful material—such
colors, such delicacy!
“Now,” said the girl, “you must
take it to the village. You will get
a good price for it, I think.”
She was right. The old man was
very pleased when he returned
with much gold. “This will take
care of us for some time,” he said
delightedly.
A few weeks later the girl again
went to the loom. Ton-ka-la-ton,
ton-ka-la-ton. Again she came out
with gorgeous cloth to be sold in
the village.
Winter gave way to spring, and
pink cherry blossoms bloomed
outside the window. Birds f lew
about singing in the sweet warm
air. How good it was to plant the
garden and to walk about together
after the work had been done.
One morning the girl said that
she had envisioned weaving the
most beautiful cloth of all. She
danced about the house and could
hardly wait for the old man to
bring home the weaving thread.
Then she went to her room and
shut the door.
For two days she worked. Tonka-la-ton, ton-ka-la-ton, day and
night, hour after hour. On the
third day, the old woman noticed
that the door stood open—only a
crack, but enough to see inside.
She pointed it out to her husband.
Perhaps they only meant to
pass by, but curiosity got the best
of them. They peeked in. There at
the loom stood a great white
crane, plucking out its feathers
and weaving them into the cloth.
Seeing this, the old woman gave a
little gasp. The crane looked up.
The old man and his wife turned
away immediately, but it was too
late. They went outside and sat
down, saying nothing.
A short time later, the girl came
out carrying the most beautiful
cloth anyone had ever seen. It
was beyond description. “Ah, my
parents,” she said, “now that you
have seen me in my true form, I
cannot stay with you any longer.
This cloth will bring much gold. It
is my farewell gift to you.”
“Don’t go! Don’t go!” said the old
man and the old woman. “We want
you to stay with us forever. You
are our daughter.”
“I’m sorry, my parents. I love
you, but I must go.” So saying, she
changed again into the great
white crane. She f lew under the
cherry tree, causing a shower of
pink petals, then she rose up, up
into the pale-blue spring sky.
The
Tailor’s
Wish
A Russian Folktale
Retold by Dorothy Leon
Art by Phil Smith
Once, in a small village in
Russia, there lived a svitnik—a
tailor—who was very poor. But he
felt he had the wealth of the world
because he had a devoted wife
who always praised him and
spoke loving words to him.
The tailor wished for nothing
more than to make her happy.
And so he toiled day and night
making svita, or clothing, in the
hope of earning enough money to
buy lovely gifts for her.
One day, while making a
woman’s coat and matching hat,
the tailor had a joyful thought.
When he finished the clothes, he
showed them to his wife. “For
you,” he said.
“For me? For me, Josef? They
are too fine for me. They are fit
for the wife of the tsar, not me.”
Josef took his wife’s hand into
his and said, “Svetlana, my love,
nothing is too fine for you. But I
shall listen to your wisdom. I
“The coat and hat
are fit for the wife of
the tsar, not me.”
shall take them to the tsar for his
wife. Then, upon my return, I
shall make a coat and hat for you
exactly to your bidding.”
And so Josef placed the coat
and hat in a large clean cloth,
mounted his horse, and rode
many miles to the tsar’s palace.
He arrived tired, but jubilant in
the thought that he had the finest
gift in the land for the tsarina.
He approached the guard at
the gate to the palace grounds. “I
have a handmade coat and hat for
the tsar’s wife, and I wish entry,
please,” Josef said.
“A gift for the tsarina?” With a
greedy look in his eye, the guard
said, “Remain here. I will deliver
it for you.”
ISBN 978-1-62091-429-8
“I need to deliver it myself to
determine if she’ll need any
changes,” Josef replied, surprised
at his own daring.
The guard thought for a
moment, then said, “Very well. I
will let you pass. But you must
know that whoever gives the tsar
a gift will be granted one wish,
and I want one-third of whatever
the tsar gives you.”
Reluctantly, Josef agreed. “I
shall give you one-third of
whatever the tsar gives me.” Then
he continued on his way to the
palace. He went past the orchard
in full bloom and past the field of
growing vegetables. Suddenly a
second guard approached him.
“Stop,” ordered the guard.
“What is in that package?”
“A handmade coat and hat for
the tsarina,” replied Josef.
The guard eyed the valuable
parcel. “You need not go farther. I
shall deliver it for you. You may
stay here and wait.”
“I wish to deliver it myself.”
Josef spoke more sternly than he
had ever dared speak to anyone.
The guard paused in thought.
“Surely you know that whoever
gives the tsar a gift will be
granted one wish. I will let you
deliver it, but I want one-third of
whatever the tsar gives you.”
Josef sighed. “I promise to give
you that.” Then he continued past
the stables, past the meadow filled
with grazing horses, cows, and
bulls, past the chicken house. At
last he was near the palace doors.
But before he could enter, he was
met by a third guard.
“And where do you think you
are going?” said the guard.
“I am going to see the tsar,”
replied Josef. “I have a handmade
coat and hat for the tsarina.”
The guard smiled greedily. “I
am the chief guard. I’ll be happy
to deliver them for you.”
“I must deliver them myself,”
Josef said firmly. “The tsarina
may need changes made.”
Sensing Josef’s determination,
the guard said, “I will permit you
to do that. But you may know that
the tsar offers one wish to the
giver of a gift, and if I let you enter
the palace, I want one-third of
whatever the tsar gives you.”
Josef had expected this reply.
He nodded, for he now had a plan.
“You shall have one-third.”
At last Josef entered the palace
and presented his gift to the
gracious tsarina. As she tried on
the new coat and hat, the tsar
looked on admiringly.
“Thank you, Josef,” the tsarina
said. “This is a most elegant coat
and hat. They fit me well. I shall
wear them with pride.”
The tsar turned to Josef and
said, “What fine gifts you have
made for my tsarina. As thanks, I
will grant any request you make.”
Josef had already decided what
“Your majesty,
the wish is not for
me alone.”
he would wish for. “I appreciate
your generosity, my lord,” said
Josef. “I wish for ninety-nine hours
of hard labor picking fruit in the
orchards and vegetables from the
garden, feeding the animals,
grooming the horses, milking the
cows, gathering eggs, and plowing
the land. Ninety-nine hours of
hard labor—no less, no more.”
The tsar was astonished. He
asked, “Why would anyone make
such a request?”
“Your majesty, the wish is not
for me alone,” said Josef. “I
promised to give each of the three
guards one-third of my wish, and I
always keep my promises.”
A broad smile spread over the
face of the tsar. “Your wish will be
granted. And since you possess
intelligence as well as skill, from
now on you shall be known as the
Tailor of the Tsar.”
“Tailor of the Tsar! I? Thank
you, my lord,” Josef said humbly.
And in his mind he began composing the words he would use to
tell his beloved Svetlana about
their unbelievable good fortune.
Crunch!
Crunch!
Crunch!
The earth trembled beneath
Nineti’s feet. She ran toward
Hagatna Bay. Out of the water
surged a giant parrotfish with a
mouth like a gaping cave and a
beak as sharp as spiraling coral.
It splashed as its mighty jaws
approached the jutting rock,
and . . .
Chomp!
The earth shook.
“Eeeee!” Nineti cried. “I must
warn the others!”
She f led toward her village.
Between gasps, she told the
maga’lahi, the chief, that a giant
sea creature was eating their
island.
The chief gathered the men,
who were known to possess great
strength. They decided they could
use their strength to seize the fish.
The men jumped into their
flying proas and soared out in the
fast-sailing canoes to catch the
beast. But the men could not find
the fish, even though they could
hear the rumbling of each bite.
Snap!
The giant fish continued to
devour the rock, but each
time the fish heard the men
approaching, it slipped into
deep underwater caves to hide.
Heart pounding, Nineti ran
toward the home of the maga’haga,
the wisest woman in the village.
There at the outside kitchen
she saw a gathering of maidens
sitting in a circle, weaving mats
and singing.
“A sea creature is eating our
island!” Nineti cried. “What can
we do so that our entire island
does not end up in the belly of a
fish?”
The wise old woman replied,
“I have seen the great parrotfish
that eats rock instead of coral.
Come join us. Together we will
think of a plan.” She motioned
Nineti to sit down with the others.
As she sat, Nineti noticed that
some of the best singers in
the village were there.
With every minute, the
ground shook more violently as
the parrotfish’s chomping brought
it closer. Nineti’s heart beat faster.
Nineti tried to concentrate on
the clean scent of the maidens’
long hair, f lowing like pools on
the f loor beside her. In order to
keep the maidens’ minds off the
Snap!
Stop the Hungry
Based on a Legend from the Island of Guam
By Pam Calvert
Art by Jamison Odone
shaking, the maga’haga started
to sing a new Kantan Chamorrita.
Nineti listened as the
women added verses
about catching the
attention of the village’s
strongest fishermen. One
girl sang about catching
him with her long hair.
This gave Nineti an idea.
Words formed in her head.
She sang:
Weave, weave with fingers quick
the nets to catch this giant fish.
Let us use our flowing hair
to grant this life-saving wish . . .
A light f lashed in the
maga’haga’s eyes. “Yes, child! You
are wise!”
The old woman brought out a
sharp shell knife and said, “We
need to cut off our hair and weave
it into a net if we are to defeat the
creature. Let us work together.
Quickly, quickly!”
The maidens let their
hair fall to the ground in
mounds. With the speed
of a sailfish, they nimbly
wove the black tresses
into a web. Songs f loated
through the air until the
powerful net was
complete. Then together the
maidens set off to find the great
fish.
But when the maidens arrived
at the bay, there was no sign of
the parrotfish. They saw only
men shaking their heads, with
faces full of worry.
Boom! Another bite was felt
underneath the island.
Nineti noticed lemon peels
bubbling up from the water.
“Look!” she said, pointing. “What
The island
would soon
split in two.
Giant Fish!
“A sea creature is
eating our island!”
is happening, Maga’haga?”
The old woman answered,
“They must be from Pago Bay.
The women there use lemon to
wash their hair.”
Nineti’s face grew hot, and she
whispered, “But Pago Bay is on
the other side of the island!”
The fish must have eaten a
tunnel underneath their island
and started to munch on the other
side. The island would soon split
in two! They needed to find a way
to get the fish to swim back to
Hagatna Bay.
The old woman shouted, “Hurry,
girls! Use your beautiful voices. We
will set a trap for the fish.”
At once, the maidens sang a
sweet, melodious song. Their hearts
were full of love for their people and
(Continued on next page)
(Continued from page 23)
their island. Tears sprang up in
Nineti’s eyes as she sang.
Suddenly, the rumbling stopped.
A giant gurgling came up from
the bay. The huge fish swam
toward the soothing
melody of the maidens’
enchanting voices.
“It’s time to throw the
net!” the maga’haga said.
Together, the women
hurled the net over the
fish and pulled.
“Harder!” the maga’haga
ordered.
But the fish was too strong.
Then the hundreds of men
and children looking on rushed
to the bay to help the women
pull on the net.
And it was the combined
strength of all the people on the
island—men, women, and
children—that was finally great
enough to haul the enormous
creature to shore.
That night, Nineti
shared in a feast of the
huge parrotfish that fed
all the people. Everyone
was thankful and proud
of the bravery of their
women.
For generations since,
the native people have pointed out
the narrow coastal “waist” to
their children and shared the tale
of how, working together, the
maidens miraculously helped to
save the island of Guam.
The fish
swam toward
the soothing
melody.
Everyone on the island
rushed to help.
ISBN 978-1-62091-428-1
Guam’s
“Waist”
The island of
Guam is a U.S.
territory in the
Pacific Ocean,
southeast of
Japan and west of Hawaii.
The island is 30 miles long
and 8 miles wide, except in the
middle, where it is only 4
miles wide (so it looks like a
waist). The indigenous people
of the island, the Chamorros,
tell this legend to explain how
the “waist” came to be—and
to honor the bravery of the
women on the island.
The Woman
in the
Moon
A Kumeyaay Legend
Retold by Jeannie Beck
Art by Katie Flindall
A great ball of
light fell across
the sky. Where
did it come
from?
A long time ago, a group
of native people in Southern
California traveled between
the mountains and
the ocean in search
of food and comfort.
They gathered acorns,
mushrooms, and berries
from the mountains.
They fished and found sea plants
and crabs by the sea. What they
found to eat depended on each
season’s gifts. These people called
themselves Kumeyaay.
Since travel was a natural part
of their lives, they had no need for
building permanent homes. They
often lived in dwellings made of
branches and clay, which could
easily be taken apart
when no longer in use.
The Kumeyaay
knew that all people
and animals
belonged to
the Earth equally, like
brothers and sisters. So
they shared the Earth’s
gifts and never took
more than they needed.
Still, one year was very hard.
There wasn’t enough food, no
The people
got weaker
every day.
ISBN 978-1-62091-343-7
matter how far they traveled. The
people felt weaker every day, and
their babies grew restless. Soon
the people became too tired to
travel at all.
One spring night, a young
Kumeyaay mother took her
baby into an open field
to sleep under the
moonlight. But because
she was hungry and
concerned for her people,
she had trouble sleeping.
The young mother looked into
the fullness of the moon and asked
for help for all the people.
“I came when
I heard you
calling.”
She turned to soothe her
baby and prepare herself
for sleep. Just then, she saw
a great ball of light falling
across the sky. It appeared
to land close to where
she was.
She stood and found the
glow in a nearby meadow.
The trees, grass, rocks, and
stream were all bathed in
a pleasing light, so she was
not afraid to step into its
circle.
Then she saw the most
beautiful woman she had
ever seen. The beautiful
woman smiled as if she had
always known the young
mother. “I came when I
heard you calling,” she said.
“Where have you come
from?” the young mother
asked.
The beautiful woman
pointed up at the full moon.
“I came down because you
asked for help unselfishly,
for all the people.” Then
the moon woman opened
her hand, revealing a pile
of bright kernels, gleaming
like stardust in the night.
The young mother had
never seen anything
like this.
“Plant these when the
moon is full, and remember me,”
said the moon woman. And she
explained how to harvest and
prepare the kernels, which she
called corn. The young mother
took the kernels in her hand.
Just then, the baby started to
cry. “Bring her to me,” said the
moon woman. She smiled. “I have
a gift for her also.” When the young mother
returned, the moon woman took
the baby in her arms and began
to sing. The young mother had
“Plant these when the moon
is full, and remember me.”
heard many types of songs in her
life, but never one so sweet and
enchanting.
The baby soon fell into a
peaceful sleep. “That was a
lullaby,” the moon woman said.
She handed the baby back to
the mother’s arms. “Sing it to all
the children who have trouble
sleeping, and remember me.” With
those last words, the moon woman
disappeared in a ball of light.
That spring, the young
Kumeyaay mother taught the
people how to grow corn, and she
also taught them to sing lullabies.
After this, the people didn’t have
to travel so often or far in search of
food, and they sang their restless
children into peaceful sleep. And
some children, even today, have
seen the face of that woman
smiling down from the moon. The
elders say that as long as there are
generous hearts, the moon woman
will be remembered.

Folktales

Transcription

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