Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/cu31924027805864 EVENING TALES Done into English from the French of FRÉDÉRIC ORTOLI by Joel Chandler Harris Author of "Uncle Remus" Authorized Edition New York Charles Scribner's Sons 1919 Copyright, 1893, by Charles Scribner's Sons CONTENTS I PAGE A FRENCH TAR-BABY, 1 II TEENCHY DUCK, 13 III MR. SNAIL AND BROTHER WOLF, 34 IV THE LION'S SECRET, 39 V THE KING AND THE LAPWINGS, 64 VI THE ROOSTER, THE CAT, AND THE REAP-HOOK, 75 VII THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND, 101 VIII BROTHER TIGER AND DADDY SHEEP, 109 IX "JUMP IN MY SACK!" 128 X A SEARCH FOR A FRIEND, 155 XI A CHILD OF THE ROSES, 163 XII THE KING OF THE LIONS, 189 XIII THE VIZIER, THE MONKEY, THE LION, AND THE SERPENT, 198 XIV THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS, 222 XV LOONY JOHN, 261 INTRODUCTION Once upon a time Mr. Wendell P. Garrison, the literary editor of _The Nation_, sent me a picture he had found in a catalogue of French books. It represented a very interesting scene. There were the Tar-Baby and Brother Rabbit as natural as life; but Brother Fox was missing. His place had been supplied by Brother Billy Goat, whose formidable horns and fierce beard seemed to add to the old episode a new danger for poor Brother Rabbit. The picture was an advertisement of _Les Contes de la Veillée_, by Frédéric Ortoli. After a while the book itself came to hand, forwarded no doubt by some thoughtful American tourist who had been interested in the Tar-Baby in French. The volume was examined, and in some sort relished, laid aside for future reference, and then forgotten. But one night after supper the children of the household were suddenly missing. There was no romping going on in the hall. There were no voices to be heard on the lawn. There was no rippit taking place in the bedrooms. What could the matter be? Had the storm-centre moved in the direction of our innocent neighbors? The silence was so unusual that it created a sudden sense of loneliness. But the investigation that followed showed that the youngsters had merely made a temporary surrender of their privileges. Their mother was reading to them some of the stories in M. Ortoli's book, and they were listening with an interest that childhood can neither affect nor disguise. I begged permission to make one of the audience. "But you have writing to do," said one of the lads. "It will disturb you," said one of the girls.