Good Stories for Great Holidays: Arranged for Story-Telling and Reading Aloud and for the Children's Own Reading — John Shaqi
Good Stories for Great Holidays: Arranged for Story-Telling and Reading Aloud and for the Children's Own ReadingOlcott, Frances Jenkins
General
Good Stories for Great Holidays: Arranged for Story-Telling and Reading Aloud and for the Children's Own Reading
Olcott, Frances Jenkins
Children's literature; Holidays; Short stories; Storytelling
But in the corner by the house sat the little girl, with red cheeks and
smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the Old Year.
The New Year's sun rose upon the little body, that sat there with the
matches, of which one bundle was burned. She wanted to warm herself,
the people said. No one knew what fine things she had seen, and in what
glory she had gone in with her grandmother to the New Year's Day.
THE TWELVE MONTHS
A SLAV LEGEND
BY ALEXANDER CHODZKO (ADAPTED)
There was once a widow who had two daughters, Helen, her own child by
her dead husband, and Marouckla, his daughter by his first wife. She
loved Helen, but hated the poor orphan because she was far prettier than
her own daughter.
Marouckla did not think about her good looks, and could not understand
why her stepmother should be angry at the sight of her. The hardest work
fell to her share. She cleaned out the rooms, cooked, washed, sewed,
spun, wove, brought in the hay, milked the cow, and all this without any
help.
Helen, meanwhile, did nothing but dress herself in her best clothes and
go to one amusement after another.
But Marouckla never complained. She bore the scoldings and bad temper of
mother and sister with a smile on her lips, and the patience of a lamb.
But this angelic behavior did not soften them. They became even more
tyrannical and grumpy, for Marouckla grew daily more beautiful, while
Helen's ugliness increased. So the stepmother determined to get rid of
Marouckla, for she knew that while she remained, her own daughter would
have no suitors. Hunger, every kind of privation, abuse, every means was
used to make the girl's life miserable. But in spite of it all Marouckla
grew ever sweeter and more charming.
One day in the middle of winter Helen wanted some wood-violets.
“Listen,” cried she to Marouckla, “you must go up the mountain and
find me violets. I want some to put in my gown. They must be fresh and
sweet-scented-do you hear?”
“But, my dear sister, whoever heard of violets blooming in the snow?”
said the poor orphan.
“You wretched creature! Do you dare to disobey me?” said Helen. “Not
another word. Off with you! If you do not bring me some violets from the
mountain forest I will kill you.”
The stepmother also added her threats to those of Helen, and with
vigorous blows they pushed Marouckla outside and shut the door upon her.
The weeping girl made her way to the mountain. The snow lay deep, and
there was no trace of any human being. Long she wandered hither and
thither, and lost herself in the wood. She was hungry, and shivered with
cold, and prayed to die.
Suddenly she saw a light in the distance, and climbed toward it till she
reached the top of the mountain. Upon the highest peak burned a large
fire, surrounded by twelve blocks of stone on which sat twelve strange
beings. Of these the first three had white hair, three were not quite so
old, three were young and handsome, and the rest still younger.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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