India

این مطلب با توجه به READING صفحه ی 19 کتاب کمبریج گذاشته شده است.

please clike in the on the continue link for read about India 

 Australia

این مطلب با توجه به READING صفحه ی 19 کتاب کمبریج گذاشته شده است.

please clike in the on the continue link for read about Australia 

 physics

please click on the continue link to see Physics

 math

. To see this article please click on the continue link

This famous tale is short but very SNAPPY !

We bring you the Charles Perrault version – and he doesn’t mince his words. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED ! You may have heard this story before with a happy twist at the end. In this one that doesn’t happen. There’s NO HAPPY ENDING !!!. The Brothers Grimm were more kind to Little Red Riding Hood. (Compare versions if you are interested).

The moral of the tale should ring through today “DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS !!” This is Red Riding Hood’s fatal mistake when she meets the wolf on the way to Grandma’s.

Read by Natasha. Duration 7 minutes 10.
Original Pictures for Storynory bySophie Green.

Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a little red riding hood made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Red Riding Hood.

One day her mother, having made some cakes, said to her, “Go, my dear, and see how your grandmother is doing, for I hear she has been very ill. Take her a cake, and this little pot of butter.”

Little Red Riding Hood set out immediately to go to her grandmother, who lived in another village.

As she was going through the wood, she met with a wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he dared not, because of some woodcutters working nearby in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf, said to him, “I am going to see my grandmother and carry her a cake and a little pot of butter from my mother.”

“Does she live far off?” said the wolf

“Oh I say,” answered Little Red Riding Hood; “it is beyond that mill you see there, at the first house in the village.”

“Well,” said the wolf, “and I’ll go and see her too. I’ll go this way and go you that, and we shall see who will be there first.”

The wolf ran as fast as he could, taking the shortest path, and the little girl took a roundabout way, entertaining herself by gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and gathering bouquets of little flowers. It was not long before the wolf arrived at the old woman’s house. He knocked at the door: tap, tap.

“Who’s there?”

“Your grandchild, Little Red Riding Hood,” replied the wolf, counterfeiting her voice; “who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter sent you by mother.”

The good grandmother, who was in bed, because she was somewhat ill, cried out, “Pull the string, and the latch will go up.”

The wolf pulled the string n, and the door opened, and then he immediately fell upon the good woman and ate her up in a moment, for it been more than three days since he had eaten. He then shut the door and got into the grandmother’s bed, expecting Little Red Riding Hood, who came some time afterwards and knocked at the door: tap, tap.

“Who’s there?”

Little Red Riding Hood, hearing the big voice of the wolf, was at first afraid; but believing her grandmother had a cold and was hoarse, answered, “It is your grandchild Little Red Riding Hood, who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter mother sends you.”

The wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could, “Pull the string, and the latch will go up.”

Little Red Riding Hood pulled the string, and the door opened.

The wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes, “Put the cake and the little pot of butter upon the stool, and come sit on the bed with me.”

Little Red Riding Hood sat on the bed. She was greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her nightclothes, and said to her, “Grandmother, what big arms you have!”

“All the better to hug you with, my dear.”

“Grandmother, what big legs you have!”

“All the better to run with, my child.”

“Grandmother, what big ears you have!”

“All the better to hear with, my child.”

“Grandmother, what big eyes you have!”

“All the better to see with, my child.”

“Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!”

“All the better to eat you up with.”

And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up.

—-

Children who enjoy getting an education in music may have life-long interests in the subject they should pursue.

Dear Kidz,

These are wonderful Little Red Riding Hood illustrations

fairytale for our recording on Storynory. A Special thanks to Sophie Green who designed the picture’s. I hope they help bring the Story to life as you’re listening.

The pictures will be used as the backdrop for Little Red Riding, Digital Storytelling to come

So look out and Keep Listening!

Bye for now

N*

Read PRC ( post recording review) Fairytale Times

Many people love the Christmas Carol Good King Wenceslas and sing it every year without quite figuring out the story that it tells.

This Musical Christmas Double brings you the story and the song together so that you can compare the two.

Listen out for the beautiful rendition of the carol sung at the end of the story by Gabriella Burnel with Jamie McCredie on the guitar.

And the story is told by our very own Natasha. You can read Natasha’s reflections on this special Christmas story in her Post Recording Review.

The adaptation of the tale for Storynory is by Bertie.

A bit of history….

King Wenceslas (or Wenceslaus) was the Duke of Bohemia in the years 921-935. He is now patron Saint of the Czech Republic and is statue stands Wenceslaus Square in Prague. His feast day is September 28.

The chronicler Cosmas of Prague, writing in about the year 1119, says

Rising every night from his noble bed, with bare feet and only one chamberlain, he went around to God’s churches and gave alms generously to widows, orphans, those in prison and afflicted by every difficulty, so much so that he was considered, not a prince, but the father of all the wretched.

The episode in our story involving the pagan woman is a bit fanciful, by the way, and not history – although it was a time of conflict between Christians and pagans. The Duke’s mother, Drahomíra, was the daughter of a pagan tribal chief of Havolans and was baptised at the time of her marriage.

Audio hosted by SoundCloud.

On Christmas day as was his custom, on this special day every year, Duke Wenceslas visited each of the servants and soldiers in his castle, and pressed a gold coin into his or her hand.

The Duke walked through the cold stone passageways in the lower depths of his castle. As he stepped kitchen through the door, a fierce heat struck his face, and the smell of roast meat filled his nostrils. Two servants were turning swans on a giant spit over the fire. Elsewhere men and women, young and old, were busy with fetching, rolling, shouting, stuffing, stirring, scouring, scraping, and all the other tasks of the kitchen. Those who saw him enter stopped their work and bowed deeply. His page called out:

“Line up, line up for the Duke.”

And the kitchen staff scuffled around arranging themselves in order of rank, from the head cook to the young scullery maid who was just eleven years old.

Each of the servants received gold coin from the hand of their ruler with the words: “May the Lord Jesus Christ, our Saviour who was born on this day, bless you and watch over you.”

After the kitchen, the Duke proceeded to the guard house, and then to laundry, and then to maids of the bed chambers, and then to the stables. Last of all, he visited the dungeons. The jailers received his blessings and gold, and the prisoners received just his blessings.

He spoke last to an old woman prisoner:

“May the Lord Jesus Christ, our Saviour who was born on this day, bless you and watch over you.”

He looked into the woman’s eyes and saw that they were piercing blue. She must have been quite a beauty in her youth. He felt sorry that her life and folly had brought her to this dark prison cell on Christmas Day.

“What is her crime?” he asked the Jailer.

“My Lord, she is a priestess of the old school. She performed pagan rites and lead the people in the worship of false gods.

At this Duke Wenceslas said sadly:

“Tis a pity. Had she been guilty of a lesser crime…. had she been guilty of even murder, I would have set her free to go home and to die in her bed among her family.” And then he turned to the old woman:

“Do you not see now how the Christian religion teaches mercy and kindness? This Christmas Day I have pressed gold into the hands of the lowliest servant in my castle. Are you not impressed by my good works in the name of Jesus Christ? Do you not renounce the devil and your gods and come to the true Savior?. Only say the words “I do” and you shall be rid of your chains this Christmas Day.”

And the priestess lifted her gray head and fixed the Duke with her blue eyes:

“The scummiest jailer in your castle is a lord in comparison to peasants outside. You have no idea what it means to live in a hovel, to freeze in depths of winter, to have rags for clothes and a few sticks for a fire. Throw coins to your grovelling servants if it makes you feel good before you stuff yourself with rich food. But don’t talk to me of your false charity.”

As it was Christmas Day, the Duke did not order the woman to be whipped. He just shook his head at her insolence and her missed chance of freedom.

But as he climbed the winding stone stair back to the lighter world of his busy castle, her words were turning in his heart. And when he saw his servants going about their work, briskly, but smiling, he thought “Yes, you are the lucky few.”

He no longer felt satisfied with his Christmas routine. He ordered his servant to bring him his fur-lined cloak, boots, gloves and hat. Another servant strapped a sword to his side. The head stable boy brought his horse out into the courtyard and placed a small ladder against its side. Snow was already flecking the Duke’s beard as he stood and waited for all to be ready. And then he clambered onto his mount and rode through the gates of the castle followed by just a page on a gray mare.

“Boy,” he called back to the page,”Were you born in a village?”

“Oh no sire. I was born in the castle,” replied the boy.

“Do you have any relatives in a village?”

“Oh yes sire. My grandmother lives in a village not far from here.”

“Well take me there.” said the Duke.

And when they arrived in village, they found the boy’s grandmother at the drinking well, known as the fount of St. Agnes. She was using a long pole – a branch broken off a birch tree – and ramming it down into the well to break the ice.

“Here, give the good lady some gold,” said the duke. Which the page gladly did. At this, the other peasants of the village, who until now had been plodding through the snow on their business, came rushing over from all sides to beg the Duke for money.

“Back Back!” cried the page boy. The Duke took a handful of coins and scattered them on the ground. The peasants dived on them like a flock of birds on some crumbs of bread.

The Duke returned to the castle to resume his Christmas worship and festivities, but instead of feeling better for his generosity, he somehow felt troubled by it. As he celebrated the last Christmas of the millennium, the image of the priestess in the dungeon was always in his mind.

The next day – the feast day of St. Stephen – there was boxing and jousting in the tiltyard. Music, dancing and merrymaking continued throughout the afternoon and evening. But the Duke’s heart was still not fully in the celebrations. He stood up from his place in the banqueting hall, and went up onto the ramparts of the castle to take in the cold fresh air. It was a clear moonlit night. He looked out towards the village that he had visited the day before. He saw a peasant wandering across the fields, bending down every now and then to picked up sticks for the fire.

“Page, Page!” he called out – for his attendant was never far away – bring me food from from the table, the best bits, and bring wine, and fetch some logs for the fire. I intend to go out and give these things to that man – hurry hurry now. I shall wait for you by the gates of the castle.”

The Duke took the winding stairs down to the courtyard. Servants brought him his fur-lined clothes and boots – “No No,” he said. “I shall go without them”. And instead he took off his shoes and stood on the snow covered cobble stones. His feet were entwined in woolen strips – but that was their only covering.

The stable boy stood by with the Duke’s horse.

“Follow me,” the Duke said to the paige, “We are going on foot.” And seeing that that his master was not wearing a coat or hat, the poor page felt that disrespectful as he put on his own clothes – but the master did not seem to take notice.

The Duke and the boy, walked out through the gates of the castle, their arms filled with gifts. The servants shook their heads, convinced that not only had their Duke gone mad, but that he would catch his death of cold.

The peasant was heading for the village, and the Duke and the boy hurried after him. The Duke’s almost bare feet sank deep into the snow, but he did not seem to notice the cold. He strode on, propelled by some sort of super-human strength. The poor page boy felt the chill coming up through the soles of his boot and through his whole body. The wind cut into his face and he rubbed his nose to stave off frostbite.

“Sire, Sire,” he called out. “My strength is failing me.”

At first the Duke did not hear him. Only when the boy called out: “I cannot go on.” did he halt his progress across the snow. He turned round and saw the boy had fallen to his knees.

Duke Wenceslaus looked back to the castle. Although the night had grown darker, he could clearly see his footsteps all the way back. They were luminous like the moon.

“Good boy,” he said. “Stand up and place your feet in my footsteps.

And page, who was used to obeying his Duke’s every command, gathered his strength and rose to his feet.

“Here, here,” said the Duke. “This is my step. Place your foot on top of it.”

And the boy, seeing the pale blue glowing footsteps, placed his foot on the spot where the Duke’s foot and sunk into the snow. Then he lifted his other foot and placed it in the footstep behind. Instead of cold, he felt warmth and energy rising through his body. The Duke carried on ahead, and the boy, followed behind, now feeling as as full of life and energy as if he was striding across a meadow full of lambs one day in spring.

The Duke and the page caught up with the man just before he reached his village. They gave him their gifts, for which he thanked and blessed them. And on his return to the castle, the Duke set the pagan priestess free from the gaol.

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gath’ring winter fuel

“Hither, page, and stand by me
If thou know’st it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?”
“Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes’ fountain.”

“Bring me flesh and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will see him dine
When we bear him thither.”
Page and monarch forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind’s wild lament
And the bitter weather

“Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer.”
“Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the winter’s rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly.”

In his master’s steps he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod
Which the Saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing.

Santa came down to the pond, he scooped up Colin and took him over to another pond where he could be all alone.

At first Colin is happy with his present, but then he starts to have second thoughts….

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie.

Original Pictures for Storynory by Sophie Green.

It was getting round to that time of year, and all the little tadpoles who live in the pond were very, very, very excited. “Yippeee ! they were saying “We’re going to have lots and lots and lots of green slime for lunch – and presents, and games, and wrapping paper.”

“Oh hark the little tadpoles,’ said Colin from beneath a stone. “No they’re going to have wrapping paper in a pond ! That’s really intelligent. It’s not as if paper is going to get at all soggy in the water.”

Prince Bertie the Frog was sitting on a stone watching all the tadpoles swimming in somersaults and circles, and he was starting to feel quite Christmassy. At this time of year, he always remembers the lovely princess Beatrice, how, when he was still a prince, they used to walk hand in hand over the frosty lawns and round the palace ponds , and she would ask him,

“Bertie darling, dearest, do you think that fish get cold in winter? I”m quite sure that I saw that big ugly carp shiver. Poor thing. No wonder his face looks so grumpy. Can’t we get the water heated for the pond life?”

And Bertie would say,

“My precious petal. You are truly the sweetest princess in the whole wide world. But don’t worry yourself on account of the frogs and fishes. They aren’t like humans. They don’t mind the cold at all.”

But now that poor Prince Bertie has been turned into a frog, he knows differently. “Brrr.” he said. “If only I could have a nice hot bath.’

Colin overheard Bertie saying this and said: “Ah ! At long last a voice of reason ! Bertie, you and I are the only sensible creatures in this pond. Doesn’t all this merry Christmas stuff drive you crazy? It’s the coldest, darkest, most boring time of the year, and everyone keeps telling you to be happy. ! UUUUGH ! “

“Well actually, I’m afraid I can’t agree with you there,” said Bertie. “Christmas is cold in this part of the world, but it is merry! “

“No it’s not,’ said Colin. “It’s a pain.’

“Yes it is Merry.” said Bertie. “It’s a time of a goodwill to all creatures on earth.”

“Rubbish! “ said Colin.

Just then, Tim, who is a tiny Tadpole, swam up to Colin’s left nostril and said

“Oh Mr. Carp. What do you want for Christmas?”

“That’s easy.” said Colin glumly. “I want to be alone.”

Now, as Bertie always says, you should never wish for something unless you truly want it in your heart – for you never know, your wish might come true, and they you will be sorry. And it so happened that the Christmas fairy was swimming past when Colin asked to be alone, and she heard this wish, and reported it back to Santa. And on Christmas night, when santa came down to the pond with a sack full of fresh green slime for all the pondlife, he scooped up the sleeping Colin into a bucket of water, and took him over to another pond at the other end of the garden. A pond where nobody lived except a gold statue of a cherub. And the cherub didn’t really live at all. He just spouted water out of his mouth.

“Yo ho-ho” said Santa. “There you are carp. Santa always delivers. This Christmas you shall be all alone !”

And in the morning, Colin opened his sleepy eyes and said to himself. “Oh no. It’s the worst day of the year. Those tadpoles will soon be singing christmas carols. I think I’ll just hide under a stone until it’s all over.”

But after a while, he couldn’t help noticing that the pond was strangely quiet. He swam around a bit, and found that it was wonderfully free of stilly tadpoles, quacking ducks, stuck-up swans, and deluded frogs who think that they are princes.

“This is fabulous! “ said Colin. “Just listen to that peace and quiet. Santa must have heard my wish and given me my own pond for christmas ! That’s because I’ve been such a good carp all year round. Thank you Santa ! I’m truly grateful. The only problem is….it’s just perfect. What am going to grump about ? Oh never mind that. I’m…. I’m…. I’m happy!”

And he even did a little dance in the water, because nobody was looking, and he really was happy to be alone for once.

In the Royal Palace, all the children who live there were very excited about all the presents waiting to be opened under the Christmas tree. But the wicked queen was in a furious mood, because she simply hates Christmas, even more than Colin does.

She went into the kitchen where the cook and her helpers were all working hard making lunch. And the Queen screeched.

“Not turkey ! I hate turkey ! It’s the stupidest bird that was ever eaten!”

“Oh madam, “ said the cook. “I ordered the turkey weeks ago. There’s nothing else for lunch.”

“Well let everyone else stuff themselves silly with turkey and roast potatoes. A queen has to mind her figure. I want something healthy. I want, I want….. er fish. In fact, I want poached carp with a little sprig of parsley.”

And with those words, the Wicked Queen swept out of the kitchen and went up stairs to shout at the children.

Princess Beatrice loved Christmas day more than any other day in the whole year. She was just coming back from church when she decided to take a little walk around the ponds and remember her long lost Prince Bertie. Her happiness was tinged with a sadness as she thought about her handsome prince whom she hadn’t seen for quite a while, but she was sure that he would return one day from a brave quest and they would be married and live happily ever after.

At the edge of the garden, she stopped at the pond where Colin was enjoying his solitude. Even though he was happy, his face still looked grumpy. It was just made that way.

“Poor fish.,” said Beatrice. “He’s all on his own on Christmas Day. I”m sure he’s the same one I’ve seen many times before on the other side of the garden, in that slimy pond where they funny looking frog lives. I know. I’ll go and get a net and a bucket, and I’ll take him back to the other pond so he can have some company. That will be a lovely Christmas present for him.”

Colin heard this and he said, “Oh no. Your Royal Highness. That’s not what I want at all….” But Beatrice couldn’t understand what Colin was saying, because he’s just a fish, and besides, he was speaking under water.

Instead, she turned around and hurried back to the palace to look for a bucket and a net.

At the same time, the cook was wondering where she was going to find a carp to poach for the Wicked Queen’s lunch. As it was Christmas day, all the shops were shut – even the special shops that work by Royal Appointment. Then she remembered that she had seen a fat carp swimming around one of the ponds in the garden, and she went out to look for him.

In his pond, Colin was feeling his usual grumpy self again. “Oh well,” he said to himself. “Soon that air-headed princess will be fishing me out of here and taking me back Bertie’s pond. That’s what I hate about Christmas. If people laid off doing good deeds and minded their own business, we would all be a lot happier.”

Then he heard a voice – but it wasn’t princess Beatrice’s – it was the cook, and she was saying”

“There he is. He’s an ugly brute, but he’ll look a lot better when he’s on a plate with a spring of parsley in his mouth. I’ll tell the kitchen boy to come down here with a net and fish him out.”

“What’s this? Said Colin. “On a plate with a spring of parsley in my mouth? Oh No ! Christmas truly is the worst day of the year – and it looks like it’s going to be my last day ever ! “

He started to swim around in a panic, looking for somewhere to hide, but the pond was not like the one where Bertie lived. There was no slime, no muddy bottom, not big rocks. It was just full of pure, clean water. In fact, it was the worst place in the entire world for a fish to hide in.

Soon Colin felt himself being lifted up through the air. He was wriggling and fighting and gasping for breath, but he just got his fins tangled in the net. And then Plop ! he was dropped, not even into a bucket, but a plastic shopping bag full of water.

“The indignity of it,” said Colin. “Carried to my own funeral in a shopping bag. Merry Christmas !”

It was very dark inside the bag, and he couldn’t see where he was going. Then the motion stopped. They had arrived. He got ready to whack the cook around the face with his tail.

“At least they will say that Colin the Carp went down fighting,” he said himself.

The bag turned upside down, and all the water and Colin with it went slopping out

“That’s it !” thought Colin. “Straight into the cooking pot !”

Splash !

And all his scales tingled with lovely cold water.

“Ooh Look,” said a squeaky little voice. “There’s Colin. He’s come out of hiding.”

And all the little tadpoles were swimming around him singing,

“We wish you a merry Christmas, We Wish you a merry Christmas.

And Princess Beatrice said

“Merry Christmas Pond Life”

The cook didn’t make poached carp for the Wicked Queen’s lunch, because when she went back to the pond, Colin had mysteriously disappeared. But it didn’t matter, because the Queen decided to skip Christmas all together, and she went up to her room to read up on wicked spells.

And as for Colin, for the first time in his long, grumpy life, he has a very, very, very, merry Christmas because he was so glad to be alive and with his friends.

I WON’T!” SAID MARY

They found a great deal to do that morning and Mary was late in
returning to the house and was also in such a hurry to get back to her
work that she quite forgot Colin until the last moment.

“Tell Colin that I can’t come and see him yet,” she said to Martha.
“I’m very busy in the garden.”

Martha looked rather frightened.

“Eh! Miss Mary,” she said, “it may put him all out of humor when I tell
him that.”

But Mary was not as afraid of him as other people were and she was not
a self-sacrificing person.

“I can’t stay,” she answered. “Dickon’s waiting for me;” and she ran
away.

The afternoon was even lovelier and busier than the morning had been.
Already nearly all the weeds were cleared out of the garden and most of
the roses and trees had been pruned or dug about. Dickon had brought a
spade of his own and he had taught Mary to use all her tools, so that
by this time it was plain that though the lovely wild place was not
likely to become a “gardener’s garden” it would be a wilderness of
growing things before the springtime was over.

“There’ll be apple blossoms an’ cherry blossoms overhead,” Dickon said,
working away with all his might. “An’ there’ll be peach an’ plum trees
in bloom against th’ walls, an’ th’ grass’ll be a carpet o’ flowers.”

The little fox and the rook were as happy and busy as they were, and
the robin and his mate flew backward and forward like tiny streaks of
lightning. Sometimes the rook flapped his black wings and soared away
over the tree-tops in the park. Each time he came back and perched
near Dickon and cawed several times as if he were relating his
adventures, and Dickon talked to him just as he had talked to the
robin. Once when Dickon was so busy that he did not answer him at
first, Soot flew on to his shoulders and gently tweaked his ear with
his large beak. When Mary wanted to rest a little Dickon sat down with
her under a tree and once he took his pipe out of his pocket and played
the soft strange little notes and two squirrels appeared on the wall
and looked and listened.

“Tha’s a good bit stronger than tha’ was,” Dickon said, looking at her
as she was digging. “Tha’s beginning to look different, for sure.”

Mary was glowing with exercise and good spirits.

“I’m getting fatter and fatter every day,” she said quite exultantly.
“Mrs. Medlock will have to get me some bigger dresses. Martha says my
hair is growing thicker. It isn’t so flat and stringy.”

The sun was beginning to set and sending deep gold-colored rays
slanting under the trees when they parted.

“It’ll be fine tomorrow,” said Dickon. “I’ll be at work by sunrise.”

“So will I,” said Mary.

She ran back to the house as quickly as her feet would carry her. She
wanted to tell Colin about Dickon’s fox cub and the rook and about what
the springtime had been doing. She felt sure he would like to hear.
So it was not very pleasant when she opened the door of her room, to
see Martha standing waiting for her with a doleful face.

“What is the matter?” she asked. “What did Colin say when you told him
I couldn’t come?”

“Eh!” said Martha, “I wish tha’d gone. He was nigh goin’ into one o’
his tantrums. There’s been a nice to do all afternoon to keep him
quiet. He would watch the clock all th’ time.”

Mary’s lips pinched themselves together. She was no more used to
considering other people than Colin was and she saw no reason why an
ill-tempered boy should interfere with the thing she liked best. She
knew nothing about the pitifulness of people who had been ill and
nervous and who did not know that they could control their tempers and
need not make other people ill and nervous, too. When she had had a
headache in India she had done her best to see that everybody else also
had a headache or something quite as bad. And she felt she was quite
right; but of course now she felt that Colin was quite wrong.

He was not on his sofa when she went into his room. He was lying flat
on his back in bed and he did not turn his head toward her as she came
in. This was a bad beginning and Mary marched up to him with her stiff
manner.

“Why didn’t you get up?” she said.

“I did get up this morning when I thought you were coming,” he
answered, without looking at her. “I made them put me back in bed this
afternoon. My back ached and my head ached and I was tired. Why
didn’t you come?” “I was working in the garden with Dickon,” said Mary.

“I won’t let that boy come here if you go and stay with him instead of
coming to talk to me,” he said.

Mary flew into a fine passion. She could fly into a passion without
making a noise. She just grew sour and obstinate and did not care what
happened.

“If you send Dickon away, I’ll never come into this room again!” she
retorted.

“You’ll have to if I want you,” said Colin.

“I won’t!” said Mary.

“I’ll make you,” said Colin. “They shall drag you in.”

“Shall they, Mr. Rajah!” said Mary fiercely. “They may drag me in but
they can’t make me talk when they get me here. I’ll sit and clench my
teeth and never tell you one thing. I won’t even look at you. I’ll
stare at the floor!”

They were a nice agreeable pair as they glared at each other. If they
had been two little street boys they would have sprung at each other
and had a rough-and-tumble fight. As it was, they did the next thing
to it.

“You are a selfish thing!” cried Colin.

“What are you?” said Mary. “Selfish people always say that. Any one
is selfish who doesn’t do what they want. You’re more selfish than I
am. You’re the most selfish boy I ever saw.”

“I’m not!” snapped Colin. “I’m not as selfish as your fine Dickon is!
He keeps you playing in the dirt when he knows I am all by myself.
He’s selfish, if you like!”

Mary’s eyes flashed fire.

“He’s nicer than any other boy that ever lived!” she said. “He’s–he’s
like an angel!” It might sound rather silly to say that but she did not
care.

“A nice angel!” Colin sneered ferociously. “He’s a common cottage boy
off the moor!”

“He’s better than a common Rajah!” retorted Mary. “He’s a thousand
times better!”

Because she was the stronger of the two she was beginning to get the
better of him. The truth was that he had never had a fight with any
one like himself in his life and, upon the whole, it was rather good
for him, though neither he nor Mary knew anything about that. He
turned his head on his pillow and shut his eyes and a big tear was
squeezed out and ran down his cheek. He was beginning to feel pathetic
and sorry for himself–not for any one else.

“I’m not as selfish as you, because I’m always ill, and I’m sure there
is a lump coming on my back,” he said. “And I am going to die besides.”

“You’re not!” contradicted Mary unsympathetically.

He opened his eyes quite wide with indignation. He had never heard
such a thing said before. He was at once furious and slightly pleased,
if a person could be both at one time.

“I’m not?” he cried. “I am! You know I am! Everybody says so.”

“I don’t believe it!” said Mary sourly. “You just say that to make
people sorry. I believe you’re proud of it. I don’t believe it! If
you were a nice boy it might be true–but you’re too nasty!”

In spite of his invalid back Colin sat up in bed in quite a healthy
rage.

“Get out of the room!” he shouted and he caught hold of his pillow and
threw it at her. He was not strong enough to throw it far and it only
fell at her feet, but Mary’s face looked as pinched as a nutcracker.

“I’m going,” she said. “And I won’t come back!” She walked to the door
and when she reached it she turned round and spoke again.

“I was going to tell you all sorts of nice things,” she said. “Dickon
brought his fox and his rook and I was going to tell you all about
them. Now I won’t tell you a single thing!”

She marched out of the door and closed it behind her, and there to her
great astonishment she found the trained nurse standing as if she had
been listening and, more amazing still–she was laughing. She was a
big handsome young woman who ought not to have been a trained nurse at
all, as she could not bear invalids and she was always making excuses
to leave Colin to Martha or any one else who would take her place.
Mary had never liked her, and she simply stood and gazed up at her as
she stood giggling into her handkerchief..

“What are you laughing at?” she asked her.

“At you two young ones,” said the nurse. “It’s the best thing that
could happen to the sickly pampered thing to have some one to stand up
to him that’s as spoiled as himself;” and she laughed into her
handkerchief again. “If he’d had a young vixen of a sister to fight
with it would have been the saving of him.”

“Is he going to die?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” said the nurse. “Hysterics and temper
are half what ails him.”

“What are hysterics?” asked Mary.

“You’ll find out if you work him into a tantrum after this–but at any
rate you’ve given him something to have hysterics about, and I’m glad
of it.”

Mary went back to her room not feeling at all as she had felt when she
had come in from the garden. She was cross and disappointed but not at
all sorry for Colin. She had looked forward to telling him a great
many things and she had meant to try to make up her mind whether it
would be safe to trust him with the great secret. She had been
beginning to think it would be, but now she had changed her mind
entirely. She would never tell him and he could stay in his room and
never get any fresh air and die if he liked! It would serve him right!
She felt so sour and unrelenting that for a few minutes she almost
forgot about Dickon and the green veil creeping over the world and the
soft wind blowing down from the moor.

Martha was waiting for her and the trouble in her face had been
temporarily replaced by interest and curiosity. There was a wooden box
on the table and its cover had been removed and revealed that it was
full of neat packages.

“Mr. Craven sent it to you,” said Martha. “It looks as if it had
picture-books in it.”

Mary remembered what he had asked her the day she had gone to his room.
“Do you want anything–dolls–toys–books?” She opened the package
wondering if he had sent a doll, and also wondering what she should do
with it if he had. But he had not sent one. There were several
beautiful books such as Colin had, and two of them were about gardens
and were full of pictures. There were two or three games and there was
a beautiful little writing-case with a gold monogram on it and a gold
pen and inkstand.

Everything was so nice that her pleasure began to crowd her anger out
of her mind. She had not expected him to remember her at all and her
hard little heart grew quite warm.

“I can write better than I can print,” she said, “and the first thing I
shall write with that pen will be a letter to tell him I am much
obliged.”

If she had been friends with Colin she would have run to show him her
presents at once, and they would have looked at the pictures and read
some of the gardening books and perhaps tried playing the games, and he
would have enjoyed himself so much he would never once have thought he
was going to die or have put his hand on his spine to see if there was
a lump coming. He had a way of doing that which she could not bear.
It gave her an uncomfortable frightened feeling because he always
looked so frightened himself. He said that if he felt even quite a
little lump some day he should know his hunch had begun to grow.
Something he had heard Mrs. Medlock whispering to the nurse had given
him the idea and he had thought over it in secret until it was quite
firmly fixed in his mind. Mrs. Medlock had said his father’s back had
begun to show its crookedness in that way when he was a child. He had
never told any one but Mary that most of his “tantrums” as they called
them grew out of his hysterical hidden fear. Mary had been sorry for
him when he had told her.

“He always began to think about it when he was cross or tired,” she
said to herself. “And he has been cross today. Perhaps–perhaps he
has been thinking about it all afternoon.”

She stood still, looking down at the carpet and thinking.

“I said I would never go back again–” she hesitated, knitting her
brows–”but perhaps, just perhaps, I will go and see–if he wants
me–in the morning. Perhaps he’ll try to throw his pillow at me again,
but–I think–I’ll go.”