Child's Story Garden by - (reading books for 5 year olds TXT) 📕

often do when a gentle wind is about. And the twig said: “What is the

matter, little leaf?” And the leaf said: “The wind just told me that one

day it would pull me off and throw me down to die on the ground!”

The twig told it to the branch on which it grew, and the branch told it

to the tree. And when the tree heard it, it rustled all over, and sent

back word to the leaf: “Do not be afraid. Hold on tightly, and you shall

not go till you want to.”

And so the leaf stopped sighing, but went on nestling and singing. Every

time the tree shook itself and stirred up all its leaves, the branches

shook themselves, and the little twig shook itself, and the little leaf

danced up and down merrily, as if nothing could ever pull it off. And so

it grew all summer long, till October.

And when the bright days of autumn came the little leaf saw all the

leaves around becoming very beautiful. Some were yellow and some

scarlet, and some striped with both colors. Then it asked the tree what

it meant. And the tree said: “All these leaves are getting ready to fly

away, and they have put on these beautiful colors because of joy.”

Then the little leaf began to want to go, too, and grew very beautiful

in thinking of it, and when it was very gay in color it saw that the

branches of the tree had no bright color in them, and so the leaf said:

“O branches! why are you lead-color and we golden?”

“We must keep on our work-clothes, for our life is not done; but your

clothes are for holiday, because your tasks are over,” said the

branches.

Just then a little puff of wind came, and the leaf let go, without

thinking of it, and the wind took it up and turned it over and over, and

whirled it like a spark of fire in the air, and then it dropped gently

down under the edge of the fence, among hundreds of leaves, and fell

into a dream, and it never waked up to tell what it dreamed about.

There came to our fields a pair of birds that had never built a nest nor

seen a winter. How beautiful was everything! The fields were full of

flowers and the grass was growing tall, and the bees were humming

everywhere. Then one of the birds began singing, and the other bird

said: “Who told you to sing?” And he answered: “The flowers told me, and

the bees told me, and the winds and leaves told me, and the blue sky

told me, and you told me to sing.” Then his mate answered: “When did I

tell you to sing?” And he said: “Every time you brought in tender grass

for the nest, and every time your soft wings fluttered off again for

hair and feathers to line the nest.” Then his mate said: “What are you

singing about?” And he answered: “I am singing about everything and

nothing. It is because I am so happy that I sing.”

By and by five little speckled eggs were in the nest, and his mate said:

“Is there anything in all the world as pretty as my eggs?” Then they

both looked down on some people that were passing by and pitied them

because they were not birds.

In a week or two, one day, when the father bird came home, the mother

bird said: “Oh, what do you think has happened?” “What?” “One of my eggs

has been peeping and moving!” Pretty soon another egg moved under her

feathers, and then another and another, till five little birds were

hatched! Now the father bird sang louder and louder than ever. The

mother bird, too, wanted to sing, but she had no time, and she turned

her song into work. So hungry were these little birds that it kept both

parents busy feeding them. Away each one flew. The moment the little

birds heard their wings fluttering among the leaves, five little yellow

mouths flew open wide, so that nothing could be seen but five yellow

mouths!

“Can anybody be happier?” said the father bird to the mother bird. “We

will live in this tree always, for there is no sorrow here. It is a tree

that always bears joy.”

Soon the little birds were big enough to fly, and great was their

parents’ joy to see them leave the nest and sit crumpled up upon the

branches. There was then a great time, the two old birds talking and

chatting to make the young ones go alone! In a little time they had

learned to use their own wings, and they flew away and away, and found

their own food, and built their own nests, and sang their own songs with

joy.

Then the old birds sat silent and looked at each other, until the mother

bird said: “Why don’t you sing?” And he answered: “I can’t sing—I can

only think and think.” “What are you thinking of?” “I am thinking how

everything changes. The leaves are falling off from this tree, and soon

there will be no roof over our heads; the flowers are all going; last

night there was a frost; almost all the birds have flown away. Something

calls me, and I feel as if I would like to fly away.”

“Let us fly away together!”

Then they arose silently, and, lifting themselves far up in the air,

they looked to the north. Far away they saw the snow coming. They looked

to the south. There they saw flowers and green leaves. All day they

flew, and all night they flew and flew, till they found a land where

there was no winter—where flowers always blossom, and birds always

sing.

One bright, beautiful spring day, when the earth was fresh in its new

green dress decked with flowers, while the birds sang their sweetest

songs, and the brooks babbled merrily on their way to the rivers, two

wee dimples were sent by Mother Nature on a journey to find their work

in the world.

It was a delightful journey through the blue sky and past the fleecy

white clouds.

They played and danced with the sunbeams who led them on their way to

the earth.

The dimples could see nothing for them to do, so on they went,

frolicking and playing.

At last they found themselves among the trees and the bright flowers of

the earth.

They chased the sunbeams under the leaves, they rode on the butterflies’

wings, they sipped the honey with the bees from the flowers. Still, they

could find nothing to do. The sunbeams bade the dimples good-by and

silently crept home. “Oh,” said the dimples, “what shall we do? We have

no place to rest tonight.” “Here is a bird’s nest; let us rest in this,”

said one dimple. “No, that will never do,” said the other dimple, “for

there is the mother bird, who rests in her nest all night.”

Just then they spied a window swing open on its hinges. The tiny stars

came out and peeped into the window, and the lady-moon sent silvery

moonbeams down to help the dimples find a resting place. Then the

dimples flew through the window, and there, close by, in her crib,

curtained around with white, was a wee baby, rosy, sweet, and bright.

“Oh,” said one dimple, “I would love to rest on that rosy cheek.” “So

would I,” said the other dimple. And they each took a rosy cheek for a

couch, and here they rested the whole night long.

The robins early in the dawn sat on the cheery boughs and sang loud and

long, thus waking the dimples, who now knew not what to do. “But,” said

one dimple, “we have not yet found our work.” The other dimple said:

“Let us stay here. Baby’s eyes are opening, and we must hide,” and each

dimple nestled away in baby’s cheeks. Then her big, blue eyes opened

wide, to see the sunbeams that had crept through the windows to her

crib.

The sunbeams coaxed the dimples to come out and play, but the dimples

would only peep out, and when they did, they brought smiles around

baby’s rosy lips and sunny eyes.

“So you have found your work at last,” said the sunbeams. And they had,

for they helped to bring out the smiles in baby’s cheeks. If you look

the next time you see baby you may see the dimples playing hide and

seek.

It was the month of May, but the wind still blew cool, for the sun was

not yet ready to shed his warmest rays on the waiting earth.

Yet some of the birds had come, and more were on their way, and many

beautiful blossoms were already showing their pink and white blooms, so

that from bush and tree, field and flower, came the glad cry, “Spring is

here! Spring is here.” Now, it happened that a young princess rode by a

beautiful orchard in full bloom, and she stopped to pick a branch of

apple blossoms to take to her palace. All who saw the apple blossom

praised its beauty and fragrance until the blossom became proud, and

thought that beauty was the only valuable thing in the world. But as the

apple blossom looked out upon the field she thought: “Not all of the

plants are rich and beautiful, as I am, some seem poor and plain.” And

she noticed a little, common, yellow flower, which seemed to lift up its

sunny head and grow everywhere.

The apple blossom said to the plain little flower, “What is your name?”

“I am called the dandelion,” replied the little flower.

“Poor little plant,” said the apple blossom. “It is not your fault; but

how sad you must feel to be so plain and to bear such an ugly name.”

Before the little plant could reply a lovely little sunbeam came dancing

along and said: “I see no ugly flowers. They are all beautiful alike to

me.” And he kissed the apple blossom; but he stooped low and lingered

long to kiss the little yellow dandelion in the field.

And then some little children came tripping across the field. The

youngest laughed when they saw the dandelions and kissed them with

delight. The older children made wreaths and dainty chains of them. They

picked carefully those that had gone to seed, and tried to blow the

feathery down off with one breath, making joyous wishes.

“Do you see,” said the sunbeam, “the beauty of the dandelion?”

“Only to children are they beautiful,” said the proud apple blossom.

By and by an old woman came into the field. She gathered the roots of

the dandelions, out of which she made tea for the sick, and she sold

others for money to buy milk for the children.

“But beauty is better than all this,” still said the proud little apple

blossom. Just then the princess came along. In her hand she carried

something that seemed like a beautiful flower. She covered it carefully

from the wind. What do you think it was? It was the feathery crown of

the dandelion. “See!” she said, “how beautiful it is! I will paint it in

a picture with the apple blossoms.”

Then the sunbeam kissed the apple blossom, and as he stooped low to kiss

the dandelion the apple blossom blushed with shame.

Hans Christian Andersen [Adapted]