by Bob Hartman
THE LION STORYTELLER BEDTIME BOOK
THE LION STORYTELLER BEDTIME BOOK
Retold by Bob Hartman
For Malachi (again!!) B.H.
Dedicated with love to Bori, Lenke and Andris K.K.N.
Text copyright © 1998 and 2009 Bob Hartman
This edition copyright © 2009 Lion Hudson
The right of Bob Hartman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Lion Children’s Books
an imprint of
Lion Hudson plc
Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Road,
Oxford OX2 8DR, England
www.lionhudson.com/lionchildrens
Hardback ISBN 978 0 7459 6094 4
Paperback ISBN 978 0 7459 6494 2
e-ISBN 978 0 7459 6799 5
First edition 1998
This revised and reillustrated edition 2009
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Cover illustration: Krisztina Kállai Nagy
Contents
Introduction
The Mouse and the Lion
A Story from Greece
Silly Jack
A Story from England
The Girl Who Played With the Stars
A Story from Scotland
Three Months’ Night
A Story from North America
Arion and the Dolphin
A Story from Greece
Rabbit and Tiger Save the World
A Story from Puerto Rico
The Shepherd and the Clever Princess
A Story from Finland
Tortoise Brings Food
A Story from Africa
Polly and the Frog
A Story from England
Rabbit and Tiger Go Fishing
A Story from Puerto Rico
The Mouse Deer’s Wisdom
A Story from Java
The Four Friends
A Story from India
The Brave Bull Calf
A Story from England
Tiger Gets Stuck
A Story from Puerto Rico
The Clever Mouse
A Story from Wales
The Amazing Pine Cone
A Story from Finland
The Very Strong Sparrow
A Story from Africa
Simple John
A Story from Germany
The Selfish Sand Frog
A Story from Australia
The Mouse’s Bride
A Story from India
The Big Wave
A Story from Japan
Tiger and the Storm
A Story from Puerto Rico
The Knee-High Man
A Story from North America
The Clever Baker
A Story from Scotland
How the Kangaroo Got Its Tail
A Story from Australia
The Greedy Farmer
A Story from Wales
The Generous Bird
A Story by Bob Hartman
Tiger Eats a Monkey
A Story from Puerto Rico
Lazy Tom
A Story from Ireland
The Contented Priest
A Story from Spain
Olle and the Troll
A Story from Norway
The Steel Man
A Story from North America
The Crafty Farmer
A Story from Japan
Tiger Tries to Cheat
A Story from Puerto Rico
The Two Brothers
A Story from Brazil
Kayoku and the Crane
A Story from Japan
The Two Sisters
A Story from France
The Selfish Beasts
A Story from Africa
The Determined Frog
A Story from Russia
The Robber and the Monk
A Story from Egypt
Sharing stories with a crowd
A note from the author
Introduction
Bedtime is a special time. It’s a time for families to draw close together – a time to share, to talk about the day’s events and to tell stories. When my children were small, it was important to find just the right kind of story to send them off to sleep. Sometimes that story climbed out of a book, and sometimes we just pieced it together ourselves – my daughter the princess and my son the prince, winging off on yet another night-time adventure.
Wherever the stories came from, they usually had three traits in common – warmth, wit and wisdom. Bedtime stories, I think, need to have a good heart. They need to leave the listener with that safe, warm, happily-ever-after feeling. But that doesn’t mean they have to be soft and sentimental – laughter is the perfect antidote for that. And, if, in the midst of the laughter and adventure a child can discover something about bravery or honesty, kindness or forgiveness, hope or love, then bedtime serves as an opportunity not only to share a story and cement a relationship, but also to shape a life.
In my work as a storyteller I have gathered the stories in this collection from every part of the globe. Some of them may be familiar to you. But I hope that many more will be new – that you will share my delight in discovering them for the first time and also come to appreciate, as I did, how similar our dreams and values are, regardless of culture, nation or race.
So prop up the pillows, let your child crawl under the covers, and let’s journey together to faraway places and once upon a times.
Because it’s bedtime.
That special time.
Time for the most special kind of story.
The Mouse and the Lion
The mouse skittered left.
The mouse skittered right.
The mouse skittered round a rock and under a leaf and past the dark, wide mouth of a cave.
And then the little mouse stopped.
Something had grabbed his tail.
The mouse wrinkled his nose and twitched his whiskers and turned around. The something was a lion!
‘You’re not even a snack,’ the lion yawned, as he picked up the mouse and dangled him over his mouth. ‘But you’ll be tasty, nonetheless.’
‘I’m much more than a snack!’ the little mouse squeaked. ‘I’m brave and I’m clever and I’m stronger than you think. And I’m sure that if you let me go I will be useful to you one day. Much more useful than a bit of bone and fur that you will gobble up and then forget.’
The lion roared with laughter, and the little mouse was blown about by his hot breath.
‘Useful? To me?’ the lion chuckled. ‘I doubt it. But you are brave, I’ll give you that. And cheeky, to boot. So I’ll let you go. But watch your tail. I may not be so generous again.’
The mouse skittered left.
The mouse skittered right.
The mouse skittered away as quickly as he could, and disappeared into the woods.
Hardly a week had passed when the lion wandered out of his cave in search of food.
The lion looked left.
The lion looked right.
But when the lion leaped forwards, he fell into a hunter’s snare!
The ropes wrapped themselves around him. He was trapped.
Just then the little mouse came by.
‘I told you I could be useful,’ the little mouse squeaked. ‘Now I shall prove it to you.�
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The lion was in no mood for jokes. He could hear the hunter’s footsteps. ‘How?’ he whispered. ‘how can you help me, now?’
‘Be still,’ said the mouse. ‘And let me do my work.’
The mouse began to gnaw. And to nibble. And to chew. And soon the ropes were weak enough for the lion to snap them with a shrug of his powerful shoulders.
So, just as the hunter appeared in the clearing, the lion leaped away into the forest, with his new friend clinging to his curly mane.
They returned to the cave as the sun fell behind the hills.
‘Thank you, my friend,’ said the lion to the mouse. ‘You are indeed clever and brave, and you have been more useful than I could ever have imagined. From now on, you have nothing to fear from me.’
The little mouse smiled.
Then he skittered left.
And he skittered right.
And he skittered off into the night.
Silly Jack
On Monday morning, Jack’s mother sent him off to work for the carpenter. Jack worked hard, and at the end of the day the carpenter gave him a shiny new penny.
Jack carried the penny home, tossing it in the air as he went. But as he crossed the little bridge over the narrow brook, he dropped the penny and lost it in the water below.
When he told her, Jack’s mother shook her head. ‘You silly boy,’ she sighed, ‘you should have put the penny in your pocket. You must remember that tomorrow.’
On Tuesday morning, Jack’s mother sent him off to work for the farmer. Jack worked very hard, and at the end of the day the farmer gave him a jug of milk.
Jack remembered his mother’s words, and carefully slipped the jug of milk into his big coat pocket. But as he walked home, the milk splashed and splooshed and spilled out of the jug and all over Jack’s fine coat.
When he told her, Jack’s mother shook her head. ‘You silly boy,’ she sighed, ‘you should have carried the jug on your head. You must remember that tomorrow.’
On Wednesday morning, Jack’s mother sent him off to work for the baker. Jack worked very hard, and at the end of the day, the baker gave him a beautiful black cat.
Jack remembered his mother’s words, and carefully sat the cat on his head. But on the way home, the cat was frightened, leaped from Jack’s head into a nearby tree, and refused to come down.
When he told her, Jack’s mother shook her head. ‘You silly boy,’ she sighed, ‘you should have tied a string around the cat’s collar and pulled it home behind you. You must remember that tomorrow.’
On Thursday morning, Jack’s mother sent him off to work for the butcher. Jack worked very hard, and at the end of the day, the butcher gave him a huge leg of lamb.
Jack remembered his mother’s words, tied a string around the meat, and pulled it home behind him. But by the time he got home, the meat was covered with dirt, and good for nothing but to be thrown away.
When he told her, Jack’s mother shook her head. ‘You silly, silly boy,’ she sighed. ‘Don’t you know you should have carried it home on your shoulder? Promise me you will remember that tomorrow.’
Jack promised, and on Friday morning, his mother sent him off to work for the man who ran the stables. Jack worked very hard, and at the end of the day, the man gave him a donkey!
Jack looked at the donkey. Jack remembered his promise. Then he swallowed hard, picked that donkey up, and hoisted it onto his shoulders!
On the way home, Jack passed by the house of a rich man – a rich man whose beautiful daughter had never laughed in all her life.
But when she saw poor, silly Jack giving that donkey a ride, she giggled, she chuckled, then she burst out laughing, right there and then.
The rich man was delighted, and gave Jack his daughter’s hand in marriage, and a huge fortune besides.
When he told her, Jack’s mother didn’t shake her head. No, she hugged him and she kissed him and she shouted, ‘Hooray!’ and she never ever called him ‘silly’ again.
The Girl Who Played With the Stars
Once upon a time, there lived a little girl who wanted one thing and one thing only – to play with the stars in the sky!
Every night, before she fell asleep, she would stare out of her bedroom window at the stars dancing above her, and wish that someday she might dance with them.
One night, she decided to make her wish come true. So she crept from her bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the front door. And she set off to find her way to the stars.
The moon was full. The night was warm and bright. And it wasn’t long before she spotted the stars – reflected in the water of a little pond.
‘Excuse me,’ she whispered to the pond, ‘can you tell me how to get to the stars?’
‘That’s easy,’ the pond rippled and shook, ‘the stars come and shine in my eyes on most nights, so brightly in fact that I have trouble sleeping. If you want to find them, you’re welcome to jump in.’
And so the little girl did. She swam and swam around that little pond, but she could not find a single star. So she climbed sadly out again, said goodbye to the pond, and set off, dripping, down the path.
Before long, she came to a little field. And there were the stars, dancing like tiny lights in the dewy grass. And dancing with them were the fairies – clapping their hands and beating their wings to the sound of harp and pipe and drum.
‘Excuse me,’ she called to the little people, ‘I want more than anything to play with the stars. Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Of course not,’ the fairies called back. ‘Come and dance with us as long as you like.’
And so the little girl danced. She danced round and round till she could hardly stand. But she never danced with any stars, no, not one. For the stars were not there at all. They were nothing more than reflections in the wet grass.
When the little girl realized this, she fell to the ground sobbing. And the fairies stopped their dancing and hovered round her.
‘I’ve swum and I’ve swum,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve danced and I’ve danced. And still I have not found the stars.’
The fairies felt sorry for the little girl, so they did what they could. They gave her a little riddle.
‘Ask Four Feet to carry you to No Feet At All,’ they told her. ‘Then ask No Feet At All to carry you to the Stairs Without Steps. And there you will find the stars.’
The fairies went back to their dancing, and the little girl went on her way.
Soon she met a horse.
‘Excuse me,’ she asked, as politely as she could, ‘I’m on my way to the stars. Could you give me a ride?’
The horse neighed and shook his shaggy head. ‘I cannot help you,’ he explained. ‘For I am here to help the fairies and the fairies only.’
‘Ah,’ the little girl smiled, ‘then you must be Four Feet. The fairies told me about you. They said that I must ask you to take me to No Feet At All.’
‘Well, that’s different!’ the horse snorted. ‘Climb aboard, and we shall be there in no time.’ And off they went, through the forests and over the fields – hooves hammering and hair blowing, west and west and west, until they reached the sea.
‘I can carry you no further,’ the horse explained. ‘You must wait here on the beach for No Feet At All.’
The little girl had so many questions. Who was No Feet At All? What did he look like? How would she find him? But before she could ask a single question, the horse turned and galloped away. The little girl looked up into the sky. The stars were as far away as ever. And she was lost and all alone.
Suddenly, however, something went splash. Then splish-splash. Then splish-splash-splish. The girl looked into the sea, and there was a fish – a huge fish, a massive fish, a great giant of a fish.
‘Could it be?’ she wondered. And so she called, ‘No Feet At All? Is that you, No Feet At All?’ And the great fish leaped out of the water and landed near the edge of the beach.
‘Where shall I carry you, my dear?’ asked the fish.
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‘To the Stairs Without Steps,’ said the little girl. And off they went, fins flapping, night-dress dripping, slicing through the salty waves, west and west and west. And then the fish just stopped.
‘We’re here,’ he gurgled, ‘at the Stairs Without Steps.’
But the little girl could see nothing at all.
‘Step off my back,’ the fish insisted. ‘It will be all right.’
So the little girl stepped – stepped off the fish’s back and into what looked for all the world like a vast and endless sea. But before her foot could touch the water, a pure white gull flew under it. She stepped higher, and there was another gull, and so she stepped higher still. And with every step, a gull was there to hold her. When she had climbed too high for the gulls to fly, the clouds took over, and step by cloudy step they carried her at last to the land of the stars!
The stars reached out their warm and shiny arms to welcome her, and she spent the rest of that night dancing their sparkling dances and playing their golden games. When the little girl finally grew tired, they wrapped her up in a cloud and sent her off to sleep.
‘Come again any time!’ the stars said, their eyes twinkling, their faces shining.
The girl dreamed of fairies and night wind and stars. But when she awoke, she was back in her room and the cloud beneath her head was nothing more than her own soft pillow. Had it all been a dream, nothing more than a dream? Then why was the hem of her night-dress damp? And why did her hair smell of cold, salty air? And where had the horsehair come from, which she clutched in her little hand?