‘Thank you, friend mouse. I thought I was done for,’ said the lion.
‘I told you I’d be able to repay you one day,’ said the mouse. ‘Aren’t you glad now that you spared my life?’
The Fox and the Wild Boar
A FOX WAS out for a walk one day when he came across a wild boar, sharpening his tusks against the trunk of a tree.
‘Why on earth are you doing that?’ asked the fox. ‘There’s nothing to fear here. There’s no danger anywhere around us, no huntsmen in sight.’
‘Which is why I’m doing it now,’ said the boar. ‘When there is danger around me, I won’t have time to stop and sharpen my tusks.’
The Frogs Want a King
‘WE WANT A king!’
‘We should have a ruler!’
‘We need a king!’
The frogs went to Zeus and asked him to give them a king. Fed up with their complaining, Zeus threw an old stick into their pond home.
‘He’s not much of a king.’
‘He just lies around all day.’
‘He never speaks and never moves.’
‘What use is he?’
So the frogs went back to Zeus and complained about the king they’d been given. Furious at their attitude, Zeus threw a water snake into the frogs’ pond and the water snake set about eating as many frogs as he could get his fangs into.
The Bird and the Bat
A BIRD SAT in her cage by a window. She waited silently for the sun to set and the sky to get dark before she started singing. A bat flying past the window asked the bird, ‘Why do you never sing until it gets dark?’
The bird replied, ‘When I was free, I sang in the daytime and that’s how I got caught. So it taught me a lesson and now I only sing at night.’
‘Well, it’s a bit late to take precautions now,’ said the bat. ‘You should’ve been more careful before you were caught.’
Mother Crab and Her Daughter
‘MUST YOU WALK like that?’ a crab mother complained to her daughter. ‘Don’t walk sideways. It’s so undignified, so common! Walk properly.’
‘I certainly will, Mother,’ said the daughter crab. ‘Just as soon as you show me how it should be done.’
Snake Is Fed Up!
‘ZEUS ZEUS! I hate to complain, but I’m fed up!’ said the snake.
‘Fed up with what?’ Zeus sighed. ‘All day long people walk all over me,’ the snake wailed. ‘They trample on my tail, they march on my middle, they hop on my head. That’s why I’m fed up.’
Zeus replied, ‘If you had bitten the first man who trod on you, the next one would’ve thought twice about doing the same thing.’
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The Stag’s Mistake
AS A STAG stood drinking from a spring, he noticed his reflection in the water. ‘Look at my gorgeous antlers!’ he said to himself, turning his head this way and that. ‘They are big and broad and quite stunning. But look at my spindly legs. They’re so knobbly and skinny, I can hardly bear the sight of them.’
Suddenly, from out of nowhere a lion appeared. The stag turned and ran for his life. On the open plain, he put a great deal of distance between himself and the lion. But when he reached wooded country, his antlers became caught up in the branches of a tree so that he couldn’t run any further. In fact he couldn’t move at all. As the lion was about to pounce, the stag thought bitterly, ‘My legs which I scorned almost saved my life. And my antlers which I was so proud of have been the death of me.’
The Lark and Her Family
A LARK MADE her nest in a field of corn so that her young would have plenty to eat until they were fully fledged and ready to fly. One day, the farmer came to the corn field and, seeing that his crop was ripe and dry, he said to himself, ‘I’d better get my friends together to harvest my corn.’
One of the lark chicks heard him and told his mother.
‘We don’t have to go just yet,’ said the lark.
The next day, the farmer came to inspect his corn and he said to himself, ‘I shall get all my relatives to help me harvest my corn.’
The lark chick told his mother what the farmer had said.
‘We still have a little time,’ said the lark.
The next day, the farmer came to inspect his corn again, by which time the corn was so ripe the ears of corn were dropping off in the heat of the sun.
‘Right! That does it!’ said the farmer. ‘I’m going to hire some men and gather up the crop myself first thing tomorrow.’
When the lark chick told his mother what the farmer had said, the lark said, ‘Now it is time to go. When a man relies on himself rather than on his family and friends, then things definitely get done.’
The Rivers and the Sea
ALL THE RIVERS got together and complained to the sea, R Kthefac16;When we reach you, our waters are fresh and clean and drinkable. And then you turn us silty and salty.’
‘If it upsets you,’ said the sea, ‘don’t come!’
The Thirsty Crow
ACROW WAS SO thirsty she thought she would surely die from it if she didn’t find water soon. She came across a large pitcher that had a small amount of water at the bottom. Try as she might, the crow’s beak couldn’t reach the bottom of the pitcher and the pitcher was far too heavy for her to tip over. So the crow stood back and had a think. Then she had an idea. She picked up a pebble with her beak and dropped it into the pitcher. Then another and another. She kept at it until the water was at the top of the pitcher instead of the bottom and then she could drink.
Mossycoat
Retold by Philip Pullman
Illustrated by Peter Bailey
THERE ONCE WAS a widow who lived in a cottage, and she had a daughter. The girl was lovely, though she didn’t know it, and nor did she know what her mother was making, for that was a secret she hadn’t been told yet. It was a waistcoat kind of a thing, made of the greenest moss all sewn with gold thread that was finer than gossamer; and as for the stitches that held it together, no mortal ever stitched finer ones. A garment like that is a long time in making, you can be sure; the widow was young when she started, and many years older by the time it was nearly finished.
For it wasn’t done, quite, when the story begins.
One day a hawker came to the door. He was a nuisance, this old man. He wasn’t content to sell his ribbons and laces and needles and pins, but he had to make familiar remarks and wink and pinch the cheeks of girls too gentle to say no. He hadn’t been seen for a while; some said he’d been locked up for his wickedness; at any rate, he was out and about again, and when he knocked at the door, it was the daughter who opened it.
‘Well, hello!’ he said. ‘You’re a pretty one, ain’t you?’
She didn’t know how to answer that. He wasn’t pretty b Nem" aid sy any means: he was snaggletoothed and red-nosed, with lank hair combed over his greasy bald pate, and he strutted like a cocky little dog.
‘Here,’ he said, fumbling for her hand to pat it, ‘you’re the prettiest thing I seen since … ooh, ever. You’re prettier than them roses round the door, dang me if you ain’t. Here, look at this …’
He plucked off a rose petal and held it against her cheek, and he ran his knobbly old fingers over them both.
‘I can’t tell the difference!’ he said. ‘You’re as soft and smooth as—’
But she shook her head like a wild thing, as shy as a fawn.
‘Ooh, I like you,’ he said. ‘You got a spark in you. You got some fizz and crackle. Now I don’t believe in beating about the bush: I’m looking for a wife, and I believe you’d make a good ’un. How about it? Eh? Eh?’
He was nudging and winking and licking his lips, and his rheumy old eyes were glistening. The girl said, ‘Wait there.’
She shut the door and ran in to her mother.
‘Mum!’ she said. ‘Mum! There’s a horrible old hawker man at the door—’
‘Oh, he’s back, is he? What’s he want?’
‘He wants to marry me!’
> ‘Well, do you want to marry him?’
‘No, I don’t!’
‘All right,’ said her mother, ‘now you listen to me. You go and tell him that you’ll marry him next week, as long as he brings you a dress. You understand? A white satin dress with gold sprigs on it, and it’s got to fit you perfect.’
‘And will I have to marry him then?’
‘Go and do as you’re told.’
So the girl went to the door and she said, ‘Well, I don’t know. But if I do marry you, I need a proper wedding dress. You come back next week with a white satin dress all covered in gold sprigs this big, no this big, and we’ll see. Oh, and it’s got to fit me perfect.’
‘Hoo-hoo,’ chortled the hawker. ‘I’ll be back! I’ll be back! Giss a look at you, so I can judge your size.’
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He held out his thumb and squinted one eye and measured her up and down, and off he went rubbing his hands.
Next week, there was a knock at the door, and the girl looked out of the window and ducked her head back quickly.
‘Mum!’ she said. ‘It’s that blooming old hawker man, and he’s got a parcel! What’m I going to do?’
‘Go and answer the door, girl.’
So she opened the door slowly.
‘Oooh,’ said the hawker, ‘what a little peach! Yum-yum-yum! Here’s your dress, girl, just like you wanted. Now when are you going to—’
‘Hold on,’ said the girl, ‘I said it had to fit me perfect. I got to try it on first.’
‘Go on, then,’ said the hawker, and he gave her the parcel. ‘I’ll wait here.’
She took the parcel in to her mother.
‘Mum, he’s brought me the dress!’ she said. ‘What am I going to do now?’
‘Well, don’t you want to try it on?’
They unwrapped the tissue paper and held up the dress. It was made of satin as white as snow, and the gold sprigs were all this big. And when she slipped it over her head and her mother fastened it up at the back, she found it fitted her like her own skin.
‘Girl, you look beautiful,’ said her mother.
‘But I can’t marry him, he’s horrible!’
‘Well, tell him you need another dress. Ask for a silk one this time, the colour of all the birds of the air.’
So she went back to the door. The hawker was twitching and sniffing with impatience.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Does it fit, then?’
‘It’s a bit tight under the arms,’ she said, ‘but I suppose it’ll do to get married in. I can’t go away for the honeymoon in a wedding dress, though, I need another dress for that. Make it silk, the colour of all the birds of the air.’
S7;‘H’mm,’ he said. ‘And then … Mmm? Mmm? Eh?’
She just gave him a level kind of a look, and he made a whinnying sound and hurried away.
Next week, another knock.
‘Mum, he’s back again!’
‘Open the door, then.’
The hawker thrust the parcel into her hands, and tried to snatch a kiss while he was about it. She moved her face out of the way and shut the door.
‘He’s getting impatient, Mum! I can’t put him off for ever!’
‘Never mind that. Try the dress on, girl.’
The silk dress fitted even better than the satin one had, and when she looked at herself in the mirror the girl felt dizzy to see the beautiful thing she was changing into. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, but she knew she didn’t like the hawker.
‘What can I say to him?’ she said in despair.
‘Tell him you need some dancing shoes.’
So she said to the hawker, ‘Well, I suppose the dresses are all right. But I expect there’s to be dancing at the celebrations, and unless you want to dance with a bride in hob-nail boots, you better get me some of them gold patent-leather slippers with little heels and diamond buckles. And if they don’t fit me perfect—’
‘Right you are!’ he said. ‘And that’s it, is it? Nothing else you want?’
‘No,’ she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else.
‘Giss a look at your feet then.’
He made a mark on a scrap of paper to get the size.
‘Next week, then!’
‘All right. ’Bye.’
Glumly she waited, and sure enough, next week there came his knock at the door.
‘I got ’em! Diamond buckles and all! No Ss aace="serifw you got to marry me, girl, you can’t keep me waiting any longer!’
‘I got to try ’em on first,’ she said. ‘You probably made ’em too big. I got very little feet.’
‘Oooh, I guarantee they’ll fit,’ he said, winking and rubbing his hands.
She tried them on, and she didn’t need a shoe-horn: they were neat and soft and light, neither too small nor too big, and they twinkled like fireflies.
‘Oh, Mum, what am I going to do now?’ she wailed.
‘Well now, girl,’ said her mother, ‘your mossy coat is all but ready. I should think another night’s work’ll see it done. So you go and tell the hawker to come back in the morning, about ten o’clock.’
‘What mossy coat?’ said the girl. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Shoo! Go and tell him, go on!’
So the girl opened the door once more. The hawker was licking his lips and rubbing his hands and panting and shifting from foot to foot.
‘Well? Well? Well? Well? Well?’ he said.
‘The slippers are all right,’ she said. ‘The left one’s a bit loose round the heel, but I suppose they’ll do. You come back at ten in the morning, and I’ll marry you.’
‘Ten in the morning? Why not now?’
‘Because I got to wash my hair, of course,’ she said. ‘Ten o’clock, and don’t be late.’
She shut the door before he could say another word. She could hear him snuffling and mumbling outside, but soon he gave up and left.
‘Ten o’clock!’ he called as he shut the garden gate. ‘Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!’
‘Mum—’ the girl began, but her mother shook her head.
‘Don’t you say a word, because I’m going to be busy all night. Fetch that old suitcase off the top of the wardrobe and pack them dresses in it, and the slippers too, wrap ’em all in tissue paper, go on. Then bring me a cup of tea.’
All night long the woman sewed. She worked till three whole candles had burned down and the daylight had come again, and just as the cock was crowing she snapped off the last gold thread with her aching fingers.
She stretched and yawned and woke the girl.
‘Now you better get up,’ she said, ‘because if you lie there snoring and steaming all morning you’re going to find yourself a-married to that old hawker whether you want to be or not. Get out of bed and wash yourself and then come down to the parlour. And bring the suitcase.’
A few minutes later the girl, clean and wide awake and fearful, lugged the suitcase downstairs.
‘What’s that?’ she said. ‘Is that the mossy coat?’
Her mother held it up against her. It was as green as a spring morning, as fresh and soft as a breeze out of the west. All the mosses her mother had gathered from pond and meadow and millstream over eighteen years were bright and living yet: she’d plaited and woven them so cunningly that all the tiny moss-leaves were still alive. And under and over and in between them all lay a shimmer of gold from those gossamer threads stitched with stitches too small to see. The mossy coat was so light and fine you could fold it all into a thimble, and yet so strong you couldn’t tear it with your teeth.
And the best part was, it was magic. The daughter was to wear it under her other clothes when she wanted to make a wish, and whatever she wished for would come true.
‘Oh, Mother,’ the girl breathed, slipping her arms into it and hugging it close to her breast.
‘Yes,’ said her mother, ‘this is for you, my dear. From now on, you’re going to be called Mossycoat. That’s your name in the future. I bee
n a-stitching and a-gathering since you were born, and now you’re ready for it, and it’s time for you to leave and find your way in the world, my dear. You must go and seek your fortune, and a fine fortune it’ll be. Take up the suitcase, and close your eyes, and wish you were a hundred miles away.’
‘But what about him?’
‘You leave him to me,’ said her mother. ‘Go on! Go!’
So Mossycoat took the suitcase in her right hand, and clenched her left hand firmly around the front of the mossy coat, and closed her eyes and wished. And as soon as the wish was formed in her mind, whoosh! Up she swept into the air, like a leaf in a storm, but she clung to the suitcase as tight as a limpet, and she clutched the mossy coat firm around her front.
Where she flew she couldn’t tell, for she kept her eyes well shut; but presently all the whooshing died away, and then the soles of her feet touched ground and all her weight came back to her, and she tottered a step or two and opened her eyes.
And there she was, in a diffe Ss, 217;srent part of the country altogether. To her left was a river with green meadows beyond it, and to her right there were orchards and farmyards all neat and prosperous, and ahead of her was a hill, and on the top of the hill was a fine brick house with rose-beds in front and tulips standing to attention like soldiers along the gravel drive.
‘Well,’ said Mossycoat to herself, ‘I can’t stand here gaping all day.’
Magic Beans: A Handful of Fairytales From the Storybag Page 7