Read Ebook: Fairy Tales for Workers' Children by Zur M Hlen Hermynia Gibson Lydia Illustrator Dailes Ida Translator

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Ebook has 310 lines and 15773 words, and 7 pages

Rose-bush gazed at the gleaming white house in which lived people who had everything they wanted and then looked at the street where others passed by with thin, pale faces that were tired and sad, and this brought new strength to her heart.

She became constantly more sick and more weak; her arms hung down feebly, her blossoms dropped their petals, her leaves became wrinkled and yellow. The man who tended her watched her sadly and asked. "What is wrong, my poor Rose-bush?" and he tried every remedy he knew of to help her. But all in vain. One morning, instead of a handsome, blooming Rose-bush, he found a miserable, withered, dead bush.

That could not remain there, the withered branches and flowers spoiled the handsome garden. The gracious lady commanded that the Rose-bush be thrown out. As the man dug her up, the Rose-bush gathered her remaining strength and whispered beseechingly, "Take me home! Please, please take me home!"

The man fulfilled her wish. He planted the Rose-bush in a flower pot and took her to the poor, small room where he lived. His sick wife sat up in bed and said, "Ah, the poor Rose-bush, she is as sick as I am, but you will nurse us both back to health."

The withered leaves and twigs moaned, "Water! Water!" And the man understood them and brought in a jar of water. The Rose-bush drank. Oh! what delight this was! Eagerly her roots sucked up the water, the delicious moisture passing through all her branches gave her new life. The next morning she could lift up her branches; the sick woman was as happy as a child and cried, "She will get well!"

And the Rose-bush really got well. In a short while she again became so beautiful that the poor little room was as fragrant as a garden. The pale cheeks of the woman became rosier every day, her strength was returning. "The Rose-bush has made me well," said she, and all the flowers on the Rose-bush glowed deep red with joy when she heard these words.

The man and his wife were kind people, they gladly shared the little they had, and carefully broke off some roses to bring joy to tired people in other lonely rooms.

The roses had other magic powers; the Rose-bush, in her days of struggle and suffering, had learned the songs of the Wind. Now her flowers sang them very softly for their friends, "Keep together! Fight! You will conquer!" Then the people said, "How strange! The perfume of the flowers brings us new strength. We will fight together for a better world."

But to the little children the roses sang in a tender, loving voice: "Little children, when you are grown up, you will no longer stand sadly before the gate. The whole world will belong to those who work, the whole world!"

THE SPARROW

Quarrel and disagreement ruled in the Sparrow family. Mother Sparrow squatted unhappily in her nest all day and Father Sparrow swore and grumbled and found fault with everything. The family that had once been so gay and happy was completely changed. And for all this misery the youngest Sparrow was to blame. One evening at supper he had declared, briefly and boldly, "I'm not going to school any more. I've had enough of being insulted by those aristocrats. Above all, I'm tired of all this life. I want to go out into the world." He stuck up his bill and looked at his parents defiantly.

Mother Sparrow was so shocked that all her feathers stood up. She started helplessly at her naughty son, and all she could do was to say weakly, "Peep, peep."

But Father Sparrow opened his mouth so wide in anger that the worm he had meant to eat slid quickly away. He was a person of action, did not believe in talking much, and proceeded to beat his son in the face with his sharp beak.

The young Sparrow screamed more defiantly than ever, "I won't stay here any longer. I've had enough. I'm going out into the world."

Then Mother Sparrow found her voice again and said tearfully, "You wicked child! That's how you thank your parents for their love. Haven't we brought you up well? You are the first sparrow in our village to attend Professor Swallow's school of architecture and learn to build artistic nests. You belong to the best society and mingle with Swallows, Starlings and Yellow-bills. And this is how you repay us."

"I don't care a pin about fine society," replied the excited young Sparrow. And he whistled defiantly, "Tweet, tweet!"

"No other Sparrow is studying such a respectable profession," despairingly piped Mother Sparrow.

Then the young Sparrow began to make such a fuss that the whole nest shook. "A respectable profession, truly a beautiful profession. To build nests in which others live. To slave in the heat of the sun, carrying straws from all over, to weave them together, to see that everything is just perfect--and then the fine ladies and gentlemen move in, and throw me a little worm for my wages, hardly enough for a decent meal. Above all, these fine people. The swallows, always dressed up in their frock-coats; the Yellow-bills, always showing off their fine jewelry. And how they treat our own people, full of pride and scorn. Common laborer, they call me. I've had enough of it. I'm as good as they are, and maybe better."

Mother Sparrow shrank in horror, but Father Sparrow blew up until he nearly burst and shouted, "Be silent, you lost soul, you whipper-snapper. You talk like a Bolshevik. You forget that I am chairman of the Council of Jesters. My son must not rebel against law and order."

"Yes," exclaimed Mother Sparrow, "and suppose the neighbors should hear you! How dreadful!"

The young Sparrow laughed shamelessly, seated himself on the edge of the nest and whistled a revolutionary song.

Father Sparrow rose hastily and grumbled in an undertone to his wife, "See to that young fool and make him behave. I must go to the meeting of the Singing Society." He flew away without one look at his naughty son.

Mother Sparrow sighed deeply and asked in a complaining voice, "Now what is it you really want?"

The young Sparrow came closer, nestled against his mother, and said with a sweet smile, "I want to go away little mother, far away. To foreign lands where it is always summer."

"But son of my heart, you know that even the stupid children of men learn in their schools that the Sparrow is not a migratory bird."

"What is that to me? I can't stand it here any longer. Always seeing the same things; in the distance the old church steeple, here before our noses the farm-house, and the dung-hill. No, I want to go away, far away."

At that he spread out his wings and pushed himself head first out of the nest into space. It seemed very dangerous, but his wings carried him safely through the air.

But the young Sparrow was by no means as joyous and light-hearted as he seemed to be. The words of his parents had aroused all sorts of doubts in his mind. "Mother was really right," he said to himself. "The Sparrow is not a migratory bird. No one has ever heard of a Sparrow that has flown across the great ocean and gone to foreign lands. But why shouldn't I be the first one to do this?" he asked himself, with defiant courage. "Some one must always be the first one. If my venture succeeds, I will have proven to all the Sparrow folk that they need not freeze and starve in the winter-time, but can move to the warm countries and live happily. Certainly, the ocean...." The young Sparrow's heart lost courage, he thought of what his teacher, the Swallow had once told him about the great, wild water that never seemed to end, about the angry frothy waves over which one had to fly daily. If one's wings lost their strength, one fell down and was lost. One was swallowed by the waves.

At these thoughts the Sparrow almost wanted to give up the idea. He shrank together and began shivering. Then suddenly he thought how in past hard winters many wretched Sparrows had died of hunger and cold.

"No, no," said he to himself. "I must not be so cowardly. This matter does not concern only myself, but all my brother Sparrows, all the Sparrows of future generations, who will live when I have been long dead. It will be worth every danger and every sacrifice if I can help them to a happier life."

And the brave young Sparrow decided to leave the next day.

He spent that night in his parents' nest, nestled close to his mother, wept a little secretly because it was hard for him to leave. Father returned late, and he was quite drunk, threw himself on his bed so that it cracked and fell asleep immediately.

The grey-white sky began to turn rosy, morning came flying on the wings of the wind and brought light to the world. The young Sparrow awoke, looked for the last time at his sleeping parents, and flew forth. He knew in which direction he must fly, for he remembered the stories of the Swallows. Now he flew exactly that way.

The sun climbed higher into the heavens, it became hotter and hotter, the poor Sparrow could hardly breathe. His wings were so tired and sore that he could hardly lift them. Still he flew further. He had resolved not to rest until the shadows would fall upon the earth.

Never had he lived through so long a day. Vainly his bright little eyes explored the heavens, but the great golden sphere of the sun shone brightly, would not go down.

"I was a fool," thought the Sparrow. "Now I might be sitting at home in our nest, or be bathing in the puddle by the cherry-tree. Ah, how pleasant it would be to bathe; at this moment even the ocean would not be too large."

Still he flew steadily on. But now he flew slowly, every beat of his wings caused him dreadful pain. He began to hate the sun, this merciless glowing red sphere that would not go down. To give himself courage, he made up a little song, singing it very softly and moving his tired wings in time to its rhythm.

"My cause is the cause of my brothers, My strength must save them all; If I fail I do wrong to the others, And their chains will never fall."

At last, at last, great black shadows fell upon the earth. A refreshing breeze came flying, coolly fanning the weary Sparrow, carrying him gently along on its mighty wings.

As the sun went down behind a blue hill, the tired Sparrow alighted on a large meadow. He lay panting in the tall grass. The soft chirping of the crickets lulled him to sleep; his eyes closed.

Rough, loud voices of men awakened him. Under a knotty old nut tree he saw two ragged, dust-covered men seated. One of them pulled his torn boots off, looked woefully at his blistered feet and said, "I can't run any more, I must rest a day."

"Just another half hour," the other man said comfortingly. "Just to the next railroad station. There we will hide in a freight car and ride until morning. Then it will not be far to the sea."

The Sparrow had listened carefully to their conversation. "So people get tired, too," thought he, "and then they ride. I don't know what that means, but I know that one does not tire oneself that way. If people ride, why shouldn't Sparrows also ride?" He decided to follow the men, and since they left in a short time he flew after them.

They arrived at a house in front of which two shining bands were stretched on the ground. Now night had really come. All was hidden in darkness, only the stars shone faintly in the sky. The Sparrow stayed near the two men and waited.

Suddenly something dreadful appeared. Through the darkness a gigantic black beast came rattling, its red eyes shining so brightly that one could see them from a great distance, it puffed and panted, the earth shook after it. It shrieked frightfully as it came near. Then suddenly it stopped. It let out clouds of smoke from its long black nose.

The Sparrow was astonished that neither of the two men, nor the rest of the people, seemed to be afraid of the monster. On the contrary, they ran up to it, disappearing in its smoke. Then the Sparrow saw that the monster pulled some black houses behind it. He saw the two men sneak into one of these houses and flew on to the roof of the same house. Scarcely had he settled himself when the monster again began to puff and pant and started on its journey.

The poor Sparrow thought he would die of fright. The monster rushed with such speed that the little bird could not hear or see. At home he had often flown with the wind for the sport of it and had enjoyed the swift motion. But this was altogether different. He made himself very small, settled himself firmly, and believed his last hour had come. If men called this rest they surely are strange creatures. Perhaps it wasn't so terrible where the people were. He was a clever Sparrow and when the monster stopped again to take breath, he flew down from the roof of the house and examined it. The door was not quite closed. The Sparrow squeezed through the crack, entered a dark room where many boxes were piled. He squatted on one of the chests and waited to see what would happen.

The monster began to run again. The Sparrow laughed with joy; now he had guessed right. He sat here quietly, comfortably, and the monster had to slave to carry him further. So this is what people call "to ride." Truly, people are not so stupid as he had thought.

The countless feet of the monster pounded over the earth singing a rattling, rumbling, monotonous song. The Sparrow understood the words to mean "Into the distance! Into the distance!" For a while he listened to the song, then he fell asleep.

He must have slept a long time. When he awoke the sun was high in the sky and its rays came into the dark room through narrow cracks in the door. The Sparrow saw that his two acquaintances had hidden themselves between two tall boxes. They seemed to be in good humor, chatting with one another and laughing.

"We have traveled a good part of our journey without trouble," said the older one. "Now we only have to walk another day and ride another night. Then we will reach the ocean."

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