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What Every Child Should Know Library

GOOD CHEER STORIES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW

Edited by

ASA DON DICKINSON

Editor of
"The Children's Book of Christmas Stories," Etc.







[Illustration: "When we rounded the last patch of scrub pines and came
upon the long gray house fairly blazing with light ... the effect was
stunning."]




Published by Doubleday, Doran & Co., Inc., for
The Parents' Institute, Inc.
Publishers of "The Parents' Magazine"
52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1915, by Doubleday, Page & Company




ACKNOWLEDGMENT


The Publishers desire to acknowledge the kindness of the Century
Company, Ginn & Co., the J. L. Hammett Company, Harper & Brothers, the
Houghton, Mifflin Company, the J. B. Lippincott Company, the Lothrop,
Lee & Shepard Company, the Outlook Company, the Perry Mason Company,
Charles Scribner's Sons, and others, who have granted permission to
reproduce herein selections from works bearing their copyright.





CONTENTS

(Note.--The stories marked with a star (*) will be most enjoyed by
younger children; those marked with a (dagger) are better suited to
older children.)


*The Kingdom of the Greedy. _By P. J. Stahl_

Thankful. _By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman_

Beetle Ring's Thanksgiving Mascot. _By Sheldon C. Stoddard_

[dagger]Mistress Esteem Elliott's Molasses Cake. _By Kate Upson Clark_

The First Thanksgiving. _By Albert F. Blaisdell and Francis K. Ball_

[dagger]Thanksgiving at Todd's Asylum. _By Winthrop Packard_

How We Kept Thanksgiving at Oldtown. _By Harriet Beecher Stowe_

*Wishbone Valley. _By R. K. Munkittrick_

Patem's Salmagundi. _By E. S. Brooks_

Miss November's Dinner Party. _By Agnes Carr_

*The Visit. _By Maud Lindsay_

The Story of Ruth and Naomi. _Adapted from the Bible_

Bert's Thanksgiving. _By J. T. Trowbridge_

*A Thanksgiving Story. _By Miss L. B. Pingree_

[dagger]John Inglefield's Thanksgiving. _By Nathaniel Hawthorne_

How Obadiah Brought About a Thanksgiving. _By Emily Hewitt Leland_

The White Turkey's Wing. _By Sophie Swet_

*The Thanksgiving Goose. _By Fannie Wilder Brown_

[dagger]An English Dinner of Thanksgiving. _By George Eliot_

A Novel Postman. _By Alice Wheildon_

[dagger]Ezra's Thanksgivin' Out West _By Eugene Field_

*Chip's Thanksgiving. _By Annie Hamilton Donnell_

[dagger]The Master of the Harvest. _By Mrs. Alfred Gatty_

*A Thanksgiving Dinner. _By Edna Payson Brett_

Two Old Boys. _By Pauline Shackleford Colyar_

A Thanksgiving Dinner That Flew Away. _By Hezekiah Butterworth_

[dagger]Mon-daw-min. _By H. R. Schoolcraft_

A Mystery in the Kitchen. _By Olive Thorne Miller_

*Who Ate the Dolly's Dinner? _By Isabel Gordon Curtis_

[dagger]An Old-fashioned Thanksgiving. _By Rose Terry Cooke_

1800 and Froze to Death. By _C. A. Stephens_






THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF THANKSGIVING STORIES

THE KINGDOM OF THE GREEDY

BY P. J. STAHL.

TRANSLATED BY LAURA W. JOHNSON.

This fairy tale of a gormandizing people contains no mention
of Thanksgiving Day. Yet its connection with our American
festival is obvious. Every one who likes fairy tales will
enjoy reading it.


The country of the Greedy, well known in history, was ruled by a king
who had much trouble. His subjects were well behaved, but they had one
sad fault: they were too fond of pies and tarts. It was as
disagreeable to them to swallow a spoonful of soup as if it were so
much sea water, and it would take a policeman to make them open their
mouths for a bit of meat, either boiled or roasted. This deplorable
taste made the fortunes of the pastry cooks, but also of the
apothecaries. Families ruined themselves in pills and powders;
camomile, rhubarb, and peppermint trebled in price, as well as other
disagreeable remedies, such as castor ---- which I will not name.

The King of the Greedy sought long for the means of correcting this
fatal passion for sweets, but even the faculty were puzzled.

"Your Majesty," said the great court doctor, Olibriers, at his last
audience, "your people look like putty! They are incurable; their
senseless love for good eating will bring them all to the grave."

This view of things did not suit the King. He was wise, and saw very
plainly that a monarch without subjects would be but a sorry king.

Happily, after this utter failure of the doctors, there came into the
mind of His Majesty a first-class idea: he telegraphed for Mother
Mitchel, the most celebrated of all pastry cooks. Mother Mitchel soon
arrived, with her black cat, Fanfreluche, who accompanied her
everywhere. He was an incomparable cat. He had not his equal as an
adviser and a taster of tarts.

Mother Mitchel having respectfully inquired what she and her cat could
do for His Majesty, the King demanded of the astonished pastry cook a
tart as big as the capitol--bigger even, if possible, but no smaller!
When the King uttered this astounding order, deep emotion was shown by
the chamberlains, the pages, and lackeys. Nothing but the respect due
to his presence prevented them from crying "Long live Your Majesty!"
in his very ears. But the King had seen enough of the enthusiasm of
the populace, and did not allow such sounds in the recesses of his
palace.

The King gave Mother Mitchel one month to carry out his gigantic
project. "It is enough," she proudly replied, brandishing her crutch.
Then, taking leave of the King, she and her cat set out for their
home.

On the way Mother Mitchel arranged in her head the plan of the
monument which was to immortalize her, and considered the means of
executing it. As to its form and size, it was to be as exact a copy of
the capitol as possible, since the King had willed it; but its outside
crust should have a beauty all its own. The dome must be adorned with
sugarplums of all colours, and surmounted by a splendid crown of
macaroons, spun sugar, chocolate, and candied fruits. It was no small
affair.

Mother Mitchel did not like to lose her time. Her plan of battle once
formed, she recruited on her way all the little pastry cooks of the
country, as well as all the tiny six-year-olds who had a sincere love
for the noble callings of scullion and apprentice. There were plenty
of these, as you may suppose, in the country of the Greedy; Mother
Mitchel had her pick of them.

Mother Mitchel, with the help of her crutch and of Fanfreluche, who
miaowed loud enough to be heard twenty miles off, called upon all the
millers of the land, and commanded them to bring together at a certain
time as many sacks of fine flour as they could grind in a week. There
were only windmills in that country; you may easily believe how they
all began to go. B-r-r-r-r-r! What a noise they made! The clatter was
so great that all the birds flew away to other climes, and even the
clouds fled from the sky.

At the call of Mother Mitchel all the farmers' wives were set to work;
they rushed to the hencoops to collect the seven thousand fresh eggs
that Mother Mitchel wanted for her great edifice. Deep was the emotion
of the fowls. The hens were inconsolable, and the unhappy creatures
mourned upon the palings for the loss of all their hopes.

The milkmaids were busy from morning till night in milking the cows.
Mother Mitchel must have twenty thousand pails of milk. All the little
calves were put on half rations. This great work was nothing to them,
and they complained pitifully to their mothers. Many of the cows
protested with energy against this unreasonable tax, which made their
young families so uncomfortable. There were pails upset, and even some
milkmaids went head over heels. But these little accidents did not
chill the enthusiasm of the labourers.

And now Mother Mitchel called for a thousand pounds of the best
butter. All the churns for twenty miles around began to work in the
most lively manner. Their dashers dashed without ceasing, keeping
perfect time. The butter was tasted, rolled into pats, wrapped up, and
put into baskets. Such energy had never been known before.

Mother Mitchel passed for a sorceress. It was all because of her cat,
Fanfreluche, with whom she had mysterious doings and pantomimes, and
with whom she talked in her inspired moments, as if he were a real
person. Certainly, since the famous "Puss in Boots," there had never
been an animal so extraordinary; and credulous folks suspected him of
being a magician. Some curious people had the courage to ask
Fanfreluche if this were true; but he had replied by bristling, and
showing his teeth and claws so fiercely, that the conversation had
ended there. Sorceress or not, Mother Mitchel was always obeyed. No
one else was ever served so punctually.

On the appointed day all the millers arrived with their asses trotting
in single file, each laden with a great sack of flour. Mother Mitchel,
after having examined the quality of the flour, had every sack
accurately weighed. This was head work and hard work, and took time;
but Mother Mitchel was untiring, and her cat, also, for while the
operation lasted he sat on the roof watching. It is only just to say
that the millers of the Greedy Kingdom brought flour not only
faultless but of full weight. They knew that Mother Mitchel was not
joking when she said that others must be as exact with her as she was
with them. Perhaps also they were a little afraid of the cat, whose
great green eyes were always shining upon them like two round lamps,
and never lost sight of them for one moment.

All the farmers' wives arrived in turn, with baskets of eggs upon
their heads. They did not load their donkeys with them, for fear that
in jogging along they would become omelettes on the way. Mother
Mitchel received them with her usual gravity. She had the patience to
look through every egg to see if it were fresh.

She did not wish to run the risk of having young chickens in a tart
that was destined for those who could not bear the taste of any meat
however tender and delicate. The number of eggs was complete, and
again Mother Mitchel and her cat had nothing to complain of. This
Greedy nation, though carried away by love of good eating, was
strictly honest. It must be said that where nations are patriotic,
desire for the common good makes them unselfish. Mother Mitchel's tart
was to be the glory of the country, and each one was proud to
contribute to such a great work.

And now the milkmaids with their pots and pails of milk, and the
buttermakers with their baskets filled with the rich yellow pats of
butter, filed in long procession to the right and left of the cabin of
Mother Mitchel. There was no need for her to examine so carefully the
butter and the milk. She had such a delicate nose that if there had
been a single pat of ancient butter or a pail of sour milk she would
have pounced upon it instantly. But all was perfectly fresh. In that
golden age they did not understand the art, now so well known, of
making milk out of flour and water. Real milk was necessary to make
cheesecakes and ice cream and other delicious confections much adored
in the Greedy Kingdom. If any one had made such a despicable
discovery, he would have been chased from the country as a public
nuisance.

Then came the grocers, with their aprons of coffee bags, and with the
jolly, mischievous faces the rogues always have. Each one clasped to
his heart a sugar loaf nearly as large as himself, whose summit,
without its paper cap, looked like new-fallen snow upon a pyramid.
Mother Mitchel, with her crutch for a baton, saw them all placed in
her storerooms upon shelves put up for the purpose. She had to be
very strict, for some of the little fellows could hardly part from
their merchandise, and many were indiscreet, with their tongues behind
their great mountains of sugar. If they had been let alone, they would
never have stopped till the sugar was all gone. But they had not
thought of the implacable eye of old Fanfreluche, who, posted upon a
water spout, took note of all their misdeeds. From another quarter
came a whole army of country people, rolling wheelbarrows and carrying
huge baskets, all filled with cherries, plums, peaches, apples, and
pears. All these fruits were so fresh, in such perfect condition, with
their fair shining skins, that they looked like wax or painted marble,
but their delicious perfume proved that they were real. Some little
people, hidden in the corners, took pains to find this out. Between
ourselves, Mother Mitchel made believe not to see them, and took the
precaution of holding Fanfreluche in her arms so that he could not
spring upon them. The fruits were all put into bins, each kind by
itself. And now the preparations were finished. There was no time to
lose before setting to work.

The spot which Mother Mitchel had chosen for her great edifice was a
pretty hill on which a plateau formed a splendid site. This hill
commanded the capital city, built upon the slope of another hill close
by. After having beaten down the earth till it was as smooth as a
floor, they spread over it loads of bread crumbs, brought from the
baker's, and levelled it with rake and spade, as we do gravel in our
garden walks. Little birds, as greedy as themselves, came in flocks to
the feast, but they might eat as they liked, it would never be missed,
so thick was the carpet. It was a great chance for the bold little
things.

All the ingredients for the tart were now ready. Upon order of Mother
Mitchel they began to peel the apples and pears and to take out the
pips. The weather was so pleasant that the girls sat out of doors,
upon the ground, in long rows. The sun looked down upon them with a
merry face. Each of the little workers had a big earthen pan, and
peeled incessantly the apples which the boys brought them. When the
pans were full, they were carried away and others were brought. They
had also to carry away the peels, or the girls would have been buried
in them. Never was there such a peeling before.

Not far away, the children were stoning the plums, cherries, and
peaches. This work, being the easiest, was given to the youngest and
most inexperienced hands, which were all first carefully washed, for
Mother Mitchel, though not very particular about her own toilet, was
very neat in her cooking. The schoolhouse, long unused (for in the
country of the Greedy they had forgotten everything), was arranged for
this second class of workers, and the cat was their inspector. He
walked round and round, growling if he saw the fruit popping into any
of the little mouths. If they had dared, how they would have pelted
him with plum stones! But no one risked it. Fanfreluche was not to be
trifled with.

In those days powdered sugar had not been invented, and to grate it
all was no small affair. It was the work that the grocers used to
dislike the most; both lungs and arms were soon tired. But Mother
Mitchel was there to sustain them with her unequalled energy. She
chose the labourers from the most robust of the boys. With mallet and
knife she broke the cones into round pieces, and they grated them till
they were too small to hold. The bits were put into baskets to be
pounded. One would never have expected to find all the thousand pounds
of sugar again. But a new miracle was wrought by Mother Mitchel. It
was all there!

It was then the turn of the ambitious scullions to enter the lists and
break the seven thousand eggs for Mother Mitchel. It was not hard to
break them--any fool could do that; but to separate adroitly the yolks
and the whites demands some talent, and, above all, great care. We
dare not say that there were no accidents here, no eggs too well
scrambled, no baskets upset. But the experience of Mother Mitchel had
counted upon such things, and it may truly be said that there were
never so many eggs broken at once, or ever could be again. To make an
omelette of them would have taken a saucepan as large as a skating
pond, and the fattest cook that ever lived could not hold the handle
of such a saucepan.

But this was not all. Now that the yolks and whites were once divided,
they must each be beaten separately in wooden bowls, to give them the
necessary lightness. The egg beaters were marshalled into two
brigades, the yellow and the white. Every one preferred the white, for
it was much more amusing to make those snowy masses that rose up so
high than to beat the yolks, which knew no better than to mix together
like so much sauce. Mother Mitchel, with her usual wisdom, had avoided
this difficulty by casting lots. Thus, those who were not on the white
side had no reason to complain of oppression. And truly, when all was
done, the whites and the yellows were equally tired. All had cramps in
their hands.

Now began the real labour of Mother Mitchel. Till now she had been the
commander-in-chief--the head only; now she put her own finger in the
pie. First, she had to make sweetmeats and jam out of all the immense
quantity of fruit she had stored. For this, as she could only do one
kind at a time, she had ten kettles, each as big as a dinner table.
During forty-eight hours the cooking went on; a dozen scullions blew
the fire and put on the fuel. Mother Mitchel, with a spoon that four
modern cooks could hardly lift, never ceased stirring and trying the
boiling fruit. Three expert tasters, chosen from the most dainty, had
orders to report progress every half hour.

It is unnecessary to state that all the sweetmeats were perfectly
successful, or that they were of exquisite consistency, colour, and
perfume. With Mother Mitchel there was no such word as _fail_. When
each kind of sweetmeat was finished, she skimmed it, and put it away
to cool in enormous bowls before potting. She did not use for this the
usual little glass or earthen jars, but great stone ones, like those
in the "Forty Thieves." Not only did these take less time to fill, but
they were safe from the children. The scum and the scrapings were
something, to be sure. But there was little Toto, who thought this was
not enough. He would have jumped into one of the bowls if they had not
held him.

Mother Mitchel, who thought of everything, had ordered two hundred
great kneading troughs, wishing that all the utensils of this great
work should be perfectly new. These two hundred troughs, like her
other materials, were all delivered punctually and in good order. The
pastry cooks rolled up their sleeves and began to knead the dough with
cries of "Hi! Hi!" that could be heard for miles. It was odd to see
this army of bakers in serried ranks, all making the same gestures at
once, like well-disciplined soldiers, stooping and rising together in
time, so that a foreign ambassador wrote to his court that he wished
his people could load and fire as well as these could knead. Such
praise a people never forgets.

When each troughful of paste was approved it was moulded with care
into the form of bricks, and with the aid of the engineer-in-chief, a
young genius who had gained the first prize in the school of
architecture, the majestic edifice was begun. Mother Mitchel herself
drew the plan; in following her directions, the young engineer showed
himself modest beyond all praise. He had the good sense to understand
that the architecture of tarts and pies had rules of its own, and that
therefore the experience of Mother Mitchel was worth all the
scientific theories in the world.

The inside of the monument was divided into as many compartments as
there were kinds of fruits. The walls were no less than four feet
thick. When they were finished, twenty-four ladders were set up, and
twenty-four experienced cooks ascended them. These first-class artists
were each of them armed with an enormous cooking spoon. Behind them,
on the lower rounds of the ladders, followed the kitchen boys,
carrying on their heads pots and pans filled to the brim with jam and
sweetmeats, each sort ready to be poured into its destined
compartment. This colossal labour was accomplished in one day, and
with wonderful exactness.

When the sweetmeats were used to the last drop, when the great spoons
had done all their work, the twenty-four cooks descended to earth
again. The intrepid Mother Mitchel, who had never quitted the spot,
now ascended, followed by the noble Fanfreluche, and dipped her finger
into each of the compartments, to assure herself that everything was
right. This part of her duty was not disagreeable, and many of the
scullions would have liked to perform it. But they might have lingered
too long over the enchanting task. As for Mother Mitchel, she had been
too well used to sweets to be excited now. She only wished to do her
duty and to insure success.

All went on well. Mother Mitchel had given her approbation. Nothing
was needed now but to crown the sublime and delicious edifice by
placing upon it the crust--that is, the roof, or dome. This delicate
operation was confided to the engineer-in-chief who now showed his
superior genius. The dome, made beforehand of a single piece, was
raised in the air by means of twelve balloons, whose force of
ascension had been carefully calculated. First it was directed, by
ropes, exactly over the top of the tart; then at the word of command
it gently descended upon the right spot. It was not a quarter of an
inch out of place. This was a great triumph for Mother Mitchel and her
able assistant.

But all was not over. How should this colossal tart be cooked? That
was the question that agitated all the people of the Greedy country,
who came in crowds--lords and commons--to gaze at the wonderful
spectacle.

Some of the envious or ill-tempered declared it would be impossible to
cook the edifice which Mother Mitchel had built; and the doctors were,
no one knows why, the saddest of all. Mother Mitchel, smiling at the
general bewilderment, mounted the summit of the tart; she waved her
crutch in the air, and while her cat miaowed in his sweetest voice,
suddenly there issued from the woods a vast number of masons, drawing
wagons of well-baked bricks, which they had prepared in secret. This
sight silenced the ill-wishers and filled the hearts of the Greedy
with hope.

In two days an enormous furnace was built around and above the
colossal tart, which found itself shut up in an immense earthen pot.
Thirty huge mouths, which were connected with thousands of winding
pipes for conducting heat all over the building, were soon choked with
fuel, by the help of two hundred charcoal burners, who, obeying a
private signal, came forth in long array from the forest, each
carrying his sack of coal. Behind them stood Mother Mitchel with a box
of matches, ready to fire each oven as it was filled. Of course the
kindlings had not been forgotten, and was all soon in a blaze.

When the fire was lighted in the thirty ovens, when they saw the
clouds of smoke rolling above the dome, that announced that the
cooking had begun, the joy of the people was boundless. Poets
improvised odes, and musicians sung verses without end, in honour of
the superb prince who had been inspired to feed his people in so
dainty a manner, when other rulers could not give them enough even of
dry bread. The names of Mother Mitchel and of the illustrious engineer
were not forgotten in this great glorification. Next to His Majesty,
they were certainly the first of mankind, and their names were worthy
of going down with his to the remotest posterity.

All the envious ones were thunderstruck. They tried to console
themselves by saying that the work was not yet finished, and that an
accident might happen at the last moment. But they did not really
believe a word of this. Notwithstanding all their efforts to look
cheerful, it had to be acknowledged that the cooking was possible.
Their last resource was to declare the tart a bad one, but that would
be biting off their own noses. As for declining to eat it, envy could
never go so far as that in the country of the Greedy.

After two days, the unerring nose of Mother Mitchel discovered that
the tart was cooked to perfection. The whole country was perfumed with
its delicious aroma. Nothing more remained but to take down the
furnaces. Mother Mitchel made her official announcement to His
Majesty, who was delighted, and complimented her upon her punctuality.
One day was still wanting to complete the month. During this time the
people gave their eager help to the engineer in the demolition,
wishing to have a hand in the great national work and to hasten the
blessed moment. In the twinkling of an eye the thing was done. The
bricks were taken down one by one, counted carefully, and carried into
the forest again, to serve for another occasion.

The TART, unveiled, appeared at last in all its majesty and splendour.
The dome was gilded, and reflected the rays of the sun in the most
dazzling manner. The wildest excitement and rapture ran through the
land of the Greedy. Each one sniffed with open nostrils the appetizing
perfume. Their mouths watered, their eyes filled with tears, they
embraced, pressed each other's hands, and indulged in touching
pantomimes. Then the people of town and country, united by one
rapturous feeling, joined hands, and danced in a ring around the
grand confection.

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