Fairy Tales Told in the Bush E-Book

Sister Agnes

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 82

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Fairy Tales Told in the Bush - Fairy Tales from Down Under A new edition of an old book published in the year 1911 - 'Fairy Tales Told in the Bush', by 'Sister Agnes'. It appears, that the author had written the book under a pseudonym or false name, perhaps with the intention to hide her identity. This is not the case, as Sister Agnes was a well know person in her community at the time. Agnes Row was born in Australia, Campbell's Creek, Victoria, in the year 1866, as the second youngest of five surviving children. When her mother died at an early age, the eldest sister took responsibility over her younger siblings, but also she died very soon. In 1896 she became a deaconess, Sister Agnes, parting from her surname forever. She belonged to an Anglican order of women, the CHN - Community of the Holy Name, looking after slum-dwellers, providing medical care, refuges for women, education and Christianity. Put in charge of St George's Mission Hall, she found her purpose in looking after the needy boys. When she read her stories to them, she kept a hall full of them interested and excited; they were eating out of her hand, everyone felt that nothing could go wrong with her around and whatever she said was fair and right, becoming a guide for their future life. Other assignments followed, like the Superintendent of the Diocesan Mission to the Streets and Lanes in Melbourne or Superintendent of St Mark's Mothers' Union. Sister Agnes died in the year 1930. Completely re-typed text, no photographic reproductions. All original black-and-white images have been kept. The layout and structure, including some punctuation, has been changed somewhat to make the book better readable, especially in the e-book version, but the content remains totally unchanged. Six stories: The little man in brown or the boy who lied - The magic gun - The underground river - The origin of the Yarra Yarra (Ever-flowing) - Forget-me-not - The Palace of Truth. 

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

Preface

The Little Man in Brown, or the Boy who Lied

The Magic Gun

The Underground Lake

The Origin of the YarraYarra (Ever-flowing)

Forget-me-not

The Palace of Truth

PREFACE

Of these Fairy Tales told to children in the Australian bush ,'The Magic Gun' and 'The Underground River' are original, but the others have been brought from the old country, not in book form, but in the memory of a lover of fairies and children.

'The Origin of the Yarra Yarra' was told to the writer by old King Barak, the last King of the Yarra tribe, a few days before his death. These tales, as told here, charmed the writer in the 'Sixties' when Melbourne was a place of bush and swamp. They now charm little slum children in the so-called 'slum parts' of the city of Melbourne, 'The Palace of Truth' and 'The Magic Gun' being always asked for when stories are to be told.

EACH WALL WAS COVERED WITH SHELVES, AND EACH SHELF WAS FULL OF BOOKS

THE BOY GREW BOLD AND BEGAN TO READ

THE LITTLE MAN IN BROWN OR THE BOY WHO LIED

LONG, long ago in the days when there were no schools, there lived a man and his wife and their only child. He was a bright, clever boy, and his parents were very ambitious for their dear boy, and wished him to become a great and renowned man. They saw that the children who could not read or write, but who just played all day long, had to go to work while still very young, and were generally so stupid that they could never earn much money; so they determined to let their boy have an education, and be able, later on, to have an easier life than they themselves had ever enjoyed.

They worked early and late and saved every penny, even when their boy was still a baby, and by the time he was old enough to learn, they had saved enough money to pay a learned man who lived in the town to teach the boy.

Boy he was always called, and I am very glad there is no other name for him, because of his bad ending.

When Boy was fourteen years old, he knew so much about books that there was not a single book in the learned man’s library that he had not read.

Oh, he was very clever and knowing, and he told his mother and father that he now knew enough to go and earn a good living.

»In the morning«, said he, »I shall set out to make a fortune.«

Long before daybreak, the boy set out on his journey, carrying a bundle done up in a big red handkerchief. It contained a clean shirt, a pair of socks, a loaf of new bread, and a bottle of milk.

His parents were very sad when he went away, but they knew he would never have any chance to become great and famous in the town where every one knew him as 'the Boy'.

Away trudged the boy, up hill and down dale, until at last, just before sunrise, he came to a hill where, as he imagined, cock had never crowed and man had never walked before.

Tired and hungry, he sat down to eat his loaf and drink his milk, and, just as he had finished, a little old man dressed all in brown suddenly appeared before him.

The boy rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not dreaming, for a minute before he had been alone; now, here was this funny little man looking at him. The little man wore knee-breeches and silk stockings, a cut-away coat, and a cocked hat, all of brown, and the funny thing was that the colour of his clothes matched the colour of his eyes and hair.

»Well, my boy«, said the old man, »you look surprised to see me.«

»Yes, Sir, I am; I thought no one lived here.«

»Can’t people be in a place without living there? You yourself are here at present, but I suppose you don’t live here.«

»No, Sir; l am going out into the world to make my fortune.«

»Just the boy I want. L am looking for a boy who will promise to do a little work for me for six months, and for that little work he is to get £50. Will you come and do it?«

»That I will«, cried the boy, jumping up gladly.

»Stay, though, there is one question I must ask first«, said the little old man. »Can you read or write?«

»Yes«, answered the boy proudly, »I can read anything in my tutor’s library.«

»Ah! then you won’t do for me, and I must go on my way in search of a boy capable of doing what I want, but unable to read or write.«

»Why do you want – « began the boy; but he was speaking to space, the little old man in brown had disappeared.

Suddenly the boy formed a resolution. He would go home again, make himself look quite different, and come to-morrow morning to this same place, and then, if the little old man came –

Well, the boy had been taught to read and write, but he had not been taught to be truthful or honest. His parents thought that did not help people to get rich or famous.

Back he went to his home, and when he told his mother what he intended to do, she was quite pleased.

»See«, she said to her husband, »how clever the boy is; this is what book-learning has done. No one else would think of such a clever trick.«

Next morning, at sunrise, there was a boy again sitting on the top of that distant hill, where the boy had breakfasted the day before.

Indeed it was the boy, although he looked quite different.

He had dyed his fair hair and his eyebrows, making them look almost black, and he had rubbed the juice of a certain bark on his skin to make him seem dark. There he sat, a dark foreign-looking boy, eating his breakfast and impatiently waiting for the little old man to come again.

He had not long to wait.

How he came the boy never knew, but he suddenly knew he was not alone, and looking up saw the old man looking at him.

»Ah, a fair boy yesterday, and a dark one to-day. I hope there is more luck for me with the dark than there was with the fair. What are you doing here, boy?«

»I’m looking for work, Sir«, answered the boy, trying not to show how delighted he felt.

»Good«, said the old man, »and I’m looking for a boy who wants work.«

»Will you engage me, Sir?«

»Softly, softly, there are one or two things to speak about first. Can you read and write?«

»No, Sir«, answered the boy, not even turning a shade paler under his dye, for you see he had never been taught to be truthful or honourable.

»Good again; then if £50 a year will suit you, you can come at once.«

Of course the boy said »Yes« to that, and the old man led him to a house just over the next hill, a pretty house standing in a big natural garden.

»Come in« said the old man, unlocking the door, »come in and I’ll show you what you must do to earn your money.«

The boy was astonished to find that the house was really only one big room; each wall was covered with shelves from the ceiling to the floor, and each shelf was full of books.

The boy was then told that he would be quite alone in the house, as his master meant to travel for six months.

Usually he lived there by himself, but he had studied so much that his brain was tired, and he knew that if he wished to get really well and strong again, he must travel away, and not look at a book for six months.

So he had hired the boy just to dust his beloved books in his lonely house, and, as it was so far away from people, he had to give a big sum of money, as wages, to get any one to stay there alone.

The boy stood looking around in astonishment. »Where am I to sleep?«, he asked.

»Why, on that couch, of course«, said the old man; »you’ll find plenty of blankets under it.«

»And what am I to eat?«

»Ah! ah! ah!«, laughed the old man, »trust a boy to make provision for that. There is, my boy, a wonderful secret connected with this house. When a certain magic word is pronounced, a table is lowered by invisible hands, and on the table you will find everything you wish to eat and drink.«

»Now say it after me:«

'Corremurreplatyemurrepleuemurretimemurrejcherymur re-pljeskuskiski.’

Slowly the boy repeated the strange word after the old man, and, as he finished, there descended a table even as he had been told.

On the table was a baked fowl, a duck, vegetables, puddings, tarts, cakes, sweets, and two or three kinds of drinks.

Oh, these things were good! The boy soon knew that, and when he had eaten and drunk as much as he could, the man said he must get away as soon as possible, as he felt his brain could not stand the strain of even the backs of the books much longer.

»I know you can't read and write, boy,«, said the old man, »and yet I want you to promise me you won't read a single word in these books, nor even open them.«

The boy promised readily enough, and then the old man went off.

At first the boy worked at the dusting, never daring to open one of the books in case the old man should suddenly appear as he had done on the hill-top ; but, as day after day passed, and there was no sign of him, he grew bold and began to read.