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- Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
Herein are two illustrated children’s stories, each with a moral, by Norman Macleod (1812 – 1872.)
In THE GOLD THREAD "Prince Eric loses his way in the Hemlock Forest where a wicked robber king and his band of cutthroats and thieves live. The prince must learn the lessons of the Gold Thread if he is ever to return home to see his father, the good King Magnus, again. Through his failures and victories, he follows his gold thread through the forest. On his journey, he must turn aside temptation and enticements, of all kinds, and follow the Gold Thread whatever the danger.
But what is the Gold Thread? Well you will have to download and read the story to find out!
WEE DAVIE is a lovely story about how a child brought about an amazing change in the village into which he was born. He was the only child of William Thorburn, blacksmith, and of Jeanie, his wife. First, the “bonnie bairn” brought a change to his father and later to his mother as well. In time, his goodness and influence spread to his neighbours and then into the village itself. Yet, Wee Davie, the name by which he had been known since birth remained with him as he grew older. He had a knack for reconciling the village Tories and the more “radical elements” in the village whom it seemed had been at loggerheads ever since politics had been invented.
Unexpectedly, one day “wee Davie” became ill and he began to refuse his food. His parents sat with him and nursed him day and night. “What ails Willie?” was the question villagers asked, to which no reply could be given. Not even the Doctor could save him and one beautiful morning in spring, with a bright blue sky, living air, springing grass, and singing birds, Wee Davie left our world. His passing left a large void in the fabric of village society and for years to come he was spoken about with love and affection.
10% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.
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KEYWORDS/TAGS: Wee Davie, Gold Thread, Prince Eric, Hemlock Forest, wicked, robber king, cutthroats, thieves, return home, father, king, temptation, enticement, follow, William, Thorburn, Jeanie, curly blond, bonnie bairn, Scottish, Scotland, village, happiness, love, love, tolerance, forgiveness, understanding, influence, goodness, passing,
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The Gold ThreadandWee Davie
Two Stories For The YoungByNorman Macleod, D.D.
Originally Published ByThomas Nelson And Sons, Ltd., London[1924]
Resurrected ByAbela Publishing, London[2020]
The Gold Thread & Wee Davie
Typographical arrangement of this edition
© Abela Publishing 2020
This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Abela Publishing,
London
United Kingdom
ISBN-: 979-1-X-XXXXXX-XX-X
email:
Website:
http://bit.ly/HekGn
“Look yonder; that is the house of Darkeye the forester. We are safe!”
Contents
The gold Thread
Wee Davie!
List of Illustrations
“Look yonder; that is the house of Darkeye the forester. We are safe!”
“See that tall tower,” said Wolf
“Isn’t he a bonnie bit bairn?”
William never moved, though his great chest seemed to heave
The Gold Thread
A STORY FOR THE YOUNG
CHAPTER I
Once upon a time, a boy lost his way in a vast forest that filled many a valley and passed over many a hill—a rolling sea of leaves for miles and miles, farther than the eye could reach. His name was Eric, son of the good King Magnus. He was dressed in a blue velvet dress, with a gold band round his waist, and his fair locks in silken curls waved from his beautiful head. He was a lovely boy, and if you looked into his large blue eyes, and saw his sweet smile, you would say in your heart, “There is a boy so winning and brave and true, that I would dearly like to have him as a friend and companion.” But, alas! his hands and face were scratched, and his clothes torn with the briars, as he ran here and there like one much perplexed. Sometimes he made his way through tangled brushwood, or crossed the little grassy plains in the forest, now losing himself in dark ravines, then climbing up their steep sides, or crossing with difficulty the streams that hurried through them. For a long time he kept his heart up, and always said to himself, “I shall find it, I shall find it;” until, as the day advanced, he was wearied and hungry; and every now and then he cried, “Oh, my father! where is my father? I’m lost! I’m lost!” And “Where, oh, where is my gold thread?”
All day the forest seemed to him to be very sad. He had never seen it so gloomy. There was a strange sadness in the rustle of the leaves, and a sadness in the noise of the streams. He did not hear the birds sing as they used to do. But he heard the ravens croak with their hoarse voice, as their black forms swept along the precipices which here and there rose above the forest, and he never saw so many large hawks wheeling in the sky. They always appeared to be wheeling over his head, pausing, and fluttering as if about to dart down upon him. But on he journeyed, in the hope of finding his way out of the boundless forest, or of meeting someone who would be his guide. At last the sun appeared to be near its setting, and he could see the high branches of the trees shining like gold, as its rays from the west fell upon them. But underneath, the forest was getting darker and darker, and all the birds were preparing to sleep, and everything at last became so still that he could hear his steps echoing through the wood, and if he stopped, he heard his heart beating, or a leaf falling; but nowhere did he see a house, and no human being had he met since morning. Then the wind suddenly began to rise, and he heard it at first creeping along the tree-tops like a gentle whisper, and by-and-by to call louder and louder for the storm to come. Dark clouds gathered over the sky, and rushed along chased by the winds, that were soon to search the forest and fight with the old trees. No wonder if the boy began to fear, in case some evil would happen to him. Not that he was a coward, but a very bravehearted boy; but he had done wrong, and it was that which made him afraid.
At last, wearied and hardly able to go further, he sat down at the root of an old oak, burying his face in his hands, not knowing what to do. He then tried to climb the tree, and there to sleep somewhere among its branches, in case wild beasts should attack him. But as he was climbing up, he heard someone singing with a loud voice. He listened attentively, and looking eagerly through the leaves, he saw a boy apparently older than himself, dressed in rough shaggy clothes, as if made from skins of wild animals. His long matted hair escaped over his cheeks from under a black bearskin cap. With a short thick stick he was driving a herd of swine through the wood. “Hey there, you black porker!” cried the boy, as he threw a stone at some pig which was running away. “Get along, you lazy long snout!” he shouted to another, as he came thump on its back with his short stick. And then he sang this song with a loud voice which made the woods ring:—
“Oh, there’s nothing half so fineAs to be a herd of swine,And through the forest toddle,With nothing in my noddle,But rub a dub, a dub, hey up, halloo!
“How my little porkers gallopAs their ugly hides I wallop!How they grunt, and how they wheeze!How they grub among the trees!Oh, rub a dub, a dub, hey up, halloo!
“How their backs begin to bristleWhen they hear their master whistle!How they kick at every lickThat I give them with my stick!Oh, rub a dub, a dub, hey up, halloo!”
“Get along, you rascals,” cried the savage-looking herd, “or I’ll kill and roast you before your time;” and soon the herd, with his swine, were concealed from Eric’s sight by the wood; but he still heard his “rub-a-dub” chorus, to which he beat time with a sort of rude drum, which he had made for himself with a skin and hoop. Eric determined to make his acquaintance, or at all events to follow him to some house; so he descended from the tree, and ran off in the direction from which he heard the song coming. He soon overtook him.
“Hollo!” said the wild-looking lad, with as much astonishment as if Eric had fallen from the clouds. “Who? where from? where to?”
“I have lost my way in the wood,” said Eric, “and want you to guide me.”
“To Ralph?” asked the swineherd.
“Ralph! pray, who is he?”
“Master, chief, captain, all,” replied the young savage.
“I will go anywhere for shelter, as night is coming on; but I will reward you if you bring me to my father’s home.”
“Who is your father, my fine fellow?” inquired the swineherd, leaning on his stick.
“The king,” replied Eric.
“You lie! Ralph is king.”
“I speak the truth, swineherd.”
The swineherd by this time was examining Eric’s dress with an impudent look. “Pay me now,” said he; “give me this gold band, and I will guide you.”
“I cannot give you this gold band, for my father gave it to me, and I have lost enough to-day. By the bye, did you see a gold thread waving anywhere among the trees?”
“A gold thread! What do you mean? I saw nothing but pigs until I saw you, and I shall treat you like a pig, d’ye hear? and lick you too, for I have no time to put off. So give me your band. Come, be quick!” said he, with his fierce face, and holding up his stick as he came up to Eric.
“Keep off, swineherd; don’t touch me!”
“Don’t touch you! why shouldn’t I touch you? Do you see this stick? How would you like to have it among your fine curls, as I drive it among the pigs’ bristles?” and he began to flourish it over his head, and to press nearer and nearer. “Once! twice! when I say thrice, if you do not unbuckle, I shall save you the trouble, and leave you to the wild beasts, who would like a tender bit of prince’s flesh better than pork. Come; once! twice!”
Eric was on his guard, and said, “I shall fight you, you young robber, till death, rather than give you this band—so keep off.”
“Thrice!” shouted the herd, and down came his thick cudgel, which he intended should fall on Eric’s head.
But Eric sprang aside, and before he could recover himself, dashed in upon him, tripped him up, and threw him on the grass, getting on top of him and seizing him by the throat in a moment. The herd, in his efforts to get out of Eric’s grasp, let go his cudgel, which Eric seized and held over his head. “Unless you promise, master swineherd, to leave me alone, I may leave you alone with the wild beasts.”
