SCRAPBOOK

IN
ENGLISH

SUBMITTED BY:
MARCO PHILIP HINAUTAN

SUBMITTED TO:
MRS. HELEN R. PALEN

FABLES

THE LION AND THE

BEETLE
Lion was very proud and very vain. He loved to stomp around the
savannah, roaring and growling whenever he saw his animal subjects Giraffe or Hyena or Elephant or Gazelle or Ape - to show what a mighty Lion
he was. "I am a Very Mighty King!" he roared. And his subjects all bowed
low before him. One day, Lion looked into the mirror-like waters of the lake.
He was struck by his own greatness. What a beautiful and noble creature I
am, he thought. "I am a Very Mighty King!" he roared. "I am a Very Mighty
King!" Lion preened and posed and pranced in front of the glassy lake for
hours, admiring his greatness. Finally, Lion said: "I will show my devoted
subjects that their leader is every inch a King." Lion put on his fancy robes,
his jeweled crown, and all his gold and silver medals. His clothes were very
heavy, but they made him look mighty and grand. "I am a Very Mighty
King!" he roared in delight. "I am a Very Mighty King!" Lion sent out a
message to all his animal subjects - to Giraffe and Hyena and Elephant and
Gazelle and Ape. He sent messages to all the animals living on the savannah
or in the junge, inviting them to a meeting on the parade grounds in front of
his palace, where they could admire him in his finery. And so the animals
came to see Lion; the Giraffe and the Hyena and the Elephant and the
Gazelle and the Ape. And many more animals came as well; from the stately
Zebra in his black-and-white coat to the teeny, tiny Beetle, who was so little
that he had to walk on the side fo the road so the bigger anmals would not
step on him by accidents. "I am small. I am little. People look down and
can't see me," sang the Beetle as he scurried through the tall grass beside
the road. "I am small. I am little. But inside, I'm tall as a tree!" When the
animals were assembled on the parade ground, there came a mighty
trumpet blast from Elephant, and Lion came forth in all his grandeur. "I am a
Very Mighty King!" he roared. "I am a Very Mighty King!" Lion strutted and
preened and pranced before his animal subjects. The animals were awed by
his splendor and bowed before him. Lion stomped through the rows of
Elephants and Giraffes and Hyenas and Gazelles, roaring and growling to
show how mighty he was. "I am a Very Mighty King!" he roared. "I am a Very
Mighty King!" Then Lion saw the teeny tiny Beetle, standing alone by the
side of the road. The Beetle was singing to himself as he watched the Lion.
"I am small. I am little. People look down and can't see me," sang the Beetle
as Lion strutted before his subjects. "I am small. I am little. But inside, I'm tall
as a tree!" Lion said to the Beetle: "You, Beetle, bow before me!" Beetle
said: "Your Royal Majesty, I know that I am small, but if you look at me
closely, you will see that I am making a bow!" Lion replied: "Beetle, you are
hard to see down there! I am not sure that you are bowing to me." Beetle
said: "Look at me closely. I assure you that I am bowing." Lion leaned over,
peering down at the teeny tiny Beetle. His splendid robes, his jeweled crown
and his many medals made him so top-heavy that Lion wobbled and swayed
as he loomed over the teeny tiny Beetle. Then Lion lost his balance and fell
onto his head! His royal crown went flying off, and Lion rolled over and over,
down the steep hill, and plopped into a ditch filled with muddy water. All the
animals laughed and laughed when they saw the muddy Lion sprawled in the

ditch. Frightened, the teeny tiny Beetle scurried away. And the bedraggled
Lion scurried away too. He was not so very mighty, after all.

CAT AND MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP

A cat and a mouse wanted to live together and keep house
as a partnership. They prepared for winter by buying a pot of fat,
and because they had no safer spot for it, they placed it under the
alter in the church until such time that they would need it.
However, one day the cat took a longing for it, and approached
the mouse. "Listen, little mouse, my cousin has invited me to
serve
as
godfather. She has
given birth to a
brown and white
spotted little son,
and I am supposed
to carry him to
his baptism. Is it all
right for me to
leave
you
home
alone with the
housework today?"
"Go ahead," said
the mouse, "and if
they serve you
something good, just
think of me. I
would
certainly
welcome a drop
of
good
red
christening
wine." But the cat
went straight to
the church and ate
the top off the fat
and
then
went
strolling
about
the town and did not
return home until
evening. "You must
have had a good
time,"
said
the
mouse. "What name did they give the child?" "Top-Off," answered
the cat. "Top-Off? That's a strange name, one that I've not yet
heard." Soon afterward the cat took another longing, went to the
mouse, and said, "I've been asked to serve as godfather once
again. The child has a white ring around its body. I can't say no.
You'll have to do me a favor and take care of the house by
yourself today." The mouse agreed, and the cat went and ate up
half the fat. When she returned home, the mouse asked, "What
name did this godchild receive?" "Half-Gone." "Half-Gone? What
are you telling me? I've never heard that name. It certainly isn't in
the almanac." Now the cat could not take his mind off the pot of
fat. "I've been invited to serve as godfather for a third time," he
said. "The child is black and has white paws, but not another
white hair on his entire body. That only happens once in a few
years. You will let me go, won't you?" "Top-Off, Half-Gone," said
the mouse. "Those names are so curious that it makes me a bit
suspicious, but go ahead." The mouse took care of the house and
cleaned up everything, while the cat finished off the pot of fat.
Round and full, she did not return until nighttime. "What is the
third child's name?" "All-Gone." "All-Gone! That is a worrisome
name!" said the mouse. "All-Gone. Just what does this mean? I've
never seen that name in print," and she shook her head and went
to bed. No one invited the cat to serve as godfather a fourth time.
Winter soon came, and when they could no longer find anything
to eat outside, the mouse said to the cat, "Let's get the provisions

that we've hid in the church under the altar." They went there, but
the pot was empty. "Now I see!" said the mouse. "You came here
when you said you were invited to be a godfather. First came TopOff, then it was Half-Gone, and then..." "Be still," said the cat. "I'll
eat you up, if you say another word." "All-Gone" was already in
the poor mouse's mouth, and she had scarcely said it before the
cat jumped on her and swallowed her down.

THE TOWN MOUSE AND THE FIELD

MOUSE
A mouse living in the town one day met a mouse which lived
in the field. "Where do you come from?" asked the latter when
she saw the town mouse. "I come from yonder town," replied the
first
mouse.
"How is life
going there with
you?"
"Very
well, indeed. I am
living in the lap
of
luxury.
Whatever
I
want of sweets or
any other good
things is to be
found
in
abundance in my
master's
house. But how
are you living?"
"I have nothing
to complain of.
You just come
and see my
stores. I have
grain and nuts,
and all the fruits
of the tree and
field
in
my
storehouse."
The town mouse
did not quite
believe the story
of
her
new
friend, and, driven by curiosity, went with her to the latter's
house. How great was her surprise when she found that the field
mouse had spoken the truth; her garner was full of nuts and grain
and other stores, and her mouth watered when she saw all the
riches which were stored up there. Then she turned to the field
mouse and said, "Oh, yes, you have here a nice snug place and
something to live upon, but you should come to my house and
see what I have there. Your stock is as nothing compared with the
riches which are mine." The field mouse, who was rather simple
by nature and trusted her new friend, went with her into the town
to see what better things the other could have. She had never
been into the town and did not know what her friend could mean
when she boasted of her greater riches. So they went together,
and the town mouse took her friend to her master's house. He
was a grocer, and there were boxes and sacks full of every good
thing the heart of a mouse could desire. When she saw all these
riches, the field mouse said she could never have believed it, had
she not seen it with her own eyes. While they were talking
together, who should come in but the cat. As soon as the town
mouse saw the cat, she slipped quietly behind a box and hid
herself. Her friend, who had never yet seen a cat, turned to her
and asked her who that gentleman was who had come in so
quietly. "Do you not know who he is? Why, he is our priest, and he

has come to see me. You must go and pay your respects to him
and kiss his hand. See what a beautiful glossy coat he has on, and
how his eyes sparkle, and how demurely he keeps his hands in
the sleeves of his coat." Not suspecting anything, the field mouse
did as she was told and went up to the cat. He gave her at once
his blessing, and the mouse had no need of another after that.
The cat gave her extreme unction there and then. That was just
what the town mouse had intended. When she saw how well
stored the home of the field mouse was, she made up her mind to
trap her and to kill her, so that she might take possession of all
that the field mouse had gathered up. She had learned the ways
of the townspeople and had acted accordingly.

THE DOG,
AND THE

THE CAT,
MOUSE

In
the
beginning there
was no enmity
between
the
cat and dog,
and they lived
on
friendly
terms together
and served their
master (Adam)
faithfully, each
one doing its
own work. But
as you know, it
is very much
better to have
a written agreement at the beginning than to have a row
afterwards, so they decided to draw up an agreement
defining the work which each had to do, and decided that
the dog was to do the work outside the house, and the
cat the work inside. For greater safety the dog agreed
that the cat should take care of the agreement, and the
cat put it in the loft. After a time, the devil, who could not
allow peace to last for a long time, must needs set the
dog up against the cat; so one day the dog remarked to
the cat that he was not fairly treated. He did not see why
he should have all the trouble outside the house, to watch
for thieves and protect the house and suffer from cold
and rain, and only have scraps and bones for food, and
sometimes nothing at all, whilst the cat had all the
comfort, purring and enjoying herself, and living near the
hearth in warmth and safety. The cat said, "An agreement
is an agreement." The dog replied, "Let me see that
agreement." The cat went quickly up the loft to fetch the
agreement, but the agreement, which had been a little
greasy, had been nibbled by the mice who were living in
the loft, and they went on nibbling away until nothing was

left of it but a heap of paper fluff, and as it was as soft as

down the mice made their home of it. When the cat came
up and saw what the mice had done, her fury knew no
bounds. She pursued them madly, killing as many as she
could seize, and running after the others with the intent
of catching them. When she came down the dog asked
her for the agreement, and as the cat had not brought it,
the dog, taking hold of her, shook her until he got tired of
shaking her. Since that time, whenever a dog meets a cat
he asks her for the agreement, and as she cannot show it
to him he goes for her. And the cat, knowing what the
mice had done to her, runs after them when she sees
them.

The Classic
Friendship
the Lion
Mouse

Story of
and the

Once in a dense
jungle far away
there lived a mighty
lion whom all the
other creatures used to
fear very much.
King of the jungle as he was, the terrible beast knew no fear and he loved
the respect he received from all and sundry in the forest. He used to spend
half his day in hunting and the other half in sleeping. No creature dared to
come near his den at any time of the day, especially when he was asleep for
the mighty beast got terribly angry if his sleep was disturbed in any way. But
one day it so happened that a little mouse got curious to see how the lion's
den looked like. So he set out for the cave where the lion rested. When he
got near, he could not see the lion. "He has gone somewhere. Is he going to
come back soon? Nah...I don't think so." thought the mouse. It ran and
sneaked into the cave. It was a dark, desolate place but big enough for the
lion to live. The mouse felt small and a little afraid when he saw the large
footprints of the lion on the ground. "Maybe I should turn back." thought
he. Just then he heard the sound of the footsteps of the lion. "Oh no, he is
coming back. Now what do I do?" the mouse trembled anxiously. The lion had
only gone to quench his thirst from a river close by and he was coming back
to take rest. The mouse hid himself in the dark inside of the cave and saw
the huge shadow of the lion falling on the floors. The lion sat near the
entrance of the cave and rested his head on his huge paws. Soon he was fast
asleep. The whole cave seemed to tremble with the loud snoring of the
jungle king. The mouse tried to creep out as stealthily as he could. Soon he
was near the entrance. But as he tried to cross the lion, his little tail grazed
against the left paw of the beast and the lord of the jungle woke up with a
start. Imagine his anger and the roar he gave when he saw the puny mouse
in his den. The frightened mouse lost his mind and began to run up and
down upon the lion. The lion placed his huge paw upon its tail and opened
his big jaws to swallow the mouse when the latter cried out, "Pardon, O King,
please forgive me. I did not mean to wake you, I was only trying to leave this
cave which I had entered out of curiosity. Kindly let me go this time, I shall
never forget your nobility: if destiny gives me a chance I will assist you in
whichever way I can on one of your bad days." The lion was amused at this

thought. How can the little mouse help him? But he let him go and roared
with laughter. The mouse ran for his life, thanking his stars. A few days, as
the lion was prowling majestically through the jungle, it was suddenly caught
in a hunter's snare. He struggled furiously to break free. But for all his efforts,
he only found himself getting even more entangled in the net of ropes. He
roared out of anger and helplessness. The whole jungle began to shake due
to the terrible sound and every animal heard the cries of the beast. The
mouse heard it too. "The lord of the jungle is in trouble." thought the mouse.
"It is my chance to be of help to him now". Thinking so, the mouse ran as
fast as he could to the place where the sounds were coming from. Soon he
found the lion trapped in the hunter's snare. "Don't move, Your Majesty, I'll
cut your ropes and you will soon be free" squeaked the mouse. Without
wasting a second, he began nibbling through the ropes with his sharp little
teeth. Very soon
the lion was free. "I did
not believe that
even you could help
me. But I was
wrong" said the lion
humbly. And the
two creatures became
the best of friends
from
that
day. No
matter how weak
and small a creature
is, he may be of
help if time comes.

LEGENDS

THE LEGEND OF MAKAHIYA

Long time ago, there was a couple in Barangay

Masagana (Pampanga today) who wanted a daughter.
Their wish was granted and the wife gave birth to a baby
girl. They called her Maria. Maria was very beautiful but
very shy that she wouldn't go out from their house.
Weeks later, Spaniards came to their town. The
Spaniards were very cruel that they get everything they
wanted. They rob houses and kill everyone who gets in
their way and who refuses to give what they wanted.
The couple was very frightened to lose their daughter

so, they hid Maria in the bushes so the Spaniards couldn't

find her.
After the Spaniards left their town, the couple tried to
look for Maria but they couldn't find her even in the bushes
where they hid her, instead they found a little plant that is
very sensitive that when you touch it, it would immediately
close.
So they thought it was their daughter, Maria. They
called the plant "Makahiya" that means "touch me not,"
like their daughter who was very shy.

THE LEGEND OF PRINCESS

MANORAH

A story told and passed on through generations since the Ayutthaya period and which
inspired a poem by King Rama V of Thailand.
Kinnaree Manorah was a princess of Thai legend and was the youngest of the seven
Kinnaree daughters of King Prathum and Queen Jantakinnaree. She lived in the
mythical Mount Grairat kingdom. The Seven Kinnaree appeared as half woman half
swan. They could fly or shed their wings to assume human form as they pleased.
Within the Krairat (Grairat) kingdom was the great Himmapan Forest in which lived
strange creatures, unknown to human realms. In the middle of the forest was a beautiful
lake which the seven Kinnaree loved to visit regularly on the auspicious day of Panarasi
(Full moon day). Nearby, the lake, an old hermit practiced his meditations.
One day, a young man named Prahnbun, was strolling in the Himmapan forest, saw the
seven princesses at play at the great pond. Prahnbun, stunned by the beauty of
Manorah, thought, "If I can catch her and present her to Prince Suton, son of King
Artityawong and Queen Jantaivee of Udon Panjah the Prince would surely fall in love
with her. But how will I be able to catch her?"
He knew of the old hermit who meditated nearby in the forest and he decided to seek
advice from the wise old man about his plans. The hermit told the young man that to
catch the Kinnaree would be very difficult, as they would fly away if anyone frightened
them, but that there was a great dragon living deep in the forest that might be able to
help him. Prahbun thanked him for his advice and raced off to see the dragon.

The great dragon was not happy to hear Prahnbun's plan but was, eventually
persuaded by Prahnbun to give him a magical rope with which he would be able to
catch Manorah. Prahnbun thanked the dragon, hurried away to the pond with the
magical dragon rope, and crept up to the pond's edge where the Kinnaree were playing.
While the Kinnaree were all happily distracted with their play at the water's edge, he
struck; throwing the magic rope around the neck of Manorah and caught her so tight,
she could not escape. Her sisters fearful of being caught themselves; all took flight and
flew away to safety.
Prahnbun then secured Manorah's wings to stop her from flying away and lead her
away through the forest heading back to Udon Panjah to present her to the Prince
Suton. The Prince happened to be riding through the forest when he came across
Prahnbun with his prize. The beauty of Manorah instantly charmed the Prince and when
Prahnbun told him that he had captured Manorah for him, the Prince was delighted with
Prahnbun's good intentions and rewarded him handsomely.
The Prince returned to his Summer Palace in the forest with Manorah where their love
for each other blossomed. When the Prince told his mother and father the whole story,
they were very happy and immediately arranged the wedding between the Prince and
Princess Manorah who returned to the Udon Panjah palace where they were married
and lived happy ever after.

THE LEGEND OF THE PINEAPPLE

Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived with her daughter Pina in a tiny hut in the village.
They were poor, and the mother worked day and night to make both ends meet. No matter how hard
she worked, though, she
never got any help from
her daughter. Pina was a
lazy, spoiled kid who
liked to play in the
backyard all day.
Whenever her mother
asked for help around
the house or tried to
send her on an errand,
she would always find an
excuse by saying she
cant find the object that
was needed to complete
that task. If her mother
asked her to sweep the
house, for example, she
would say she cannot
find the broom, even if it
was right there in front
of her. Needless to say,
her mother always
ended up doing the work
herself.
One day, her mother
became very ill. She
called out to Pina, who
as usual was playing in
the backyard.
Pina! Pina! Come over here, anak. I am very sick. Can you cook some porridge for me please?
I am too weak to get up.
Pina ignored her mother and continued to play.
Pina, come over here this very instant, or else! Pinas mother mustered all her strength just to
say this, but it worked. Pina grudgingly stopped playing and went inside the house. She poked her
head inside her mothers room.
What do you want, Nanay (mother)? You really expect me to cook for you? Thats too hard,
protested Pina, pouting and stomping her feet.
Pina, it is very simple. Just put some rice in a pot and add water. Once the water boils, let it
simmer for awhile. Stir it occasionally with a ladle. Everything you need should be right there in the
kitchen.
Pina reluctantly left and went to the kitchen. Her mother could hear her banging the drawers and
cabinets. Then her mother heard her open the back door and sneak out into the backyard. Her
mother waited and waited. Finally, she called out to Pina again.
Pina, did you cook like I told you to?
No, was the defiant response.
And why not? was her moms exasperated response.
Because I could not find the ladle, was her flippant reply.
Oh, you lazy child! You probably did not even bother to look for it! What am I going to do with
you? Here I am, sick, and I cannot even count on you!
Her mother wept bitterly. In her anger, she shouted, I wish you would grow a thousand eyes all
over your head! Then you can find what youre looking for. Maybe then you wont have any
more excuses.
As soon as she said this, there was complete silence. Her mother thought, She is trying to be
quiet so I will forget about asking her again. She sighed.
She waited a little bit to see if Pina would come back. Realizing the wait was futile, she wearily
got up to do the cooking herself. When she looked out into the backyard, Pina was nowhere to be

found. She sighed again and said to herself, That lazy kid probably went to a friends house so she
did not have to do any more errands for me.
Exhausted from the exertion, she soon went back to her room for a much-needed rest. Weak as
she was, she just tried to do everything by herself, having given up on any help from Pina. Hours
passed by, and then days. Still no sign of her wayward daughter. With a heavy heart, she thought
that Pina had ran away for sure.
When she finally recovered from her illness, the first thing she did was look for Pina. No one had
seen or heard from her. It was like she disappeared into thin air. Months passed and still no sign of
her. The mother felt bad for her angry outburst, and she feared that she might probably never see
her daughter again.
One day, she was sweeping the backyard where Pina used to play. For months now, she had
noticed this strange plant growing on the very spot where she last saw Pina. By this time, the leaves
of the plant had fully opened. Inside, she saw this strange yellow fruit that resembled a childs head
with a thousand eyes. A thousand eyes
She suddenly remembered the spiteful words she used that fateful day. With horror, she realized
that in the same way her mothers love had spoiled her daughter, so did her
anger unwittingly curse her. Somehow, her daughter had been turned into this plant.
To honor the memory of her beloved daughter, she named the fruit Pina. She took such
loving care of it like it was her own daughter. The fruit flourished so well that it bore more and more
fruits, and became popular among the village and the entire country. Its name later evolved to pinya,
or pineapple in English. Thats how the pineapple came to be, according to folklore, named after a
spoiled child who was cursed with a thousand eyes

THE LEGEND OF THE BANANA

When the world was still new, spirits and ghosts roamed everywhere
especially in gloomy caves and in every niche and corners under the
houses of mortals. Their presence can be felt and their voice can be heard
at night but they were never seen.
A brave and beautiful young girl named Raya, would always search
for spirits inside the caves and along the forests, bringing along a lighted
candle. She has always felt the presence of a kind spirit, following her all
the time.
One day, Raya heard someone call her name and when she looked
up, she saw a handsome young man. The young man's name is Sag-in, the
spirit who kept on following her. Sag-in confessed that he had fallen in love
with a mortal. They eventually got married and had a child.
Sag-in knew that his time on earth is short-lived for he is a spirit-man
and he had to return to the spirit world soon. When the time has come and
he had to leave, he called Raya and explained why he had to go. As he
was vanishing, he told Raya that he was going to leave a part of him. Raya
saw a bleeding heart on the ground, she took it and planted it. She took
care of it night and day until one day, long green leaves sprouted from the
grave.
One day, the tree bore a fruit that is shaped like a heart. She
caressed it believing that this could be Sag-in's heart until it slowly opened

and long golden fruits sprouted from it. She peeled and bit the fruit and
heard Sag-in's voice telling her:
"Yes, Raya, it is my heart. I have reappeared to show you that I will
never forsake you and our child. Take care of this plant, and it will take care
of you in return. It's trunk and leaves will give you shelter and clothing. The
heart and fruits will be your food. And when you sleep at night, I will stand
and watch by your window. I will stay by your side forever!"

THE LEGEND OF LAKE TOBA

INDONESIA

Long time ago, there was a wanderer, named Sibuatan. After wandered over so many
places, he finally decided to stay in one place; it was on the river bank near the valley. He was
so pleased staying in this new place because it has beautiful scenery, fresh air, and the most
fertile land. He did his daily works like cultivating the land, collecting vegetables and firewood,
and catching fish for his meal diligently.

One afternoon, when he went fishing, he caught a very big fish which has golden scales.
"Hurray! I got a giant fish. I will have a big dinner tonight!" said Sibuatan happily. He walked
home quickly to cook the fish. When arrived in his house, he put the fish on the table in the
kitchen; meanwhile he went down to get some firewood underneath the house. However, when
he came back from collecting fire-woods he was so surprised to find out a beautiful woman in
his house instead of the fish. Sibuatans heart beat very fast, he knew he fell in love with that
woman which he soon learned was a transformation of the big fish he had caught that day.
Without second thought Sibuatan proposed her to marry him. The woman agreed to marry him
on one term, Sibuatan wouldn't ever mention her origin (she was a fish) to anyone. Sibuatan
agreed about it. He was too happy to have such a beautiful wife.
A year past and they had already a son named Sam. Since he was a little, her mother
spoiled him. So, when he was big enough his behavior was bad. He was a lazy boy, just played
around the river and never helped and respected his parents. He was good at swimming and
diving and did it everyday, but his father wants him (Sam) to help him in the field.
One day when Sam's mother told him delivering his father's lunch, he ate it little by little
while walking. When he arrived at the field, the rest of the food was a little. His father (Sibuatan)

got very angry finding this fact. Everyday Sam's only playing... playing... and playing around;
and when he for the first time was given a task delivering his father's lunch, he didn't only
arrived late but also had eaten the lunch. Sibuatan could not control his anger anymore. He
smacked and cursed his son. "You are really area son of a fish! You can't be taught well. All you
want to do is playing in the river like fish. Get out of my sight!" he was furious.
The boy ran home, crying and then told his mother that he was cursed as a son of a fish
by his father. His mother was very sad to know that his husband had broken his oath. Sibuatan
told about her origin to their son. The woman then told Sam to climb the hill behind their house
as high as he could. Without asking anymore, Sam went away. When his mother saw.his son
had climbed high the hill, she walked to the bank of the river. Then, thunder struck one after the
other. The woman jumped into the river. She transformed back into a big fish. The rain came
down hardly with thunder rumbled. The river overflowed so fast and kept overflowed till the big
valley that circled the hill where Sam had climbed up was covered by water. Sam cried when he
watched from top of the hill, what had happened. The overflow from the river became a big lake
with an island in the centre. That lake is known as Lake Toba, meanwhile the hill is named
as Samosir Island. The name came from the words "the son (Sam) that was chased move away
(diusir)".

FIGURATIVE

LANGUAGE

SIMILE
The fog curled over the
tombstones like locks of
hair.

Track coaches look for

runners who sprint as fast
as cheetahs.

The snow covered hills in the

distance were like welcoming
pillows to the returning
mountain climbers.

She runs fast like a

cheetah.

METAPHOR
My binder is an overflowing sea of
papers.

Our lives are grapes, bitter and

sweet.

As she dreamed about winning her eyes

became stars twinkling with the
possibilities.

The snow is a blanket over the

house.

PERSONIFICATION
The climbing rope laughed at my weak
efforts but I just laughed along.

The rose stretched her arms out and

yawned after a long winter's nap.

The storm stared me down to my core with

it's beady eyes.

Even diamonds are jealous of your

beauty.

HYPERBOLE
The lottery winner's grin stretched from New
York City to Los Angeles.

Many Americans have never-ending

bottomless pits on Thanksgiving.

The lunch line reached from the beginning to

the end of the Great Wall of China.

The coffee was so hot, I was spitting

flames!

ONOMATOPOEIA
BANG !!!
BUZZ !

MOO ..
CLICK !

SMACK !

POEMS

THE BAT
By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
He likes the attic of an aging house.
His fingers make a hat about his head.
His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead.
He loops in crazy figures half the night
Among the trees that face the corner light.
But when he brushes up against a screen,
We are afraid of what our eyes have seen:
For something is amiss or out of place
When mice with wings can wear a human
face.
Theodore Roethke

ONE MORNING
Looking for distinctive stones, I found the dead otter

rotting by the tideline, and carried all day the scent of this savage
valediction. That headlong high sound the oystercatcher makes
came echoing through the rocky cove
where a cormorant was feeding and submarining in the bay
and a heron rose off a boulder where he'd been
invisible,
drifted a little, stood again -- a hieroglyph
or just longevity reflecting on itself
between the sky clouding over and the lightly ruffled
water.
This was the morning after your dream of dying, of
being held
and told it didn't matter. A butterfly went jinking over
the wave-silky stones, and where I turned
to go up the road again, a couple in a blue camper sat
smoking their cigarettes over their breakfast coffee (blue
scent of smoke, the thick dark smell of fresh coffee)
and talking in quiet voices, first one then the other answering,
their radio telling the daily news behind them. It was warm.
All seemed at peace. I could feel the sun coming off the water.
Eamon Grennan
THE DISTANCES

This house, pitched now

The dark wide stretch
Of plains and ocean
To these hills over
The night-filled river,
Billows with night,
Swells with the rooms
Of sleeping children, pulls
Slowly from this bed,
Slowly returns, pulls and holds,
Is held where we
Lock all distances!
Ah, how the distances
Spiral from that
Secrecy:
Room,
Rooms, roof
Spun to the huge
Midnight, and into

The rings and rings of stars.

Henry W. Rago

TOUR
Near a shrine in Japan he'd swept the path
and then placed camellia blossoms there.

Or we had no way of knowing he'd swept

the path
between fallen camellias.
Carol Snow

AFTER US
Rain is falling through the roof.
And all that prospered under the sun,
the books that opened in the morning
and closed at night, and all day
turned their pages to the light;
the sketches of boats and strong forearms
and clever faces, and of fields
and barns, and of a bowl of eggs,
and lying across the piano
the silver stick of a flute; everything
invented and imagined,
everything whispered and sung,
all silenced by cold rain.
The sky is the color of gravestones.
The rain tastes like salt, and rises
in the streets like a ruinous tide.
We spoke of millions, of billions of years.
We talked and talked.
Then a drop of rain fell
into the sound hole of the guitar, another

onto the unmade bed. And after us,

the rain will cease or it will go on falling,
even upon itself.
Connie Wanek

THE FAREWELL
They say the ice will hold
so there I go,
forced to believe them by my act of trusting
people,
stepping out on it,
and naturally it gaps open
and I, forced to carry on coolly
by my act of being imperturbable,
slide erectly into the water wearing my
captain's helmet,
waving to the shore with a sad smile,
"Goodbye my darlings, goodbye dear one,"
as the ice meets again over my head with a click.
Edward Field

NUMBERS
I like the generosity of numbers.
The way, for example,
they are willing to count
anything or anyone:
two pickles, one door to the room,
eight dancers dressed as swans.
I like the domesticity of addition-add two cups of milk and stir-the sense of plenty: six plums
on the ground, three more
falling from the tree.
And multiplication's school
of fish times fish,
whose silver bodies breed
beneath the shadow
of a boat.
Even subtraction is never loss,
just addition somewhere else:
five sparrows take away two,
the two in someone else's
garden now.
There's an amplitude to long division,
as it opens Chinese take-out
box by paper box,
inside every folded cookie
a new fortune.

And I never fail to be surprised

by the gift of an odd remainder,
footloose at the end:
forty-seven divided by eleven equals four,
with three remaining.
Three boys beyond their mothers' call,
two Italians off to the sea,
one sock that isn't anywhere you look.
Mary Cornish

BEFORE SHE DIED

When I look at the sky now, I look at it for you.
As if with enough attention, I could take it in for you.
With all the leaves gone almost from
the trees, I did not walk briskly through the field.
Late today with my dog Wool, I lay down in the upper field,
he panting and aged, me looking at the blue. Leaning
on him, I wondered how finite these lustered days seem
to you, A stand of hemlock across the lake catches
my eye. It will take a long time to know how it is
for you. Like a dog's lifetime -- long -- multiplied by sevens.
Karen Chase

PUBLICATION DATE

One of the few pleasures of writing

is the thought of ones book in the hands of a kind-hearted
intelligent person somewhere. I cant remember what the
others are right now.
I just noticed that it is my own private
National I Hate Myself and Want to Die Day
(which means the next day I will love my life
and want to live forever). The forecast calls
for a cold night in Boston all morning
and all afternoon. They say
tomorrow will be just like today,
only different. Im in the cemetery now
at the edge of town, how did I get here?
A sparrow limps past on its little bone crutch saying
I am Federico Garcia Lorca
risen from the dead
literature will lose, sunlight will win, dont worry.
Franz Wright

THE MEADOW
Half the day lost, staring
at this window. I wanted to know
just one true thing
about the soul, but I left thinking
for thought, and now two inches of snow have fallen
over the meadow. Where did I go,
how long was I out looking
for you?, who would never leave me,
my withness, my here.
Kate Knapp Johnson

STORIES

THE STORY OF AN HOUR

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as
gently as possible the news of her husband's death. It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken
sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too,
near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was
received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure
himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend
in bearing the sad message. She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a
paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her
sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have
no one follow her. There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she
sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new
spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares.
The notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were
twittering in the eaves. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that
had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window. She sat with her head thrown back
upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook
her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams. She was young, with a fair,
calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in
her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance
of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. There was something coming to her
and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name.
But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that
filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that
was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her

two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped
her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under the breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and
the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat
fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. She did not stop to ask if it were
or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the
suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in
death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw
beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And
she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome. There would be no one to live for during those
coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind
persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellowcreature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in
that brief moment of illumination. And yet she had loved him--sometimes. Often she had not. What did it
matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion
which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! "Free! Body and soul free!" she
kept whispering. Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhole, imploring
for admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are you
doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door." "Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was
drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window. Her fancy was running riot along those days
ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a
quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might
be long. She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish
triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's
waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom. Someone
was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained,
composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did
not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick
motion to screen him from the view of his wife. When the doctors came they said she had died of heart
disease--of the joy that kills.

THE CACTUS
The most notable thing about Time is that it is so purely relative. A large amount of
reminiscence is, by common consent, conceded to the drowning man; and it is not past
belief that one may review an entire courtship while removing one's gloves. That is what
Trysdale was doing, standing by a table in his bachelor apartments. On the table stood a
singular-looking green plant in a red earthen jar. The plant was one of the species of cacti,
and was provided with long, tentacular leaves that perpetually swayed with the slightest
breeze with a peculiar beckoning motion. Trysdale's friend, the brother of the bride, stood at
a sideboard complaining at being allowed to drink alone. Both men were in evening dress.
White favors like stars upon their coats shone through the gloom of the apartment. As he
slowly unbuttoned his gloves, there passed through Trysdale's mind a swift, scarifying
retrospect of the last few hours. It seemed that in his nostrils was still the scent of the
flowers that had been banked in odorous masses about the church, and in his ears the
lowpitched hum of a thousand well-bred voices, the rustle of crisp garments, and, most
insistently recurring, the drawling words of the minister irrevocably binding her to another.
From this last hopeless point of view he still strove, as if it had become a habit of his mind,
to reach some conjecture as to why and how he had lost her. Shaken rudely by the
uncompromising fact, he had suddenly found himself confronted by a thing he had never
before faced --his own innermost, unmitigated, arid unbedecked self. He saw all the garbs of
pretence and egoism that he had worn now turn to rags of folly. He shuddered at the thought
that to others, before now, the garments of his soul must have appeared sorry and
threadbare. Vanity and conceit? These were the joints in his armor. And how free from either
she had always been--But why-- As she had slowly moved up the aisle toward the altar he
had felt an unworthy, sullen exultation that had served to support him. He had told himself
that her paleness was from thoughts of another than the man to whom she was about to
give herself. But even that poor consolation had been wrenched from him. For, when he saw
that swift, limpid, upward look that she gave the man when he took her hand, he knew
himself to be forgotten. Once that same look had been raised to him, and he had gauged its
meaning. Indeed, his conceit had crumbled; its last prop was gone. Why had it ended thus?
There had been no quarrel between them, nothing-- For the thousandth time he

remarshalled in his mind the events of those last few days before the tide had so suddenly
turned. She had always insisted upon placing him upon a pedestal, and he had accepted her
homage with royal grandeur. It had been a very sweet incense that she had burned before
him; so modest (he told himself); so childlike and worshipful, and (he would once have
sworn) so sincere. She had invested him with an almost supernatural number of high
attributes and excellencies and talents, and he had absorbed the oblation as a desert drinks
the rain that can coax from it no promise of blossom or fruit. As Trysdale grimly wrenched
apart the seam of his last glove, the crowning instance of his fatuous and tardily mourned
egoism came vividly back to him. The scene was the night when he had asked her to come
up on his pedestal with him and share his greatness. He could not, now, for the pain of it,
allow his mind to dwell upon the memory of her convincing beauty that night--the careless
wave of her hair, the tenderness and virginal charm of her looks and words. But they had
been enough, and they had brought him to speak. During their conversation she had
said:"And Captain Carruthers tells me that you speak the Spanish language like a native.
Why have you hidden this accomplishment from me? Is there anything you do not know?"
Now, Carruthers was an idiot. No doubt he (Trysdale) had been guilty (he sometimes did
such things) of airing at the club some old, canting Castilian proverb dug from the
hotchpotch at the back of dictionaries. Carruthers, who was one of his incontinent admirers,
was the very man to have magnified this exhibition of doubtful erudition. But, alas! the
incense of her admiration had been so sweet and flattering. He allowed the imputation to
pass without denial. Without protest, he allowed her to twine about his brow this spurious
bay of Spanish scholarship. He let it grace his conquering head, and, among its soft
convolutions, he did not feel the prick of the thorn that was to pierce him later.How glad,
how shy, how tremulous she was! How she fluttered like a snared bird when he laid his
mightiness at her feet! He could have sworn, and he could swear now, that unmistakable
consent was in her eyes, but, coyly, she would give him no direct answer. "I will send you my
answer to-morrow," she said; and he, the indulgent, confident victor, smilingly granted the
delay. The next day he waited, impatient, in his rooms for the word. At noon her groom came
to the door and left the strange cactus in the red earthen jar. There was no note, no
message, merely a tag upon the plant bearing a barbarous foreign or botanical name. He
waited until night, but her answer did not come. His large pride and hurt vanity kept him
from seeking her. Two evenings later they met at a dinner. Their greetings were
conventional, but she looked at him, breathless, wondering, eager. He was courteous,
adamant, waiting her explanation. With womanly swiftness she took her cue from his
manner, and turned to snow and ice. Thus, and wider from this on, they had drifted apart.
Where was his fault? Who had been to blame? Humbled now, he sought the answer amid the
ruins of his self-conceit. If-- The voice of the other man in the room, querulously intruding
upon his thoughts, aroused him. "I say, Trysdale, what the deuce is the matter with you? You
look unhappy as if you yourself had been married instead of having acted merely as an
accomplice. Look at me, another accessory, come two thousand miles on a garlicky,
cockroachy banana steamer all the way from South America to connive at the sacrifice-please to observe how lightly my guilt rests upon my shoulders. Only little sister I had, too,
and now she's gone. Come now! take something to ease your conscience." "I don't drink just
now, thanks," said Trysdale. "Your brandy," resumed the other, coming over and joining him,
"is abominable. Run down to see me some time at Punta Redonda, and try some of our stuff
that old Garcia smuggles in. It's worth the, trip. Hallo! here's an old acquaintance. Wherever
did you rake up this cactus, Trysdale?" "A present," said Trysdale, "from a friend. Know the
species?" "Very well. It's a tropical concern. See hundreds of 'em around Punta every day.
Here's the name on this tag tied to it. Know any Spanish, Trysdale?" "No," said Trysdale, with
the bitter wraith of a smile--"Is it Spanish?" "Yes. The natives imagine the leaves are
reaching out and beckoning to you. They call it by this name--Ventomarme. Name means in
English, 'Come and take me.'"

THE CASE OF THE LOWER CASE LETTER

She breezed into my office one cold September morning. I'd been enjoying
a hot cup of Starbuck's finest and surfing the web for local news. The
famous lexical semanticist Professor Edgar Nettleston had been found
dead, a gunshot wound to the head. The police verdict was suicide.
She held out an elegant hand as she floated towards me and I glimpsed
a wedding band with a stone the size of a peanut M&M."I'm Edith
Nettleston.""Sorry about the old man."
"I'm not. He loved me, but he loved words more. I'll be brief. My
husband was working on a paper that will rock the very foundation of lexical
semantics. It's worth a fortune in lecture tours, but nobody can find it. I
believe his suicide note is a clue to its whereabouts."

She removed a scrap of paper from her blouse.

"edith. i'm not going to whine, i've had a good life. i've found wealth and
happiness as a teacher, a seller of knowledge. but i find myself depressed
beyond hope ... and so i'm choosing the hour and manner of my own
demise. i have treated you badly. i demanded you dyed your brown curls
blonde. i thought i could buy you when i should have won your love. i called
you a witch. i'd complain: where's the woman i married? i said you ate too
much. if i wanted change, i could have used a carrot rather than a stick.
you probably wanted to wring my neck. forgive me. farewell."
"It's all written in lower case. My husband was a stickler for correct
grammar. I refuse to believe it doesn't mean something."
"Mrs. Nettleston, I think I can help you. There's a couple of odd things
about this letter. Firstly, as you say, it's written entirely in lower case. Mr.
Nettleston was a world-renowned lexical semanticist, not a teenager texting
his BFFs."
"Secondly, it has a more than usual number of homophones, words
where there is another word with the same sound but different spelling and
meaning. When dealing with a lexical semanticist, that's surely no
accident."
< 2 >
"If we read those homophones in order, we have: whine, seller, hour,
manner. And translating to their homophones: Wine cellar our manor."
Several hours later, we arrived at the Nettlestons' country house and
immediately headed for the basement. A flip of a light switch revealed
tunnels filled with rows of dark bottles.
"Where is it? It would take years to search this place."
"Not so fast, Mrs. Nettleston. First I have to ask you something: your
wedding ring diamond, how large is it?
"It's eight carats. Edgar wouldn't stop talking about it."
"That's what I feared." I pulled out my trusty revolver. "How you must
have hated him and his lexical semantics! You figured you'd kill him and
keep the money from the paper yourself. You forced him to write that
suicide note, thinking you knew where it was. But he was suspicious and
he'd already hidden it. And he had another surprise for you: the rest of the
note, it doesn't reveal where the paper is, it reveals his killer. The final
homophones: dyed buy won witch where's ate carrot wring. That is: died by
one which wears eight carat ring."As the cops left with Mrs. Nettleston I
took a quick trip round the maze of tunnels. It didn't take me long to find it.
Most of the wine lay unpacked on racks but in one corner two cases sat
stacked, one on top of each other. Carefully, I opened the lower one.

MR. STICKY

No one knew how Mr. Sticky got in the fish tank."He's very small," Mum said
as she peered at the tiny water snail. "Just a black dot." "He'll grow," said Abby and
pulled her pyjama bottoms up again before she got into bed. They were always
falling down. In the morning Abby jumped out of bed and switched on the light in
her fish tank. Gerry, the fat orange goldfish, was dozing inside the stone archway.
Jaws was already awake, swimming along the front of the tank with his white tail
floating and twitching. It took Abby a while to find Mr. Sticky because he was
clinging to the glass near the bottom, right next to the gravel. At school that day
she wrote about the mysterious Mr. Sticky who was so small you could mistake him
for a piece of gravel. Some of the girls in her class said he seemed an ideal pet for
her and kept giggling about it. That night Abby turned on the light to find Mr. Sticky

clinging to the very tiniest, waviest tip of the pond weed. It was near the water filter
so he was bobbing about in the air bubbles.
"That looks fun," Abby said. She tried to imagine what it must be like to have to
hang on to things all day and decided it was probably very tiring. She fed the fish
then lay on her bed and watched them chase each other round and round the
archway. When they stopped Gerry began nibbling at the pond weed with his big
pouty lips. He sucked Mr. Sticky into his mouth then blew him back out again in a
stream of water. The snail floated down to the bottom of the tank among the
coloured gravel.
"I think he's grown a bit," Abby told her Mum at breakfast the next day. "Just as well
if he's going to be gobbled up like that," her Mum said, trying to put on her coat and
eat toast at the same time. "But I don't want him to get too big or he won't be cute
anymore. Small things are cute aren't they?" "Yes they are. But big things can be
cute too. Now hurry up, I'm going to miss my train." At school that day, Abby drew
an elephant. She needed two pieces of expensive paper to do both ends but the
teacher didn't mind because she was pleased with the drawing and wanted it on the
wall. They sellotaped them together, right across the elephant's middle. In the
corner of the picture, Abby wrote her full name, Abigail, and drew tiny snails for the
dots on the 'i's The teacher said that was very creative. At the weekend they
cleaned out the tank. "There's a lot of algae on the sides," Mum said. "I'm not sure
Mr. Sticky's quite up to the job yet." They scooped the fish out and put them in a
bowl while they emptied some of the water. Mr. Sticky stayed out of the way,
clinging to the glass while Mum used the special 'vacuum cleaner' to clean the
gravel. Abby trimmed the new pieces of pond weed down to size and scrubbed the
archway and the filter tube. Mum poured new water into the tank. "Where's Mr.
Sticky?" Abby asked. "On the side," Mum said. She was busy concentrating on the
water. "Don't worry I was careful." Abby looked on all sides of the tank. There was
no sign of the water snail. "He's probably in the gravel then," her mum said. "Come
on let's get this finished. I've got work to do." She plopped the fish back in the clean
water where they swam round and round, looking puzzled. That evening Abby went
up to her bedroom to check the tank. The water had settled and looked lovely and
clear but there was no sign of Mr. Sticky. She lay on her bed and did some exercises,
stretching out her legs and feet and pointing her toes. Stretching was good for your
muscles and made you look tall a model had said on the t.v. and she looked
enormous. When Abby had finished, she kneeled down to have another look in the
tank but there was still no sign of Mr. Sticky. She went downstairs. Her mum was in
the study surrounded by papers. She had her glasses on and her hair was all over
the place where she'd been running her hands through it. She looked impatient
when she saw Abby in the doorway and even more impatient when she heard the
bad news. "He'll turn up." was all she said. "Now off to bed Abby. I've got masses of
work to catch up on." Abby felt her face go hot and red. It always happened when
she was angry or upset."You've hoovered him up haven't you," she said. You were in
such a rush you hoovered him up." "I have not. I was very careful. But he is
extremely small." "What's wrong with being small?" "Nothing at all. But it makes
things hard to find." "Or notice," Abby said and ran from the room. The door to the
bedroom opened and Mum's face appeared around the crack. Abby tried to ignore
her but it was hard when she walked over to the bed and sat next to her. She was
holding her glasses in her hand. She waved them at Abby. "These are my new pair,"
she said. "Extra powerful, for snail hunting." She smiled at Abby. Abby tried not to
smile back. "And I've got a magnifying glass," Abby suddenly remembered and
rushed off to find it. They sat beside each other on the floor. On their knees they
shuffled around the tank, peering into the corners among the big pebbles, at the
gravel and the pondweed. "Ah ha!" Mum suddenly cried. "What?" Abby moved her
magnifying glass to where her mum was pointing. There, tucked in the curve of the
archway, perfectly hidden against the dark stone, sat Mr. Sticky. And right next to
him was another water snail, even smaller than him. "Mrs Sticky!" Abby breathed.
"But where did she come from?" "I'm beginning to suspect the pond weed don't you
think?" They both laughed and climbed into Abby's bed together, cuddling down
under the duvet. It was cozy but a bit of a squeeze. "Budge up," Mum said, giving
Abby a push with her bottom. "I can't, I'm already on the edge." "My goodness
you've grown then. When did that happen? You could have put an elephant in here
last time we did this." Abby put her head on her mum's chest and smiled.

THE GOOSE WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS

Once upon a time, a man

and his wife had the good
fortune to have a goose which laid a golden egg every day. Lucky though they were, they soon
began to think they were not getting rich fast enough.
They imagined that if the bird must be able to lay golden eggs, its insides must be made of gold.
And they thought that if they could get all that precious metal at once, they would get mighty rich
very soon. So the man and his wife decided to kill the bird.

THE LION AND THE MOUSE

Once when a lion, the king of the jungle, was asleep, a little mouse began running up and down on him. This
soon awakened the lion, who placed his huge paw on the mouse, and opened his big jaws to swallow him.
"Pardon, O King!" cried the little Mouse, "Forgive me this time. I shall never repeat it and I shall never forget your
kindness. And who knows, I may be able to do you a good turn one of these days!
The Lion was so tickled by the idea of the mouse being able to help him that he lifted his paw and let him go.
Sometime later, a few hunters captured the lion, and tied him to a tree. After that they went in search of a wagon, to
take him to the zoo.
Just then the little mouse happened to pass by. On seeing the lions plight, he ran up to him and gnawed
away the ropes that bound him, the king of the jungle.
"Was I not right?" said the little mouse, very happy to help the lion.
MORAL: Small acts of kindness will be rewarded greatly.

CHRISTMAS SURPRISE

It was two days before Christmas. Harry, Cornelius, Monty and I were busy building a snowman
when Fritz appeared with his little niece Emily and introduced her.
Emily is from the South and has never seen snow before, Fritz told us. She doesnt know much about
our winters.
It turned out Emily also didnt know much about Christmas.Who is Santa Claus, Waldo? she asked me,
shivering in the cold air.
Santa Claus, I explained, brings presents and toys to human children at Christmas time.
Does he also bring presents to animal children? Emily asked.
Well, I said, he hasnt been around this part of the forest for many years. I guess he is too busy visiting

all the human children to have much time left for animals.
Do you think he will come if I write to him? Emily asked.
I dont think so, said Monty. Ive never seen him, myself.
Neither have I, Harry added, shaking his head.
You see. Santa Claus is only for human children, Fritz said to Emily. So forget about the whole idea.
Lets go home now before you catch a cold.

A HOLE IN THE FENCE