Classic Storybook Fables Read online

  “Good heavens,” someone else said in hushed tones. “Did you hear what that

  child said? The Emperor has no clothes!” It started as a whisper from one person

  to the next, but soon everyone was talking until finally the whole crowd exclaimed,

  “The Emperor has no clothes!”

  The Emperor himself began to worry because he was afraid they might be

  right. “But,” he thought, “the procession must go on.” And so he walked even

  more stiffly than before, and the chamberlains followed behind, carrying the hem

  of a robe that wasn’t there.

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  CLASSIC STORYBOOK

  FABLES

  ONCE UPON A TIME,

  a group of villagers hired a boy to watch over their sheep.

  Day in and day out, he guarded the flock as they grazed upon the hillsides beyond

  the village gates.

  One afternoon, the shepherd boy grew tired of this job and wondered how he

  could liven things up. Looking down on the town from a hillside, he had an idea.

  “Wolf! Wolf!” he cried. “A wolf is attacking the sheep!”

  Upon hearing this, the townspeople dropped whatever they had been doing and

  grabbed rakes, shovels, sticks, and axes—anything that might help to protect their

  sheep from the hungry wolf—and ran to the boy, ready to fight.

  “Ha! Ha!” The boy laughed when he

  saw their worried faces. “You should see

  yourselves. I sure fooled you!”

  Grumbling, the villagers returned to

  the town.

  The next afternoon, the boy pulled

  the prank again.

  The Boy Who Cried Wolf

  “Wolf! Wolf!” he cried.

  “Oh, it’s horrible! If only

  someone would help me!”

  Within minutes, the

  villagers came running, just like they

  had the day before.

  “Ha! Ha! Ha!” The boy

  laughed. “Tricked you again!”

  On the way back to town, the angry

  villagers wondered if they had hired the

  wrong person to protect their flock.

  Shortly after the boy was left alone with the sheep,

  a wolf leaped out of the forest.

  “Wolf! Wolf!” cried the boy. “Help! A wolf is attacking the sheep!”

  The townspeople, who had just gotten back to the village, heard the

  cries, but they only shook their heads. “Tomorrow we’ll hire someone

  who isn’t always trying to make fools out of us,” they said as they

  returned to their homes.

  Without help, the boy was no match for the wolf,

  and it soon carried off all the sheep it wanted.

  The boy ran to town crying, “Why didn’t

  anyone come when I called?!”

  “You should know by now, boy,” said

  the Mayor. “No one believes a liar, even

  when he’s telling the truth!”

  ONE DAY,

  the Little Red Hen and her chicks were scratching around in the barn-

  yard when they found a few grains of wheat. “Aha!” the hen said to her brood. “This

  is good fortune! If we plant this grain, by the end of the summer, we could have

  a nice little harvest.” But she knew that if they wanted to harvest the wheat later,

  there was work to do now. So she gathered the grains and asked her friends if they

  would lend a hand.

  “Who will help me plant the wheat?” asked the Little Red Hen.

  The Little Red Hen

  “I won’t!”

  said the dog.

  “I won’t!”

  said the cat.

  “I won’t!”

  said the duck.

  “Well, then I will do it myself!” said the Little Red Hen. So she found a small

  patch of open ground and set to work. She hoed and raked and worked the soil until

  it was ready, and then she planted the grain and watered it.

  It wasn’t long before tiny green shoots were sprouting up through the newly

  tilled soil. The seeds had begun to grow.

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  “I won’t!” said the dog.

  “I won’t!” said the cat.

  “I won’t!” said the duck.

  All that summer, as the sun shone and the rain fell, those tiny sprouts grew

  bigger and bigger. At last, they were full-grown plants with golden heads of wheat.

  “Even more good fortune!” said the Little Red Hen. “The time has come to

  harvest our little patch!”

  “Who will help me harvest the wheat?” she asked.

  CLASSIC STORYBOOK

  FABLES

  “Well, then I will do it myself!” said the Little Red Hen. So she took a sickle

  and cut the stalks of wheat. When she was done, she gathered them into bundles

  and left them to dry in the field.

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  Soon the wheat had dried and was ready to be threshed, to separate the edible

  grains from the straw.

  “Who will help me thresh the wheat?” asked the Little Red Hen.

  “I won’t!”

  said the cat.

  “I won’t!”

  said the duck.

  “I won’t!”

  said the dog.

  CLASSIC STORYBOOK

  FABLES

  “Well, then I will do it myself!” said the Little Red Hen. So she threshed the

  wheat and then put the grain into a burlap bag.

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  Now it was time to have the grain ground into flour.

  “Who will help me take the grain to the mill?” asked the Little Red Hen.

  “I won’t!”

  said the dog.

  “I won’t!”

  said the cat.

  “I won’t!”

  said the duck.

  CLASSIC STORYBOOK

  FABLES

  “Well, then I will do it myself!” said the Little Red Hen. So she loaded the bag

  of wheat into a wheelbarrow and took it to the mill. There, the miller ground it into

  fine white flour.

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  “How fortunate we are to have this bag of wonderful flour,” said the Little Red

  Hen to her chicks. “And I know just what to do with it. We should make bread!”

  “Who will help me bake the bread?” asked the Little Red Hen.

  “I won’t!”

  said the duck.

  “I won’t!”

  said the dog.

  “I won’t!”

  said the cat.

  CLASSIC STORYBOOK

  FABLES

  “Well, then I will do it myself,” said the Little Red Hen, and to the flour she

  added milk and eggs, water and salt, a bit of sugar, some fresh butter, and yeast.

  Then she mixed them all together and kneaded the dough carefully. Soon it was

  ready to be put into a hot oven, where it was baked until it had a golden brown crust.

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  When the finished bread was set out to cool, it filled the air with the most

  glorious aroma.

  “Now, who will help me eat the bread?” asked the Little Red Hen.

  “I will!”

  said the dog.

  “I will!”

  said the cat.

  “I will!”

  said the duck.

  CLASSIC STORYBOOK

  FABLES

  “Well, I wouldn’t count on it!” said the Little Red Hen. “If you don’t share the

  work, you can’t share the bread!”

  Then the Little Red Hen and her chicks sat down to
enjoy the delicious freshly

  baked bread. And as they ate, they remembered the day not long ago when they had

  the good fortune of finding a few grains of wheat.

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  The

  Mice in Council

  THE MICE HAD HAD ENOUGH.

  No matter where they went, whether

  searching for food or playing in the meadow, the cat was always a threat. It seemed

  he could be anywhere, silently hunting them, waiting to pounce. Something had to

  be done, and so a meeting was arranged.

  Late one night, in a quiet corner of the barn, the anxious group was called

  to order. A number of suggestions were made as to how the mice should protect

  themselves from their enemy, the cat, but one by one, these ideas were rejected.

  Finally, a mouse who was well known to everyone and well respected stepped

  forward. “While foraging in the trash heap the other day, I found a wonderful

  treasure, and I realized that all of our troubles were over. For it is this simple thing

  that can protect us all from that sneaky cat.” He held up a small brass bell. “All we

  need to do is tie this bell around the cat’s neck, and its tinkling sound will alert us

  in plenty of time for us to run away!”

  The other mice cheered. Everyone agreed that the problem was now solved—

  everyone except a wise old mouse who had sat quietly listening. He cleared his

  throat and raised his paw to speak. “Friends, this does indeed sound like a

  wonderful plan, but I am afraid we may have overlooked one important question:

  Which one of us will bell the cat?”

  The old mouse sat back down in silence. No one knew what to say because they

  realized he was right. It is one thing to talk about a plan; it is quite another to

  carry it out.

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  The Boy Who Went

  ONCE THERE WAS A POOR WOMAN

  who lived on a farm with her son.

  One day, as she was about to make dinner, she discovered that the meal bin in the

  kitchen was empty. Giving her son a bowl, she asked him to go to the storage shed

  and fetch some more.

  As he was returning to the cottage with a bowlful of meal, the cold North

  Wind whistled past him and sent every grain of it swirling into the air.

  to the North Wind

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  Frustrated, the boy went back to the shed for more meal, but upon his return the

  same thing happened—again, the North Wind scattered it across the countryside.

  For a third time, the boy repeated the process, and for a third time he watched

  helplessly as the careless North Wind blew away every little bit of meal that he and

  his mother had left.

  “That’s it!” he said angrily. “Mother, that greedy North Wind has taken our

  meal, and I intend to get it back!”

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  So off he went, to the land where the North Wind lives, with only enough

  pennies in his pocket for one night’s lodging. On and on he walked, for it was a

  long journey from the farm to that cold and windy place. It was late the next day

  when the boy at last stood before the North Wind.

  “Well?” demanded the icy North Wind. “What brings you to my domain?”

  Gusting winds nearly knocked the boy off his feet, but he stood firm. “My

  mother and I are very poor, sir,” the boy shouted above the roaring of the North

  Wind, “and yesterday, you took from my bowl the last of our meal. I need you to

  give it back, please, or we will starve.”

  “Meal?” the North Wind said. “Impossible. That meal was scattered to the four

  corners of the earth. But, if you are in such a bad way, maybe this will help.”

  Suddenly, a tablecloth tumbled out of nowhere and was blown, flapping,

  against the boy. He grabbed it immediately to keep it from blowing away.

  “Take that tablecloth,” the North Wind said as gently as he could. “Spread it

  over any empty table, and when you say the words ‘Cloth, Cloth, bring me a feast!’ it

  will fill the table with all the food you can eat.”

  The boy thanked the North Wind, folded the cloth, put it into the pocket of

  his ragged cloak, and started on his way back home.

  Soon it was dark, and because the boy had traveled so far and still had such a

  long way to go, he stopped for the night at an inn.

  Before going up to his room, the boy, who had not eaten for almost two days,

  found an empty table by the fire in the dining room.

  “And would the young man like a bit of hot gruel before we close the kitchen

  this evening?” the Innkeeper asked as the boy sat down.

  “Actually, I’d like to try out this gift I was given,” the boy said. “If you don’t mind.”

  The Innkeeper shrugged as he watched the boy take the cloth from his pocket

  and unfold it on the table. “Cloth, Cloth, bring me a feast!”

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  THE BOY WHO WENT TO THE NORTH WIND

  To the amazement of the Innkeeper and the boy, the

  table was instantly filled with a wonderful assortment of

  the most delicious-looking foods that either of them had

  ever seen. The boy immediately began to help himself

  to a leg of roasted chicken, a freshly baked roll, and a

  slice of hot apple pie.

  “I’ll just get you a napkin,” the Innkeeper

  said as he ran to the kitchen to tell his wife what

  he had just seen. She happened to have been

  watching from the kitchen door and had also

  seen the miracle with her own eyes.

  CLASSIC STORYBOOK

  FABLES

  “Just think of the profits we could make with a cloth like that!” said the greedy

  Innkeeper.

  “And the work it would save me!” his wife added, grinning back. Quietly, they

  slipped into the kitchen and closed the door behind them.

  Later that night, when the inn was dark and quiet and the boy lay fast asleep

  in his room, a figure crept up to his bedside. There, the boy’s tattered cloak hung at

  the foot of the bed. The figure silently pulled the magic tablecloth from the cloak’s

  pocket and replaced it with another cloth that looked exactly like it. Then the thief

  crept back out of the room.

  The next morning, the boy struck out early, eager to show his mother the

  wonderful tablecloth. On and on he walked, traveling all day so that he might make

  it home by dinnertime. Sure enough, he arrived just as she was about to break her

  last crust of bread.

  “Mother,” the boy cried excitedly. “You won’t believe what I have brought!

  The North Wind gave us this wonderful tablecloth that instantly serves the most

  glorious food.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” she said with a sigh.

  The boy pulled the cloth from his pocket and, with a

  flourish and a snap, spread it onto the table. “Cloth, Cloth,”

  he cried, “bring me a feast!”

  But no food appeared—not even a crumb.

  “Just as I thought,” his mother said. “Now, do you want

  half of this crust of bread?”

  “Why, that North Wind tricked me!” the boy cried.

  “Tomorrow I’ll go back there and tell him to forget the

  magic cloth and just give me back our meal!”

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  THE BOY WHO WENT TO THE NORTH WIND

  And that’s just what he did. By the end of the next day, he stood once again

  before the bitter North Wind.

  “You again?” howled the North Wind. “What now?”

  “The cloth, sir,” the boy cried back. “It doesn’t work. So if I could just get our

  meal back, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Your meal is halfway around the world, boy,” the North Wind roared. “But

  here—this should replace your loss.” From behind a fir tree, a goat wafted through

  the air and landed before the boy. Quickly, he grabbed one of its horns to keep it

  from being taken by another gust of wind.

  “Say to this goat, ‘Goat, Goat, make me some gold!’” the North Wind said,

  “and it will make you enough gold that you can buy all the meal you’ll ever need.

  Maybe then,” he added under his breath, “you’ll stop bothering me.”

  The boy thanked the North Wind, tied his belt around the goat’s neck as a

  lead, and started on his way back home. By evening he found himself once more at

  the inn where he had stayed on his last journey.

  “We’ve got a room,” the Innkeeper said, “but the goat will cost you extra.”

  The boy, having no more money of his own, realized he could try out his

  latest gift.

  “Goat, Goat, make me some gold!” he said, and instantly, beautiful

  golden coins spilled from the goat’s mouth and clinked upon the

  inn floor. The boy scooped them up and offered two to the amazed

  Innkeeper. “Will this do?” he asked. Speechless, the Innkeeper could

  only nod as he led the boy and his goat to their room. Secretly, the

  Innkeeper gave his wife a sly wink, which she returned with a knowing grin.

  Soon the boy was in bed and fast asleep, and once again,

  a figure crept into his dark room, this time leading a goat. This goat looked so

  much like the boy’s that they could have been twins.

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  CLASSIC STORYBOOK