Mother´s Stories

PREFACE I have endeavored to write, for mothers and dear little children, a few simple stories, embodying some of the truths of Froebel's Mother Play. The Mother Play is such a vast treasure house of Truth, that each one who seeks among its stores may bring to light some gem; and though, perhaps, I have missed its diamonds and rubies, I trust my string of pearls may find acceptance with some mother who is trying to live with her children. I have written my own mottoes, with a few exceptions, that I might emphasize the particular lesson which I endeavor to teach in the story; for every motto in the Mother Play comprehends so much that it is impossible to use the whole for a single subject. From "The Bridge" for instance, which is replete with lessons, I have taken only one,âfor the story of the "Little Traveler." Most of these stories have been told and retold to little children, and are surrounded, in my eyes, by a halo of listening faces. "Mrs. Tabby Gray" is founded on a true story of a favorite cat. "The Journey" is a new version of the old Stage Coach game, much loved by our grandmothers; and I am indebted to some old story, read in childhood, for the suggestion of "Dust Under the Rug," which was a successful experiment in a kindergarten to test the possibility of interesting little children in a story after the order of Grimm, with the wicked stepmother and her violent daughter eradicated. Elizabeth Peabody says we are all free to look out of each other's windows; and so I place mine at the service of all who care to see what its tiny panes command. Maud Lindsay. *** an excerpt from the first story: THE WIND'S WORK MOTTO FOR THE MOTHER Power invisible that God reveals,The child within all nature feels,Like the great wind that unseen goes,Yet helps the world's work as it blows. One morning Jan waked up very early, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was his great kite in the corner. His big brother had made it for him; and it had a smiling face, and a long tail that reached from the bed to the fireplace. It did not smile at Jan that morning though, but looked very sorrowful and seemed to say "Why was I made? Not to stand in a corner, I hope!" for it had been finished for two whole days and not a breeze had blown to carry it up like a bird in the air. Jan jumped out of bed, dressed himself, and ran to the door to see if the windmill on the hill was at work; for he hoped that the wind had come in the night. But the mill was silent and its arms stood still. Not even a leaf turned over in the yard. The windmill stood on a high hill where all the people could see it, and when its long arms went whirling around every one knew that there was no danger of being hungry, for then the Miller was busy from morn to night grinding the grain that the farmers brought him. When Jan looked out, however, the Miller had nothing to do, and was standing in his doorway, watching the clouds, and saying to himself (though Jan could not hear him):â "Oh! how I wish the wind would blowSo that my windmill's sails might go,To turn my heavy millstones round!For corn and wheat must both be ground,And how to grind I do not knowUnless the merry wind will blow." He sighed as he spoke, for he looked down in the village, and saw the Baker in neat cap and apron, standing idle too. The Baker's ovens were cold, and his trays were clean, and he, too, was watching the sky, and saying:â "Oh! how I wish the wind would blow,So that the Miller's mill might go...

Author / Editor: LINDSAY, MAUD

Category: Tales & Fables

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