Langsung ke konten utama

The Little Pink Rose

The Story of The Little Pink Rose

   Once upon a time, there was a little pink Rosebud, and she lived down in a little dark house under the ground. One day she was sitting there, all by herself, and it was very still. Suddenly, she heard a little tap, tap, tap, at the door.

   ``Who is that?'' she said.

   ``It's the Rain, and I want to come in;'' said a soft, sad, little voice.

   ``No, you can't come in,'' the little Rosebud said.

   By and by she heard another little tap, tap, tap on the window pane.

   ``Who is there?'' she said.

   The same soft little voice answered, ``It's the Rain, and I want to come in!''

   ``No, you can't come in,'' said the little Rosebud.

   Then it was very still for a long time. At last, there came a little rustling, whispering sound, all round the window: rustle, whisper, whisper.

   ``Who is there?'' said the little Rosebud.

   ``It's the Sunshine,'' said a little, soft, cheery voice, ``and I want to come in!''

   ``N -- no,'' said the little pink rose, ``you can't come in.'' And she sat still again.

   Pretty soon she heard the sweet little rustling noise at the key-hole.

   ``Who is there?'' she said.

   ``It's the Sunshine,'' said the cheery little voice, ``and I want to come in, I want to come in!''

   ``No, no,'' said the little pink rose, ``you cannot come in.''

   By and by, as she sat so still, she heard tap, tap, tap, and rustle, whisper, rustle, all up and down the window pane, and on the door, and at the key-hole.

   ``Who is there?'' she said.

   ``It's the Rain and the Sun, the Rain and the Sun,'' said two little voices, together, ``and we want to come in! We want to come in! We want to come in!''

   ``Dear, dear!'' said the little Rosebud, ``if there are two of you, I s'pose I shall have to let you in.''

   So she opened the door a little wee crack, and in they came. And one took one of her little hands, and the other took her other little hand, and they ran, ran, ran with her, right up to the top of the ground. Then they said, --

   ``Poke your head through!''

   So she poked her head through; and she was in the midst of a beautiful garden.

It was springtime, and all the other flowers had their heads poked through; and she was the prettiest little pink rose in the whole garden!


Postingan populer dari blog ini

Even a Grass Plant Can Become Someone if it Tries

A Folktale from Eskimo You know? near the mouth of the Yukon grows a tall, slender kind of grass which the women gather and dry in the fall and use for braiding mats and baskets and for pads in the soles of skin boots.

One of these grass stalks that had been almost pulled out by the roots when the women were gathering others, did not like the fate in store for it.

"Why should I stay on in this shape and never become anything but a pad in the sole of a boot to be trodden on forever? It must be nicer to be the one who treads on the pad; but since I cannot be that, I will at least be something better than grass."

Looking about, it spied a bunch of herbs growing close by, looking so quiet and unmolested that the grass stem said, "I will be an herb; that is a higher and safer life than this."

At once it was changed into an herb like those it had envied, and for a time it remained in peace. But one day the women came back with baskets and picks and bega…

The Little Red Hen

Following is the story telling for your little brother or your children.
   The little Red Hen was in the farmyard with her chickens, when she found a grain of wheat.

   ``Who will plant this wheat?'' she said.

   ``Not I,'' said the Goose.

   ``Not I,'' said the Duck.

   ``I will, then,'' said the little Red Hen, and she planted the grain of wheat.

   When the wheat was ripe she said, ``Who will take this wheat to the mill?''

   ``Not I,'' said the Goose.

   ``Not I,'' said the Duck.

   ``I will, then,'' said the little Red Hen, and she took the wheat to the mill.

   When she brought the flour home she said, ``Who will make some bread with this flour?''

   ``Not I,'' said the Goose.

   ``Not I,'' said the Duck.

   ``I will, then,'' said the little Red Hen

   When the bread was baked, she said, ``Who will eat this bread?''

   ``I will,'' said the Goose


Uraschimataro and The Turtle A Folklore from Japanese

A Folklore from Japanese     

There was once a worthy old couple who lived on the coast, and supported themselves by fishing. They had only one child, a son, who was their pride and joy, and for his sake they were ready to work hard all day long, and never felt tired or discontented with their lot. This son's name was Uraschimataro, which means in Japanese, 'Son of the island,' and he was a fine well-grown youth and a good fisherman, minding neither wind nor weather.

Not the bravest sailor in the whole village dared venture so far out to sea as Uraschimataro, and many a time the neighbours used to shake their heads and say to his parents,

"If your son goes on being so rash, one day he will try his luck once too often, and the waves will end by swallowing him up."

But Uraschimataro paid no heed to these remarks, and as he was really very clever in managing a boat, the old people were very seldom anxious about him. One beautiful bright mo…