How to Tell Stories to Children, And Some Stories to Tell Part 2

There is one picture which I can always review, in my own collection of past scenes, though many a more highly coloured one has been irrevocably curtained by the folds of forgetfulness. It is the picture of a little girl, standing by an old-fas.h.i.+oned marble-topped dressing-table in a pink, sunny room. I can never see the little girl's face, because, somehow, I am always looking down at her short skirts or twisting my head round against the hand which patiently combs her stubborn curls. But I can see the brushes and combs on the marble table quite plainly, and the pinker streaks of sun on the pink walls. And I can hear. I can hear a low, wonder-working voice which goes smoothly on and on, as the fingers run up the little girl's locks or stroke the hair into place on her forehead. The voice says, "And little Goldilocks came to a little bit of a house. And she opened the door and went in. It was the house where three Bears lived; there was a great Bear, a little Bear, and a middle-sized Bear; and they had gone out for a walk. Goldilocks went in, and she saw"--the little girl is very still; she would not disturb that story by so much as a loud breath; but presently the comb comes to a tangle, pulls,--and the little girl begins to squirm. Instantly the voice becomes impressive, mysterious: "she went up to the table, and there were _three plates of porridge_. She tasted the first one"--the little girl swallows the breath she was going to whimper with, and waits--"and it was too hot! She tasted the next one, and _that_ was too hot. Then she tasted the little bit of a plate, and that--was--just--right!"

How I remember the delightful sense of achievement which stole into the little girl's veins when the voice behind her said "just right." I think she always chuckled a little, and hugged her stomach. So the story progressed, and the little girl got through her toilet without crying, owing to the wonder-working voice and its marvellous adaptation of climaxes to emergencies. Nine times out of ten, it was the story of _The Three Bears_ she demanded when, with the appearance of brush and comb, the voice asked, "Which story shall mother tell?"

It was a memory of the little girl in the pink room which made it easy for me to understand some other children's preferences when I recently had occasion to inquire about them. By asking many individual children which story of all they had heard they liked best, by taking votes on the best story of a series, after telling it, and by getting some obliging teachers to put similar questions to their pupils, I found three prime favourites common to a great many children of about the kindergarten age. They were _The Three Bears_, _Three Little Pigs_, and _The Little Pig that wouldn't go over the Stile_.

Some of the teachers were genuinely disturbed because the few stories they had introduced merely for amus.e.m.e.nt had taken so pre-eminent a place in the children's affection over those which had been given seriously. It was of no use, however, to suggest subst.i.tutes. The children knew definitely what they liked, and though they accepted the recapitulation of scientific and moral stories with polite approbation, they returned to the original answer at a repet.i.tion of the question.

Inasmuch as the slightest of the things we hope to do for children by means of stories is quite impossible unless the children enjoy the stories, it may be worth our while to consider seriously these three which they surely do enjoy, to see what common qualities are in them, explanatory of their popularity, by which we may test the probable success of other stories we wish to tell.

Here they are,--three prime favourites of proved standing.

THE STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE PIGS[1]

[Footnote 1: Adapted from Joseph Jacobs's _English Fairy Tales_ (David Nutt, 57-59 Long Acre, W.C. 6s.).]

Once upon a time there were three little pigs, who went from home to seek their fortune. The first that went off met a man with a bundle of straw, and said to him:--

"Good man, give me that straw to build me a house."

The man gave the straw, and the little pig built his house with it.

Presently came along a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said:--

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in."

But the pig answered:--

"No, no, by the hair of my chiny-chin-chin."

So the wolf said:--

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in."

So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew his house in, and ate up the little pig.

The second little pig met a man with a bundle of furze, and said:--

"Good man, give me that furze to build me a house."

The man gave the furze, and the pig built his house. Then once more came the wolf, and said:

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in."

"No, no, by the hair of my chiny-chin-chin."

"Then I'll puff, and I'll huff, and I'll blow your house in."

So he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed, and at last he blew the house in, and ate up the little pig.

The third little pig met a man with a load of bricks, and said:--

"Good man, give me those bricks to build me a house with."

The man gave the bricks, and he built his house with them. Again the wolf came, and said:--

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in."

"No, no, by the hair of my chiny-chin-chin."

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in."

So he huffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed and huffed; but he could not get the house down. Finding that he could not, with all his huffing and puffing, blow the house down, he said:--

"Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips."

"Where?" said the little pig.

"Oh, in Mr Smith's field, and if you will be ready to-morrow morning we will go together, and get some for dinner."

"Very well," said the little pig. "What time do you mean to go?"

"Oh, at six o'clock."

So the little pig got up at five, and got the turnips before the wolf came crying:--

"Little pig, are you ready?"

The little pig said: "Ready! I have been and come back again, and got a nice potful for dinner."

The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would be a match for the little pig somehow or other, so he said:--

"Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple-tree."

"Where?" said the pig.

"Down at Merry-garden," replied the wolf, "and if you will not deceive me I will come for you, at five o'clock to-morrow, and get some apples."

The little pig got up next morning at four o'clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the wolf came; but it took long to climb the tree, and just as he was coming down from it, he saw the wolf coming.

When the wolf came up he said:--

"Little pig, what! are you here before me? Are they nice apples?"

"Yes, very," said the little pig. "I will throw you down one."

And he threw it so far that, while the wolf was gone to pick it up, the little pig jumped down and ran home. The next day the wolf came again, and said to the little pig:--

"Little pig, there is a fair in town this afternoon; will you go?"