O Captain! My Captain!

BY W ALT W HI TMA N

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

GWSCI @15
 THE PAINS OF GROWING UP

A child, aged three, in short pants was holding a balloon with his right hand and ice cream cone
with his left. He was running aimlessly while the father followed. Shouting, kicking, crying
boisterously. That was then, a few years ago, but it was just faint memory. Yes, for that boy some
years back was I. Dad and I used to be great pats ceases to be now. We are at a distance from each
other. He talks, I do not listen. I explain he does not admit. . . And this is just one phase of growing , a
painful process of change.

My friends, any change is not easy at all.

"My son", I remember Dad admonished, "you get to be different. You are a grown up child now.
Don't be hard on your younger sister. Don't hit her anymore," he said, when I once hit Alice.

A grown up I mused to myself so I can now go to Disco join friends and have the real taste of life".
But he again interrupted, "My son, remember you are still young, a little boy".

A grown-up or a little boy. . . who am I really, an adult or a little boy?

Life is a series of surprises. What I used to enjoy when I was a kid will no longer be the same.
Eventually and gradually things will take a shift. Doing things with Dad's assistance will slowly
mean doing it on your own. Taking a risk may mean Yes; that's ok; or no, you should learn better,
next time. Less supervision but more reprimands. . . failure of success I am starting on my own.
Discovering things, using my discretion, deciding by myself are all parts of this painful process. I
fail occasionally. I get discouraging remarks. I learn new ways. I experiment with peer groups.
These characterize a teenage life. A bandwagon I am, I like to be equal with my members. What they
have, I must also; what they do too. And to all these Dad prones, Mom disapproves, society
condemns. . .

As I feel my way to independence in the little part of my brain, I have some reservation. . . What?
Will this ever win my old's approval?

If not them misunderstanding is possible. Human as I am go against their standards different from
mine. Inexperienced go against their standards different from mine. Inexperienced as I am I react
opposite to what they expect to me. Uncertain as I am, I refrain to conform to what they desire. As a
result we end up hostile to each one. Disobedient, recalcitrant and stubborn, they brand me. I feel
short, misunderstood and unloved, I find solace and approval with my peer. They understand, they
accept me because we have similar standard, we have the same world. they like me because we
very well approve each other.

I want to be on my own, my parents are not ready to accept this fact. A child no more, an adult
neither, I feel lost. We became alienated from each one. Growing is really painful just as advancing
in years for parent is so.

All I ask of you is continue holding me- I still need you. Open communication line. Stop filling my
days with 'Don't and No'. Listen to my unworded desire. You will always be part of me. Let us both
put life and love to our days as we journey together to the mystery of life.

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 We Have Become Untrue to Ourselves
By: Felix Bautista

With all the force and vigor at my command, I contend that we have relaxed our vigilance, that we
have allowed ourselves to deteriorate. I contend that we have lost our pride in the Philippines, that
we no longer consider it a privilege and an honor to be born a Filipino.

To the Filipino youth, nothing Filipino is good enough any more. Even their Filipino names no
longer suit them. A boy named Juan does not care to be called Juanito anymore. No, he must be
Johnny. A girl named Virginia would get sore if she was nicknamed Viring or Biñang. No, she must
be Virgie or Ginny. Roberto has become Bobbie; Maria, Mary or Marie.

And because they have become so Americanized, because they look down on everything Filipino,
they now regard with contempt all the things that our fathers and our fathers’ fathers held dear.
They frown on kissing the hands of their elders, saying that it is unsanitary. They don’t care for the
Angelus, saying that it is old-fashioned. They belittle the kundiman, because it is so drippingly
sentimental.

They are what they are today because their elders – their parents and their teachers – have allowed
them to be such. They are incongruities because they cannot be anything else! And they cannot be
anything else because their elders did not know enough, or did not care enough to fashion them and
to mold them into the Filipino pattern.

This easing of the barriers that would have protected our Filipinism, this has resulted in something
more serious, I refer to the de-Filipinization of our economic life.

Let us face it. Economically speaking, we Filipinos have become strangers in our own country.

And so, today, we are witnesses to the spectacle of a Philippines inhabited by Filipinos who do not
act and talk like Filipinos. We are witnesses to the pathetic sight of a Philippines controlled and
dominated and run by non-Filipinos.

We have become untrue to ourselves, we have become traitors to the brave Filipinos who fought
and died so that liberty might live in the Philippines. We have betrayed the trust that Rizal reposed
on us, we are not true to the faith that energized Bonifacio, the faith that made Gregorio del Pilar
cheerfully lay down his life at Tirad Pass.

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 Pinatutula Ako

Iyong hinihiling, lira ay tugtugin

bagaman sira na't laon nang naumid
ayaw nang tumipa ang nagtampong bagting
pati aking Musa ay nagtago narin.

malungkot na nota ang nasnaw na himig

waring hinuhugot dusa at hinagpis
at ang alingawngaw ay umaaliwiw
sa sarili na ring puso at damdamin.
kaya nga't sa gitna niring aking hapis
yaring kalul'wa ko'y parang namamanhid.

Nagkapanahon nga ... kaipala'y, tunay

ang mga araw na matuling nagdaan
nang ako sa akong Musa'y napamahal
lagi na sa akin, ngiti'y nakalaan.

ngunit marami nang lumipas na araw

sa aking damdamin alaala'y naiwan
katulad ng saya at kaligayahan
kapag dumaan na'y may hiwagang taglay
na mga awiting animo'y lumulutang
sa aking gunitang malabo, malamlam.

Katulad ko'y binhing binunot na tanim

sa nilagakan kong Silangang lupain
pawang lahat-lahat ay kagiliw-giliw
manirahan doo'y sayang walang maliw.

ang bayan kong ito, na lubhang marikit

sa diwa't puso ko'y hindi mawawaglit
ibong malalaya, nangagsisiawit
mulang kabundukan, lagaslas ng tubig
ang halik ng dagat sa buhangin mandin
lahat ng ito'y, hindi magmamaliw.

Nang ako'y musmos pa'y aking natutuhang

masayang batiin ang sikat ng araw
habang sa diwa ko'y waring naglalatang
silakbo ng isang kumukulong bulkan.

laon nang makata, kaya't ako nama'y

laging nagnanais na aking tawagan
sa diwa at tula, hanging nagduruyan:
"Ikalat mo lamang ang kanyang pangalan,
angking kabantugan ay ipaghiyawan
mataas, mababa'y, hayaang magpisan".

GWSCI @15
The Borrower and the Boy
By Mary Norton

Reader’s Theater Edition #29

Adapted for reader’s theater (or readers theatre) by Aaron Shepard, from the
book The Borrowers, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, New York, 1953

For more reader’s theater, visit Aaron Shepard’s RT Page at

www.aaronshep.com.

Story copyright © 1953 Mary Norton. Script copyright © 2002 Aaron Shepard. Adapted
and distributed by permission of The deFaria Company, which restricts the following
standard permissions by prohibiting fees or admission charges for performances of this
script. Scripts in this series are free and may be copied, shared, and performed for any
noncommercial purpose, except they may not be posted online without permission.
PREVIEW: Young Arrietty knows that nothing worse can happen to a Borrower than to
be seen by a human bean—and now she’s talking to one!
GENRE: Fantasy READERS: 5
CULTURE: British (English) READER AGES: 11–14
THEME: Points of view LENGTH: 10 minutes

ROLES: Narrators 1 & 2, Arrietty, Boy, Pod

NOTES: The Borrowers is the first book in a series that also includes The Borrowers
Afield, The Borrowers Afloat, The Borrowers Aloft, and The Borrowers Avenged. For
best effect, place NARRATOR 1 at far left, and NARRATOR 2 at far right, as seen from
the audience, then place BOY closest to NARRATOR 1, and ARRIETTY closest to
NARRATOR 2. BOY can double as POD.

NARRATOR 1: Imagine you are nearly fourteen years old but are only a few inches
tall and live under the floor of a great house in the country. And imagine your tiny
father one day takes you upstairs and outdoors for the first time—and on that very
first day you meet a being that seems like a giant.

NARRATOR 2: That’s what happened to Arrietty, one of the little people called the
Borrowers. While her father was at work by the front door of the house, she ran off
under a cherry tree to sit among the grass and wildflowers. But then something
moved above her on the bank. Something glittered. Arrietty stared.

NARRATOR 1: It was an eye. An eye like her own, but enormous. A glaring eye.
Then the eye blinked. A great fringe of lashes came curving down and flew up again
out of sight.

NARRATOR 2: Arrietty sat breathless with fear. Cautiously, she moved her legs.
She would slide noiselessly in among the grass stems and slither away down the
bank.

BOY: (in a low voice) Don’t move!

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NARRATOR 1: The voice, like the eye, was enormous, but somehow hushed.
Arrietty, her heart pounding in her ears, heard the breath again drawing swiftly into
the vast lungs.

BOY: Or I shall hit you with my stick!

NARRATOR 2: Suddenly Arrietty became calm. Her voice, crystal thin and harebell
clear, came tinkling on the air.

ARRIETTY: Why?

BOY: (surprised) In case you ran toward me quickly through the grass. In case you
came and scrabbled at me with your nasty little hands.

NARRATOR 1: Arrietty stared at the eye. She held herself quite still.

BOY: Did you come out of the house?

ARRIETTY: Yes.

BOY: From where in the house?

ARRIETTY: I’m not going to tell you!

BOY: Then I’ll hit you with my stick!

ARRIETTY: All right, hit me!

BOY: I’ll pick you up and break you in half!

ARRIETTY: All right.

NARRATOR 2: Arrietty stood up and took two paces forward.

BOY: (gasps)

NARRATOR 1: There was an earthquake in the grass. He spun away from her and
sat up, a great mountain in a green jersey.

BOY: (loudly) Stay where you are!

NARRATOR 2: Arrietty stared up at him. Breathless she felt, and light with fear.

ARRIETTY: I’d guess you’re about nine.

BOY: You’re wrong. I’m ten.

NARRATOR 1: He looked down at her, breathing deeply.

BOY: How old are you?

ARRIETTY: Fourteen. Next June.

NARRATOR 2: There was silence while Arrietty waited, trembling a little.

BOY: Can you read?

ARRIETTY: Of course. Can’t you?

BOY: No. I mean, yes. I mean, not so well.

GWSCI @15
ARRIETTY: I can read anything—if someone could hold the book and turn the
pages.

BOY: Could you read out loud?

ARRIETTY: Of course.

BOY: Would you wait here while I run upstairs and get a book now?

ARRIETTY: Well—

BOY: I won’t be but a minute.

NARRATOR 1: He began to move away, but turned suddenly and came back to her.
He stood a moment, as though embarrassed.

BOY: Can you fly?

ARRIETTY: (surprised) No! Can you?

BOY: Of course not! I’m not a fairy!

ARRIETTY: Well, nor am I, nor is anybody. I don’t believe in them.

BOY: (confused) You don’t believe in them?

ARRIETTY: No! Do you?

BOY: Of course not! But . . . but supposing you saw a little man, about as tall as a
pencil, with a blue patch in his trousers, halfway up a window curtain, carrying a
doll’s teacup. Would you say it was a fairy?

ARRIETTY: No, I’d say it was my father!

BOY: Oh. Are there many people like you?

ARRIETTY: No. None. We’re all different.

BOY: I mean as small as you.

ARRIETTY: (laughs) What a funny question! Surely you don’t think there are many
people in the world your size?

BOY: There are more my size than yours.

ARRIETTY: (laughs again) Honestly! Do you really think . . . . I mean, whatever

sort of a world would it be? Those great chairs—I’ve seen them. Fancy if you had to
make chairs that size for everyone. And the stuff for their clothes— miles and miles
of it, tents of it—and the sewing! And their great houses—reaching up so you can
hardly see the ceilings—their great beds, the food they eat—great
smoking mountains of it!
That’s why my father says it’s a good thing they’re dying out! Just a few, my
father says—that’s all we need to keep us going. Otherwise, he says, the whole
thing gets—what did he say?—exaggerated.

BOY: What do you mean, “keep us going”?

NARRATOR 2: So Arrietty told him about borrowing—how difficult it was, and how
dangerous. She told him about the storerooms under the floor, about her mother,
Homily, and her father, Pod. She told him about Pod’s exploits, his skill—how he
would venture bravely into the house above to borrow whatever his family needed.

GWSCI @15
BOY: “Borrowing.” Is that what you call it?

ARRIETTY: What else could you call it?

BOY: I’d call it stealing.

ARRIETTY: (laughs hard) But we are Borrowers, like you’re a . . . a “human bean,”
or whatever it’s called. We’re part of the house! You might as well say that the fire
grate steals the coal from the coal scuttle!

BOY: Then what is stealing?

ARRIETTY: (seriously) Don’t you know? Stealing is . . . . Well, suppose my Uncle

Hendreary borrowed something from the house and then my father took it
from him. But Borrowers don’t steal!

BOY: Except from human beings.

ARRIETTY: (laughs harder still) Oh dear, you are funny! Human beans
are for Borrowers—like bread’s for butter!

NARRATOR 1: The boy was silent awhile. A sigh of wind rustled the cherry tree and
shivered among the blossoms.

BOY: Well, I don’t believe it. I don’t believe that’s what we’re for at all, and I don’t
believe we’re dying out!

ARRIETTY: (impatiently) Oh, goodness! Just use your common sense! You’re the
only real human bean I ever saw, and I only know of three more. But I know of lots
and lots of Borrowers!

BOY: Then where are they now? Tell me that.

ARRIETTY: Well, my Uncle Hendreary has a house in the country, and four
children.

BOY: But where are the others?

ARRIETTY: (confused) Oh, they’re somewhere.

NARRATOR 2: She shivered slightly in the boy’s cold shadow.

BOY: (coldly) Well, I’ve only seen two Borrowers, but I’ve seen hundreds and
hundreds and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds

ARRIETTY: (softly, to herself, as he speaks) Oh, no.

BOY: of human beings.

NARRATOR 2: Arrietty stood very still. She did not look at him.

ARRIETTY: I don’t believe you.

BOY: All right, then I’ll tell you.

ARRIETTY: I still won’t believe you.

BOY: Listen!

NARRATOR 1: And he told her about railway stations and football matches and
racecourses and royal processions and Albert Hall concerts. He told her about India

GWSCI @15
and China and North America and the British Commonwealth. He told her about the
July sales.

BOY: Not hundreds, but thousands and millions and billions and trillions of great
big enormous people! Now do you believe me?

NARRATOR 2: Arrietty stared up at him with frightened eyes.

ARRIETTY: (softly) I don’t know.

BOY: As for you, I don’t believe that there are any more Borrowers anywhere in
the world! I believe you’re the last three.

ARRIETTY: We’re not! There’s Aunt Lupy and Uncle Hendreary and all the cousins.

BOY: I bet they’re dead. And what’s more, no one will ever believe I’ve
seen you. And you’ll be the very last, because you’re the youngest. One day, you’ll
be the only Borrower left in the world!

NARRATOR 1: He sat still, waiting, but she did not look up.

BOY: (without malice) Now you’re crying.

ARRIETTY: (not looking at him) I’m going home.

BOY: Don’t go. Not yet.

ARRIETTY: Yes, I’m going.

BOY: (pleading) Let me just get the book. Please? I’ll just be a minute!

ARRIETTY: (absently) All right.

NARRATOR 2: He was gone. And she stood there alone in the sunshine, shoulder
deep in grass. What had happened seemed too big for thought. Not only had she
been seen, but she had been talked to. Not only had she been talked to, but
she had—

POD: (in a low voice) Arrietty! Come over here!

NARRATOR 1: She spun around, and there was Pod on the path, round-faced, kind,
familiar. Obediently she started over to him.

POD: What d’you want to go in the grass for? I might never have seen you! Hurry
up, now. Your mother’ll have tea waiting.

(POD and ARRIETTY leave.)

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The Boy Who Wanted the Willies
Told by Aaron Shepard

Reader’s Theater Edition #30 ~ Team Version

Adapted for reader’s theater (or readers theatre) by the author

For more reader’s theater, visit Aaron Shepard’s RT Page at

www.aaronshep.com.

Story copyright © 2001, 2002 Aaron Shepard. Script copyright © 2002, 2003 Aaron
Shepard. Scripts in this series are free and may be copied, shared, and performed for
any noncommercial purpose, except they may not be posted online without permission.
PREVIEW: Hans has never in his life been frightened—but a night in a haunted castle
should finally give him his chance.
GENRE: Folktales, tall tales, ghost stories READERS: 4
CULTURE: German, European READER AGES: 8–12
THEME: Fearlessness LENGTH: 10 minutes

READER 1—Narrator
READER 2—Hans
READER 3—Sister, Stranger 1, Vampire, Skeleton 1, Princess
READER 4—Father, Stranger 2, King, Werewolf, Skeleton 2, Giant
NOTES: The story of the fearless lad in the haunted castle is well known throughout
Europe, and is found in North America as well. This retelling is based on the version
from the Brothers Grimm—but with a lot of liberties taken.
| Aaron’s Extras |
All special features are at www.aaronshep.com/extras.

NARRATOR: There was once a boy who was never frightened—for he had not
enough sense to be scared.

HANS: (cheerfully, to audience) That’s me!

NARRATOR: One day, Hans and his big sister were walking home after dark. The
wind howled, and the trees creaked and groaned. The road led past a graveyard,
where the moon lit up rows of tombstones. Hans’s sister began to quiver and
quake.

SISTER: Ooh! This place gives me the willies!

HANS: The willies? What are the willies?

SISTER: (scornfully) Do I have to tell you everything? The willies are when you get
so scared, you shiver and shake.

HANS: Well! I never had anything like that! I wish I would get the willies, so I’d
know what they’re like.

SISTER: (groans in disbelief, while closing eyes, slapping forehead, and shaking
head)

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NARRATOR: The more Hans thought it over, the more he wondered about the
willies, and the more he wished he could have them. One day he told himself,

HANS: (to audience) If I want the willies, I’d better go look for them.

NARRATOR: So he said good-bye to his family—

HANS: (waves and smiles)

SISTER: What a fool!

FATHER: I can’t believe he’s my son!

NARRATOR: —and he started down the road.

Hans walked for many days. Everyone he met, he asked,

HANS: (to STRANGERS 1 & 2) Can you give me the willies?

NARRATOR: Many tried—

STRANGERS 1 & 2: (try to scare HANS with scary faces and spooky sounds)

HANS: (looks bored and sighs)

NARRATOR: —but none could.

STRANGERS 1 & 2: (groan in disbelief, while closing eyes, slapping forehead, and
shaking head)

NARRATOR: At last he came to the King’s castle and stood before the King.

HANS: Your Majesty, can you give me the willies?

KING: Of course I can. I’m the King!

NARRATOR: The King waved his royal scepter.

KING: (waving his scepter, then pointing it at HANS) I command you to have . . .
the willies!

NARRATOR: Hans waited, but nothing happened.

HANS: I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I still don’t have them.

KING: Oh well, at least I know where you can get them. On the other side of my
kingdom is a haunted castle. If you spend the night there, you are sure to get the
willies.

HANS: Thank you, Your Majesty!

KING: There’s just one problem. No one who goes there ever lives through the
night. (cheerfully) But, if you stay alive and break the spell, you’ll find the castle
treasure!

HANS: That’s fine with me, as long as I get the willies!

KING: (groans in disbelief, while closing eyes, slapping forehead, and shaking
head)

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NARRATOR: It was midnight when Hans reached the castle. The towers cast eerie
shadows under the full moon. The drawbridge lowered itself at Hans’s
feet. Creeeeeeeeeeeek. Booooom.

HANS: (happily, to audience) Seems like a friendly place!

NARRATOR: As Hans entered the great hall, a fire sprang to life in the huge
fireplace. Voooooom! Hans pulled up a chair and settled himself to wait.

HANS: (cheerfully, to audience) Now I’m sure to get the willies.

NARRATOR: The clock in the great hall struck one. Bonnngggggg. A voice boomed
out behind him.

VAMPIRE: Velcome!

NARRATOR: Hans looked around and saw two men playing cards. One had a long,
black cloak, and the other had a furry face.

WEREWOLF: (growls at HANS and bares his teeth)

VAMPIRE: (to HANS) Vould you care to join our game? It’s been so long since ve
had anyvun to . . . play vith.

NARRATOR: Hans took a seat.

HANS: Certainly! It will pass the time, while I’m waiting for the willies!

VAMPIRE: I vill explain the rules. If my furry friend vins . . . he vill rip you to
shreds.

WEREWOLF: (snarls at HANS)

VAMPIRE: If I vin . . . I vill drink your blood. If you vin . . . ve vill let you live.

HANS: Sounds fair to me!

WEREWOLF: (growls)

NARRATOR: The furry man dealt the cards. They played for almost an hour. In the
end, the cloaked man won.

VAMPIRE: (laughs ominously) I vant to drink your blood!

NARRATOR: He moved closer to Hans, showing two long, pointy teeth.

HANS: I think you cheated.

NARRATOR: Hans reached for the pointy teeth and broke them off—Snap!

VAMPIRE: YEEE-OWWWWWWWW!

NARRATOR: And the man ran out of the hall.

WEREWOLF: (roars)

NARRATOR: The furry man leaped at Hans, but Hans sprang away and the man
flew past—right out an open window.

WEREWOLF: (screams)

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NARRATOR: Hans heard a dull thud. Then he went and settled himself again before
the fire.

HANS: (to audience) I enjoyed the game, but when do I get the willies?

NARRATOR: The clock struck two. Bonnngggggg. Bonnngggggg. Hans heard a

rattling, and into the hall marched a long line of skeletons.
The first skeleton snapped its fingers. Click. Click.

SKELETON 1: (with NARRATOR, starts snapping fingers)

NARRATOR: The second skeleton knocked its knees. Clack. Clack.

SKELETON 2: (with NARRATOR, starts knocking knees together)

NARRATOR: The third skeleton drummed its skull. Clock. Clock.

SKELETON 1: (with NARRATOR, starts pretending to knock on head)

NARRATOR: The fourth skeleton tapped along its ribs in a little tune. Clackety, click
clock. Clackety, click clock.

SKELETON 2: (with NARRATOR, starts tapping ribs)

HANS: Nice beat!

SKELETONS 1 & 2: (keep “playing”)

NARRATOR: The other skeletons formed a circle and started to dance. One
skeleton stretched a hand toward Hans.

HANS: Don’t mind if I do!

NARRATOR: Hans took hold of two bony hands and danced in the circle around the
hall.

HANS: (dances in place, with arms outstretched) Hey, this is fun!

SKELETONS 1 & 2: (play faster)

NARRATOR: The music got faster. Clackety, clackety, click clock clackety. Clackety,
clackety, click clock clackety.

HANS: (dancing faster) Hold it, I can’t dance that fast!

SKELETONS 1 & 2: (play even faster)

NARRATOR: But the skeletons gripped his hands harder and danced even
faster. Clackety clickety, clackety clockety. Clackety clickety, clackety clockety.

HANS: (dancing even faster) I said HOLD IT! (stops, digs in)

NARRATOR: Hans gave a yank and—Pop!—the two skeletons’ arms came right off.

SKELETONS 1 & 2: (freeze)

NARRATOR: The music and the dancing stopped.

HANS: (sheepishly, holding up the arms) I think you lost something.

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NARRATOR: The skeletons rushed at Hans and started jumping on him. Hans
grabbed a chair and swung it, this way and that. Crash! Bash! Bones flew here,
there, and everywhere, till the skeletons lay all in pieces on the floor.
Hans gathered them up and tossed them out the window. Then he settled
himself once again before the fire.

HANS: (to audience) I like a little dancing, but I wonder when I’m going to get
those willies!

NARRATOR: The clock struck three. Bonnngggggg. Bonnngggggg.

Bonnngggggg. From up the chimney came a deep voice.

GIANT: LOOK OUT BELOOOOOOOWWW!

NARRATOR: Something huge came falling down, swerved to miss the fire, and—
thump—landed before the fireplace. It was a giant body, with no arms or legs or
head.

GIANT: (still from up the chimney) LOOK OUT BELOOOOOOOWWW!

NARRATOR: Thump thump thump thump. Two giant legs and two giant arms
landed next to it.

GIANT: LOOK OUT BELOOOOOOOWWW!

NARRATOR: Thump. A giant head landed by the rest.

HANS: (to the audience) I get it! It’s a puzzle, and I have to put it together!

NARRATOR: Hans heaved the two giant legs and stuck them onto the body. Snap.
Snap.

GIANT: (angrily) Hey!

NARRATOR: It was the giant head talking.

GIANT: You got the shoes pointing out!

HANS: Oh, sorry.

NARRATOR: He switched the legs. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Then he stuck on the
arms and the head. Snap. Snap. Snap. The giant jumped up.

GIANT: The spell is broken! You’re the only one ever to get me together. The
others all died of fright long before this! Now follow me to the castle treasure.

NARRATOR: Hans followed him to the doorway.

GIANT: (brusquely, gesturing out) You first.

HANS: (graciously, also gesturing out) After you.

NARRATOR: The giant led him to the courtyard and pointed to a shovel under a
tree.

GIANT: (pointing) Dig there!

HANS: (irritated, also pointing) You dig there!

NARRATOR: The giant dug till he uncovered three pots of gold.

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GIANT: (pointing his thumb back) Take them inside!

HANS: (really annoyed, also pointing his thumb back) You take them inside!

NARRATOR: The giant took the pots of gold and set them down in the great hall.

GIANT: (pointing to one pot, then another, then at HANS) One is for the king, one
is for the poor, and one is for you.

NARRATOR: Then he fell into pieces again and flew up the chimney—first the head,
then the arms and legs, then the giant body.

HANS: (to audience) Some folks just can’t keep things together.

NARRATOR: Hans went back to his chair before the fire, curled up in it, and sighed.

HANS: (to audience) It’s nice to be rich, but when will I ever get the willies?

***

NARRATOR: And that is how Hans stayed alive, broke the spell, and found the
treasure. When the King heard the tale, he let Hans live in the castle, and when
Hans grew up, he married the King’s daughter. Within a year they had triplets—
three fine sons.

PRINCESS: Dearest, would you like to name them?

HANS: Certainly! Their names will be Willy . . . Willy . . . and Willy!

PRINCESS: (confused) But why all the same?

HANS: (triumphantly, to audience) Because now I’ll have the Willies!

ALL (except Hans): (groan in disbelief, while closing eyes, slapping forehead, and
shaking head)

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