King o’ the Cats

Told by Aaron Shepard

Young Peter Black was a good man, but everyone said he had one big fault. He loved
to tell wild stories.
Peter was the sexton at the Church of St. Thomas the Believer, there in the little
town of Tabby-on-Thames. He stayed in the cottage behind the church, right next to
Father Allen’s house. Many were the jobs he’d held before that, but with his wild
stories, he’d managed to lose every one.
Father Allen had warned him. “Peter, this is the last job you’re likely to get in
this town. If you want to keep it, your wild stories must stop!”
One night Peter couldn’t sleep. He tossed and he turned and at last got up to
make himself some tea. But when he glanced out his window, he saw the windows of
the church ablaze with light.
“What in the world . . . ?” muttered Peter. “There shouldn’t be anyone there,
this time of night. And how’d they get in, anyway?”
Peter pulled on a coat, crossed the yard, and quietly unlocked the back door. As
he crept through the vestry, he heard a sound from the church. Meow, meow . . . .
“Sounds like a cat,” murmured Peter. “But I never knew a cat to light a candle.”
He peered around the curtain hung at the church entrance, and what he saw
made him gasp. There was not one cat, but hundreds of cats, of every size and
coloring. They filled the pews, and all of them sat upright just like people.
On the steps to the altar, a big black cat—the biggest cat Peter had ever seen—
was kneeling with his head bowed. Standing above him with paws upraised was a
black cat in bishop’s robes, intoning, “Meow, meow . . . .”
An altar kitten approached with a velvet pillow on which lay a small golden
crown. The bishop lifted the crown and solemnly placed it on the kneeling cat’s head.
 The church exploded with cries of Meow, meow! Peter didn’t wait to see more.
He raced through the vestry and back to his cottage, where he jumped into bed and
stayed trembling under the covers till morning.
Bright and early, Peter was over to see Father Allen. The priest was reading in
the conservatory, his black cat Tom curled up on his lap.
“Good morning, Peter,” said the priest. “What brings you here so early?”
“Father Allen, I came to tell you about something terribly weird in the church
last night. I saw these lights and I went over to check, and I heard a meow—”
“Meow,” said the priest’s cat, Tom.
“Yes, just like that,” said Peter. “And when I looked, there were hundreds of
cats in the church. And there was this one big black cat, and he was kneeling in front,
and their bishop was crowning him—”
Father Allen was looking at him sternly. “Peter, do you remember what I told
you about wild stories?”
“Of course I do, Father.”
“Then let’s have no more of this, all right?”
“But, Father—”
“Listen, Peter, I have an errand for you. Will you walk over to Brambleton
today and deliver a message to Father Rowan?”
Peter would and Peter did. But he didn’t get to it till late afternoon, and by the
time he started home, it was already dusk. He decided to take a shortcut cross-
country.
He was halfway through a meadow and up to a stand of trees when he heard a
commotion. From beyond the meadow came the barking of a dog and a chorus
of Meow, meow.
“Is it those cats again?” said Peter in alarm, ducking behind a tree.
An Irish setter raced into the meadow, barking for all it was worth. Right
behind were a dozen cats with bows and arrows, riding—yes, riding—on the backs of
bridled foxes. The big black cat at their head was wearing a golden crown.
At first Peter thought the setter was leading the cats on the trail of their quarry.
Then he realized, No, they’re hunting the dog!
As the cat with the crown rode by a large rock, his fox tripped and stumbled
and the cat went flying. He struck his head on the rock and lay still.
The other cats gave up the chase and crowded anxiously around him. Then with
loud, mournful cries of Meow, meow, they laid him over the back of his fox and
returned the way they had come.
Peter stood shaking till they were out of sight, then nipped off home as fast as
his wobbly legs would bear him. He found Father Allen at supper, with his cat, Tom,
nibbling from a dish by the table.
“Father, it’s about those cats. I was crossing a meadow, and I heard a dog
barking and all these cats crying meow—”
“Meow,” said Tom.
“Yes, just like that,” said Peter. “And then the cats came riding into the meadow
on foxes, all of them chasing this dog, but then the cat with the crown fell off and hit
his head and . . . and . . . and . . . . Father, why’s Tom staring at me like that?”
Father Allen put down his fork. “Peter, I’ve warned you often enough about
your wild stories. Now, if you come to me talking like this again, I’m going to have to
let you go. Do you understand?”
“But, Father, it’s no story. I swear it!”
 “That’s enough, Peter! Now, I’m sorry to ask you so late, but I have another
chore for you. Mrs. Pennyweather has passed on suddenly, and tomorrow’s the
funeral. I need you to dig her grave—tonight.”
So it was that Peter was digging in the graveyard by the light of the full moon. It
was hard work, and he had to keep resting, and it wasn’t till right around midnight
that he finished.
Just as he was about to climb out, he heard a distant Meow, then
again, Meow, and again, Meow.
“It’s the cats!” declared Peter. He scrunched down in the grave, then carefully
peered over the edge.
Coming across the graveyard was the black bishop cat, and behind him were six
more black cats, carrying on their shoulders a small coffin. The box was covered with
a pall of black velvet, and sitting on top was the golden crown that Peter had seen
twice before.
The cats walked slowly and solemnly, and at every third step
cried, Meow. Their path went right by the grave where Peter hid, and when they were
but a few feet away, the bishop held up a paw for a halt. Then he turned and stared
straight at Peter and spoke.
“Tell Tom Tildrum . . . that Tim Toldrum’s . . . dead.”
Then he lowered his paw, and the cats walked on, and at every third step
cried, Meow.
Well, Peter scrambled out of that grave and bolted for Father Allen’s. He
pounded on the door, shouting, “Father! Father! Let me in!”
At last the door opened and Father Allen stood there sleepily in his nightshirt.
“Peter, what’s going on?
“Let me in, Father, please, and I’ll tell you.”
Father Allen led him into the library, where Tom yawned and stretched on his
cat bed. The priest lit a lamp.
“Now, what’s this all about, Peter?”
“Father, you’ve got to believe me. I was out digging Mrs. Pennyweather’s grave
when I heard a meow—”
“Meow,” said Tom.
“Yes, just like that,” said Peter. “And I looked and saw seven black cats, and one
was the bishop, and the others were carrying a coffin with a crown, and they came
right up next to me, and the bishop stopped them and stared at me just like Tom
there and . . . and . . . and . . . . Father, why’s Tom staring at me like that?”
“Peter—” began the priest.
“But, Father, I tell you, he spoke to me! And he gave me a message. I’m to tell
Tom Tildrum that Tim Toldrum’s dead. But how can I tell Tom Tildrum that Tim
Toldrum’s dead when I don’t know who Tom Tildrum is?”
“Peter, this is the last straw. I’ve warned you again and again—”
“Father! Look at Tom! Look at Tom!”
Tom was swaying, and Tom was swelling, and Tom was standing on his two
hind legs, and then Tom spoke.
“What? Tim Toldrum dead? Then I’m the King o’ the Cats!”
Tom leaped toward the fireplace, and with a single Meow, he bounded up the
chimney and was gone.
Never to be seen again.

***
 Of course, after that, there was no more talk of Peter losing his job. But as for
Father Allen . . . .
Well, Father Allen was a good man, but everyone said he had one big fault. He
loved to tell wild stories—about Tom, the King o’ the Cats.
Meow.

The Princess Mouse

A Tale of Finland
Told by Aaron Shepard
Once there was a farmer with two sons. One morning he said to them, “Boys, you’re
old enough now to marry. But in our family, we have our own way to choose a bride.”
The younger son listened respectfully, but the older one said, “You’ve told us,
Father. We must each cut down a tree and see where it points.”
“That’s right,” said the farmer. “Then walk that way till you find a sweetheart.
That’s how we’ve done it, and that’s how we always will.”
Now, the older son already knew who he wanted to marry. He also knew how to
cut a tree so it fell how he wanted. So, his tree fell and pointed to the farm where his
sweetheart lived.
The younger son, whose name was Mikko, didn’t have a sweetheart, but he
thought he’d try his luck in the town. Well, maybe he cut the tree wrong, or maybe it
had thoughts of its own, but it fell pointing to the forest.
“Good job, Mikko!” his brother mocked. “What sweetheart will you find there?
A wolf or a fox?”
 “Never mind,” said Mikko. “I’ll find who I find.”
The two young men went their ways. Mikko walked through the forest for hours
without seeing a soul. But at last he came to a cottage deep in the woods.
“I knew I’d find a sweetheart!” said Mikko. But when he went inside, he saw no
one.
“All this way for nothing,” he said sadly.
“Maybe not!” came a tiny voice.
Mikko looked around, but the only living thing in sight was a little mouse on a
table. Standing on its hind legs, it gazed at him with large, bright eyes.
“Did you say something?” he asked it.
“Of course I did! Now, why don’t you tell me your name and what you came
for?”
Mikko had never talked with a mouse, but he felt it only polite to reply. “My
name is Mikko, and I’ve come looking for a sweetheart.”
The mouse squealed in delight. “Why, Mikko, I’ll gladly be your sweetheart!”
“But you’re only a mouse,” said Mikko.
“That may be true,” she said, “but I can still love you faithfully. Besides, even a
mouse can be special! Come feel my fur.”
With one finger, Mikko stroked the mouse’s back. “Why, it feels like velvet! Just
like the gown of a princess!”
“That’s right, Mikko.” And as he petted her, she sang to him prettily.
“Mikko’s sweetheart will I be.
What a fine young man is he!
Gown of velvet I do wear,
Like a princess fine and rare.”
Mikko looked into those large, bright eyes and thought she really was quite
nice, for a mouse. And since he’d found no one else anyway, he said, “All right, little
mouse, you can be my sweetheart.”
“Oh, Mikko!” she said happily. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”
Mikko wasn’t so sure, but he just stroked her fur and smiled.
When Mikko got home, his brother was already there boasting to their father.
“My sweetheart has rosy red cheeks and long golden hair.”
“Sounds very nice,” said the farmer. “And what about yours, Mikko?”
“Yes, Mikko,” said his brother, laughing. “Did you find a sweetheart with a nice
fur coat?”
Now, Mikko didn’t want to admit his sweetheart was a mouse. So he said,
“Mine wears a velvet gown, like a princess!”
His brother stopped laughing.
“Well!” said the farmer. “It sounds like Mikko’s tree pointed a good way too!
But now I must test both your sweethearts. Tomorrow you’ll ask them to weave you
some cloth, then you’ll bring it home to me. That’s how we’ve done it, and that’s how
we always will.”
They started out early next morning. When Mikko reached the cottage in the
woods, there was the little mouse on the table. She jumped up and down and clapped
her tiny paws.
“Oh, Mikko, I’m so glad you’re here! Is this the day of our wedding?”
Mikko gently stroked her fur. “Not yet, little mouse,” he said glumly.
“Why, Mikko, you look so sad! What’s wrong?”
“My father wants you to weave some cloth. But how can you do that? You’re
only a mouse!”
 “That may be true,” she said, “but I’m also your sweetheart, and surely Mikko’s
sweetheart can weave! But you must be tired from your walk. Why don’t you rest
while I work?”
“All right,” said Mikko, yawning. He lay down on a bed in the corner, and the
little mouse sang him a pretty lullaby.
“Mikko’s sweetheart will I be.
What a fine young man is he!
Cloth of linen I will weave.
I’ll be done when he must leave.”
When the little mouse was sure that Mikko was asleep, she picked up a sleigh
bell on a cord and rang it. Out of mouseholes all around the room poured hundreds
of mice. They all stood before the table, gazing up at her.
“Hurry!” she said. “Each of you, fetch a strand of the finest flax.”
The mice rushed from the cottage—then one, two, three, and back they were,
each with a strand of flax.
First they spun it into yarn on the spinning wheel. Whirr. Whirr. Whirr. Some
worked the pedal, some fed the flax, some rode around with the wheel.
Then they strung the yarn on the loom and wove it into cloth. Swish. Thunk.
Swish. Thunk. Swish. Thunk. Some worked the pedals, some rocked the beater, some
sailed the shuttle back and forth.
At last they cut the cloth from the loom and tucked it in a nutshell.
“Now, off with you!” said the little mouse, and they all scampered back to their
mouseholes. Then she called, “Mikko, wake up! It’s time to go home! And here is
something for your father.”
Mikko sleepily took the nutshell. He didn’t know why his father should want
such a thing, but he said, “Thank you, little mouse.”
When he got home, his brother was proudly presenting the cloth from his
sweetheart. The farmer looked it over and said, “Strong and fairly even. Good enough
for simple folks like us. And where is yours, Mikko?”
Mikko blushed and handed him the nutshell.
“Look at that!” said his brother. “Mikko asked for cloth, and his sweetheart
gave him a nut!”
But the farmer opened the nutshell and peered inside. Then he pinched at
something and started to pull. Out came linen, fine beyond belief. It kept coming too,
yard after yard after yard.
Mikko’s brother gaped with open mouth, and Mikko did too!
“There can be no better weaver than Mikko’s sweetheart!” declared the farmer.
“But both your sweethearts will do just fine. Tomorrow you’ll bring them home for
the wedding. That’s how we’ve done it, and that’s how we always will.”
When Mikko arrived at the cottage next morning, the little mouse again
jumped up and down. “Oh, Mikko, is this the day of our wedding?”
“It is, little mouse.” But he sounded more glum than ever.
“Why, Mikko, what’s wrong?”
“How can I bring home a mouse to marry? My brother and father and all our
friends and neighbors will laugh and think I’m a fool!”
“They might think so, indeed,” she said softly. “But, Mikko, what
do you think?”
Mikko looked at the little mouse, gazing at him so seriously with her large,
bright eyes. He thought about how she loved him and cared for him.
“I think you’re as sweet as any sweetheart could be. So let them laugh and think
what they like. Today you’ll be my bride.”
 “Oh, Mikko, you’ve made me the happiest mouse in the world!”
She rang her sleigh bell, and to Mikko’s astonishment, a little carriage raced
into the room. It was made from a nutshell and pulled by four black rats. A mouse
coachman sat in front, and a mouse footman behind.
“Mikko,” said the little mouse, “aren’t you going to help me down?”
Mikko lifted her from the table and set her in the carriage. The rats took off and
the carriage sped from the cottage, so that Mikko had to rush to catch up.
While he hurried along behind her, the little mouse sang a pretty song.
“Mikko’s sweetheart will I be.
What a fine young man is he!
In a carriage I will ride
When I go to be his bride.”
At last they reached the farm and then the spot for the wedding, on the bank of
a lovely, swift-flowing stream. The guests were already there enjoying themselves.
But as Mikko came up, they all grew silent and stared at the little carriage.
Mikko’s brother stood with his bride, gaping in disbelief. Mikko and the little
mouse went up to him.
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever saw,” said his brother, and with one quick
kick, sent the carriage, the rats, and the mice, all into the stream. Before Mikko could
do a thing, the current bore them away.
“What have you done!” cried Mikko. “You’ve killed my sweetheart!”
“Are you crazy?” said his brother. “That was only a mouse!”
“She may have been a mouse,” said Mikko tearfully, “but she was also my
sweetheart, and I really did love her!”
He was about to swing at his brother, when his father called, “Mikko, look!”
All the guests were staring downstream and pointing and crying out in wonder.
Mikko turned and to his amazement saw four black horses pulling a carriage out of
the stream. A coachman sat in front and a footman behind, and inside was a soaked
but lovely princess in a gown of pearly velvet.
The carriage rode up along the bank and stopped right before him. “Mikko,”
said the princess, “aren’t you going to help me down?”
Mikko stared blankly a moment, and then his eyes flew wide. “Are you the little
mouse?”
“I surely was,” said the princess, laughing, “but no longer. A witch enchanted
me, and the spell could be broken only by one brother who wanted to marry me and
another who wanted to kill me. But, sweetheart, I need a change of clothes. I can’t be
wet at our wedding!”
And a grand wedding it was, with Mikko’s bride the wonder of all. The farmer
could hardly stop looking at her. Of course, Mikko’s brother was a bit jealous, but his
own bride was really quite nice, so he couldn’t feel too bad.
The next day, the princess brought Mikko back to her cottage—but it was a
cottage no longer! It was a castle with hundreds of servants, and there they made
their home happily.
And if Mikko and the princess had any sons, you know just how they chose
their brides.
 One-
Eye! Two-Eyes! Three-Eyes!
A Very Grimm Fairy Tale
Told by Aaron Shepard
Once there were three sisters who lived alone in a cottage in the woods.
They had been there as long as they could remember, and they never saw anyone
else.
Now, the oldest sister was no different from other people. Her name was
One-Eye. She had just one eye, right in the middle of her forehead.
The middle sister was also quite ordinary. Her name was Three-Eyes. She had
one eye in her forehead, and one on each side of her face.
But the youngest sister was different. Her name was Two-Eyes, and that’s just
what she had.
Because Two-Eyes was not like others, her older sisters were ashamed of her
and picked on her all the time. They dressed her in ragged hand-me-downs and only
let her eat leftovers.
Now, the sisters owned a goat, and every day Two-Eyes took it to the meadow
to graze. One morning, when she’d had hardly anything to eat, she sat in the grass
and cried her two eyes out.
All at once, an old woman stood before her. But the biggest surprise was that
this woman had two eyes, just like Two-Eyes herself.
“What’s wrong, my dear?” asked the woman.
 “It’s my sisters,” Two-Eyes told her. “They never give me enough to eat.”
“Don’t worry about that!” said the woman. “You can have as much as you like.
Just say to your goat,
‘Bleat, goat, bleat.
And bring me lots to eat!’
Then you’ll have plenty. When you don’t want any more, just say,
‘Bleat, goat, bleat.
I’ve had so much to eat!’
Then the rest will vanish. Just like this.”
And the old woman vanished—just like that.
Two-Eyes couldn’t wait to try. She said to the goat,
“Bleat, goat, bleat.
And bring me lots to eat!”
The goat bleated, and a little table and chair appeared. The table was set with a
tablecloth, plate, and silverware, and on it were dishes and dishes of wonderful-
smelling food.
“This sure is better than leftovers!” said Two-Eyes.
She sat down and started in hungrily. Everything tasted delicious. When she’d
eaten her fill, she said,
“Bleat, goat, bleat.
I’ve had so much to eat!”
The goat bleated and the table vanished. “And that,” said Two-Eyes, “is better
than cleaning up!”
When Two-Eyes got home, she didn’t touch her bowl of leftovers. Her sisters
didn’t notice till she’d gone off to bed. Then Three-Eyes said, “Look! Our little sister
didn’t eat anything!”
“That’s strange,” said One-Eye. “Is someone else giving her food? I’ll go
tomorrow and watch her.”
Next morning, when Two-Eyes started out, One-Eye said, “I’m coming along to
make sure you tend the goat properly.” Then she followed Two-Eyes to the meadow
and kept a careful eye on her. So Two-Eyes never got to use the old woman’s rhyme.
When they got home, Two-Eyes ate her bowl of leftovers. Then she went off to
the woods and cried her two eyes out.
The old woman appeared again. “What’s wrong, my dear?”
“It’s my sisters. The goat can’t bring me food, because One-Eye is watching
me.”
“Don’t worry about that!” said the woman. “You can stop her if you like. Just
sing her this song.
‘Is your eye awake?
Is your eye asleep?
Is your eye awake?
Is your eye asleep?’
Keep singing that, and she’ll sleep soon enough.”
Then the old woman vanished.
Next morning, when Two-Eyes went to the meadow, One-Eye again went
along. Two-Eyes said, “Sister, let me sing to you.” And she sang to her over and over,
“Is your eye awake?
Is your eye asleep?
Is your eye awake?
Is your eye asleep?”
 One-Eye’s eyelid began to droop, and soon she was fast asleep. Then Two-Eyes
said to the goat,
“Bleat, goat, bleat.
And bring me lots to eat!”
The goat bleated, the table appeared, and Two-Eyes ate her fill. Then she said,
“Bleat, goat, bleat.
I’ve had so much to eat!”
The goat bleated again, and the table vanished. Then Two-Eyes shook her
sister, saying, “Wake up, sleepyhead!”
When they got home, Two-Eyes didn’t touch her leftovers. After she’d gone off
to bed, Three-Eyes asked, “What happened?”
“How should I know?” said One-Eye. “I fell asleep. If you think you can do
better, then you go tomorrow.”
So next morning, when Two-Eyes went to the meadow, Three-Eyes went along
and kept three careful eyes on her. “Listen,” said Two-Eyes, “and I’ll sing to you.”
And she sang to her, over and over,
“Is your eye awake?
Is your eye asleep?
Is your eye awake?
Is your eye asleep?”
As Two-Eyes sang, the eye in her sister’s forehead went to sleep—but her other
two eyes didn’t! Three-Eyes pretended, though, by closing them almost all the way
and peeking through. She couldn’t quite hear what Two-Eyes told the goat, but she
saw everything.
That night, when Two-Eyes had gone off to bed, One-Eye asked, “What
happened?”
“Our sister knows a charm to make the goat bring wonderful food,” said
Three-Eyes. “But I couldn’t hear the words.”
“Then let’s get rid of the goat,” said One-Eye. And they drove it off into the
woods.
Next morning, One-Eye told Two-Eyes, “You thought you could eat better than
your sisters, did you? Well, the goat is gone, so that’s that.”
Two-Eyes went down to the stream and cried her two eyes out. Again the old
woman appeared. “What’s wrong, my dear?”
“It’s my sisters. The song didn’t work on Three-Eyes. She saw everything, and
now they’ve chased away the goat.”
“Silly girl! That charm was just for One-Eye. For Three-Eyes, you should have
sung,
‘Are your eyes awake?
Are your eyes asleep?’
But don’t worry about that. Here, take this seed and plant it in front of your cottage.
You’ll soon have a tall tree with leaves of silver and apples of gold. When you want an
apple, just say,
‘Apple hanging on the tree,
I am Two-Eyes. Come to me!’
It will fall right into your hand.”
Again the old woman vanished. Two-Eyes went home and waited till her sisters
weren’t looking, then dug a small hole and planted the seed.
The next morning, a tall tree stood before the cottage with leaves of silver and
apples of gold. Two-Eyes found her sisters gaping at it in astonishment.
All at once, Three-Eyes cried, “Look! A man!”
 Riding toward them was a knight in full armor, his visor over his face.
“Quick!” said One-Eye. “Hide our little sister!” So they lowered an empty barrel
over Two-Eyes.
“Good morning, ladies,” the knight said as he rode up. “Beautiful tree you have
there. I would dearly love to have one of those apples. In fact, I would grant anything
in my power to the lady who first gave me one.”
The two sisters gasped. They scrambled over to the tree and jumped up and
down, trying to grab the apples. But the branches just lifted themselves higher, so the
apples were always out of reach.
Meanwhile, Two-Eyes raised her barrel just a little and kicked a stone so it
rolled over to the knight.
“That’s odd,” he said. “That stone seems to have come from that barrel. Does
anyone happen to be in there?”
“Oh no, sir,” said One-Eye, “not really. Just our little sister.”
“She’s different,” said Three-Eyes, “so we can’t let anyone see her.”
“But I want to see her,” said the knight. “Young lady, please come out!”
So Two-Eyes lifted off the barrel.
“My word!” said the knight. “She’s the loveliest young lady I’ve ever seen!” He
raised his visor for a better look.
“Oh no!” screamed One-Eye and Three-Eyes together. “Two eyes!”
Sure enough, the knight had two eyes, just like their sister.
“Dear lady,” said the knight, “can you give me an apple from that tree?”
“Of course!” said Two-Eyes. Standing under it, she said,
“Apple hanging on the tree,
I am Two-Eyes. Come to me!”
An apple dropped right into her hand, and she gave it to the knight.
“My thanks!” he said. “And now I will grant anything in my power.”
“Well, to start with,” said Two-Eyes, “you can take me away from these horrid,
hateful sisters!”
So the knight took Two-Eyes back to his castle. And since they had so much in
common—after all, they both had two eyes—you can be sure they lived happily ever
after.
As for One-Eye and Three-Eyes, day after day they stood under that tree and
repeated their sister’s words.
“Apple hanging on the tree,
I am Two-Eyes. Come to me!”
But the apples never fell for them, and they never did figure out why.
 The Adventures of Mouse Deer
Favorite Folk Tales of Southeast Asia
Told by Aaron Shepard

1
Mouse Deer and Tiger
I’m quick and smart as I can be.
Try and try, but you can’t catch me!
Mouse Deer sang his song as he walked through the forest. He was looking for tasty
fruits and roots and shoots.
Though he was small, he was not afraid. He knew that many big animals
wanted to eat him. But first they had to catch him!
Then he heard something. Rowr!
There was Tiger!
“Hello, Mouse Deer. I was just getting hungry. Now you can be my lunch.”
Mouse Deer didn’t want to be lunch. He looked around and thought fast. He
saw a mud puddle.
“I’m sorry, Tiger. I can’t be your lunch. The King has ordered me to guard his
pudding.”
“His pudding?” said Tiger.
 “Yes. There it is.” Mouse Deer pointed to the mud puddle. “It has the best taste
in the world. The King doesn’t want anyone else to eat it.”
Tiger looked longingly at the puddle. “I would like to taste the King’s pudding.”
“Oh, no, Tiger! The King would be very angry.”
“Just one little taste, Mouse Deer! The King will never know.”
“Well, all right, Tiger. But first let me run far away, so no one will blame me.”
“All right, Mouse Deer, you can go now.”
Mouse Deer ran quickly out of sight.
“Imagine!” said Tiger. “The King’s pudding!” He took a big mouthful.
Phooey! He spit it out.
“Yuck! Ugh! Bleck! That’s no pudding. That’s mud!”
Tiger ran through the forest. Rowr! He caught up with Mouse Deer.
“Mouse Deer, you tricked me once. But now you will be my lunch!”
Mouse Deer looked around and thought fast. He saw a wasp nest in a tree.
“I’m sorry, Tiger. I can’t be your lunch. The King has ordered me to guard his
drum.”
“His drum?” said Tiger.
“Yes. There it is.” Mouse Deer pointed to the wasp nest. “It has the best sound
in the world. The King doesn’t want anyone else to hit it.”
Tiger said, “I would like to hit the King’s drum.”
“Oh, no, Tiger! The King would be very angry.”
“Just one little hit, Mouse Deer! The King will never know.”
“Well, all right, Tiger. But first let me run far away, so no one will blame me.”
“All right, Mouse Deer, you can go now.”
Mouse Deer ran quickly out of sight.
“Imagine!” said Tiger. “The King’s drum!” He reached up and hit it. Pow.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz. The wasps all flew out. They started to sting Tiger.
“Ouch! Ooch! Eech! That’s no drum. That’s a wasp nest!”
Tiger ran away. But the wasps only followed him! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
“Ouch! Ooch! Eech!”
Tiger came to a stream. He jumped in—splash!—and stayed underwater as long
as he could. At last the wasps went away.
Then Tiger jumped out. Rowr! He ran through the forest till he found Mouse
Deer.
“Mouse Deer, you tricked me once. You tricked me twice. But now you will be
my lunch!”
Mouse Deer looked around and thought fast. He saw a cobra! The giant snake
was coiled asleep on the ground.
“I’m sorry, Tiger. I can’t be your lunch. The King has ordered me to guard his
belt.”
“His belt?” said Tiger.
“Yes. There it is.” Mouse Deer pointed to the cobra. “It’s the best belt in the
world. The King doesn’t want anyone else to wear it.”
Tiger said, “I would like to wear the King’s belt.”
“Oh, no Tiger! The King would be very angry.”
“Just for one moment, Mouse Deer! The King will never know.”
“Well, all right, Tiger. But first let me run far away, so no one will blame me.”
“All right, Mouse Deer, you can go now.”
Mouse Deer ran quickly out of sight.
“Imagine!” said Tiger. “The King’s belt!” He started to wrap it around himself.
 The cobra woke up. Ssssssssssssss. It didn’t wait for Tiger to finish wrapping. It
wrapped itself around Tiger. Then it squeezed him and bit him. Sstt!
“Ooh! Ow! Yow! That’s no belt. That’s a cobra! Help! Mouse Deer! Help!”
But Mouse Deer was far away. And as he went, he sang his song.
I’m quick and smart as I can be.

Try and try, but you can’t catch me!

2
Mouse Deer and Crocodile
One day, Mouse Deer went down to the river. He wanted to take a drink. But he knew
Crocodile might be waiting underwater to eat him.
Mouse Deer had an idea. He said out loud, “I wonder if the water’s warm. I’ll
put in my leg and find out.”
But Mouse Deer didn’t put in his leg. Instead, he picked up a stick with his
mouth and put in one end.
Chomp! Crocodile grabbed the stick and pulled it underwater.
Mouse Deer laughed. “Silly Crocodile! Don’t you know a stick from a leg?”
And he ran off to drink somewhere else!

***
Another day, Mouse Deer went back to the river. All he saw there was a floating
log. But he knew Crocodile looked like a log when he floated.
Mouse Deer had an idea. He said out loud, “If that log is really Crocodile, it
won’t talk. But if it’s really just a log, it will tell me.”
He listened. A rough voice said, “I’m really just a log.”
Mouse Deer laughed. “Silly Crocodile! Do you think a log can talk?”
And off he ran again!

***
Another day, Mouse Deer wanted to cross the river. He wanted to eat tasty
fruits and roots and shoots on the other side. But he didn’t want Crocodile to eat him
first!
Mouse Deer had an idea. He called out, “Crocodile!”
Crocodile rose from the water. “Hello, Mouse Deer. Have you come to be my
breakfast?”
“Not today, Crocodile. I have orders from the King. He wants me to count all
the crocodiles.”
“The King!” said Crocodile. “Tell us what to do.”
“You must line up from this side of the river to the other side.”
Crocodile got all his friends and family. They lined up across the river.
Mouse Deer jumped onto Crocodile’s back. “One.”
He jumped onto the next crocodile. “Two.”
And the next. “Three.”
 Mouse Deer kept jumping till he jumped off on the other side of the river.
“How many are there?” called Crocodile.
“Just enough!” said Mouse Deer. “And all silly!”
Then he went off singing his song.
I’m quick and smart as I can be.

Try and try, but you can’t catch me!

3
Mouse Deer and Farmer
Mouse Deer loved to eat the fruits and roots and shoots of the forest. But he loved
something else even more.
He loved the vegetables in Farmer’s garden.
One day, Mouse Deer went to the edge of the forest. He looked out at row after
row of vegetables.
“Mmmm,” said Mouse Deer. “Juicy cucumbers! Yummy yams!” He started into
the garden.
Snap! “Oh!”
His leg was caught in a snare! Mouse Deer pulled and pulled. But he could not
get away.
“Oh, no!” he said. “Farmer will have me for dinner!”
Then he saw Farmer coming. Mouse Deer thought fast. He lay on the ground
and made his body stiff.
“Well, well,” said Farmer. “Look what I caught. A mouse deer! But he looks
dead.”
Farmer pushed him with his foot. Mouse Deer didn’t move.
“Maybe he’s been dead a long time,” said Farmer. “Too bad! I guess we can’t eat
him.”
He pulled Mouse Deer’s leg out of the snare. Then he tossed Mouse Deer back
into the forest.
Mouse Deer landed with a soft plop. Then he jumped up and ran. Behind him,
he heard Farmer yell.
“Hey! You tricked me!”
Mouse Deer laughed. “Farmer is smart. But Mouse Deer is smarter!”

***
A few days passed. Mouse Deer kept thinking about all those vegetables. One
day, he went back to the edge of the forest.
“Mmmm,” said Mouse Deer. “Tasty gourds! Scrumptious sweet potatoes!”
Then he saw something new. It looked like a man. But its head was a coconut,
and its body was rubber.
“A scarecrow!” said Mouse Deer. “That silly Farmer. Does he think he can scare
me with that? I’ll show him how scared I am!”
Mouse Deer marched up to the scarecrow. “Take this!” He gave it a big kick.
 But his leg stuck to the scarecrow. The scarecrow was covered with sticky sap
from a rubber tree!
“Let me go!” said Mouse Deer. He pulled and he pulled. Then he pushed with
his other front leg.
That leg stuck too.
“Turn me loose!” He pulled and he pulled. Then he pushed with his two back
legs.
They stuck too.
“PUT ME DOWN!” He pulled and he pushed and he pulled and he pushed. But
Mouse Deer was trapped.
Then he saw Farmer. Mouse Deer thought fast. But he didn’t have any ideas!
“Well, well,” said Farmer. “How nice of you to come back.”
He pulled Mouse Deer off the scarecrow and carried him to the house. He put
him outside in an empty chicken coop.
“I’ll keep you here tonight,” said Farmer. “And tomorrow you’ll be our dinner.”
All that night, Mouse Deer couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to be dinner! When
the sun rose, Mouse Deer just lay there sadly.
Then he heard something. “Why, it’s Mouse Deer! So Farmer caught you at last.
It serves you right!”
It was Farmer’s dog. Mouse Deer thought fast.
“What do you mean, Dog? Farmer didn’t catch me.”
“Then why are you in the coop?” said Dog.
“Because there aren’t enough beds in the house. You see, Farmer is holding a
feast tomorrow. And I’m the guest of honor.”
“Guest of honor?” said Dog. “That’s not fair! I’ve been his loyal friend for years,
and you’re just a thief. The guest of honor should be me!”
“You know, Dog, you’re right. Why don’t you take my place? When Farmer sees
you in here, he’ll make you the guest of honor instead.”
“Really?” said Dog. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” said Mouse Deer. “You deserve it.”
“Mouse Deer, you’re not so bad after all. Thank you!” Dog lifted the latch and
opened the door.
“You’re welcome, Dog. Enjoy the feast.”
Mouse Deer ran for the forest. Then he watched from the forest edge. He saw
Farmer come out and stare at Dog. Then he heard Farmer yell.
“You stupid dog! You let the mouse deer get away!”
Mouse Deer laughed. “Farmer will have to find a different dinner now!” Then
he went off singing his song.
 Quackling
A Feathered Fairy Tale
Told by Aaron Shepard
Once there was a very small duck with a very loud quack. So they called him
Quackling.
Now, Quackling was clever and he worked hard, so he saved up a good deal of
money. In fact, he saved up so much that the King himself came to borrow some.
Quackling was proud to loan his money to the King. But a year went by, then
two, then three, and the King never paid him back.
“I’ve waited long enough,” said Quackling. So he took a sack for the money, and
he started for the castle, calling,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
I want my money back!”
Before long, he came upon a ladder leaning against a wall.
“Where are you going, Quackling?” said Ladder.
“To the King for my money,” said Quackling.
“To the King!” said Ladder. “How wonderful! Will you take me with you?”
“Why not?” said Quackling. “One can never have too many friends.” And he
called out,
 “Quack! Quack! Quack!
Ladder into sack!”
Quick as you can blink, Ladder was in the sack. Then Quackling walked on,
calling,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
I want my money back!”
Not much later, he came upon a river flowing through a wood.
“Where are you going, Quackling?” said River.
“To the King for my money,” said Quackling.
“To the King!” said River. “How splendid! Will you take me with you?”
“Why not?” said Quackling. “One can never have too many friends.” And he
called out,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
River into sack!”
Quick as you can wink, River was in the sack. Then Quackling walked on,
calling,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
I want my money back!”
In a little while, he came upon a beehive hanging from a tree.
“Where are you going, Quackling?” said Beehive.
“To the King for my money,” said Quackling.
“To the King!” said Beehive. “How marvelous! Will you take me with you?”
Now, Quackling’s sack was getting full, but he thought there might be just
enough room.
“Why not?” said Quackling. “One can never have too many friends.” And he
called out,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
Beehive into sack!”
Quick as you can think, Beehive was in the sack. Then Quackling walked on,
calling,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
I want my money back!”
Soon after, Quackling arrived at the King’s castle. He marched right up to the
guards and told them, “I’ve come for my money!”
The guards went inside and told the prime minister. The prime minister told
the King.
“Who does that Quackling think he is?” said the King. “Never mind. Just put
him in the pit!”
So they put Quackling in the pit and left him there.
“Help!” cried Quackling. “I’ll never get out!”
Then he remembered Ladder. So he called out,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
Ladder out of sack!”
Quick as you can blink, Ladder was out of the sack. Ladder leaned against the
side of the pit, and Quackling climbed out. Then Quackling stood there, calling,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
I want my money back!”
“How did that Quackling get out of the pit?” said the King. “Never mind. Just
put him in the pot!”
So they put Quackling in the pot and set it on the fire.
“Help!” cried Quackling. “I’m in a stew!”
 Then he remembered River. So he called out,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
River out of sack!”
Quick as you can wink, River was out of the sack. River put out the fire and
flowed away. Then Quackling got out, calling,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
I want my money back!”
“How did that Quackling get out of the pot?” said the King. “Never mind. Just
bring him here, and I’ll put him in his place—for good!”
So they brought Quackling to the King. The King tried to grab him.
“Help!” cried Quackling. “This is the end!”
Then he remembered Beehive. So he called out,
“Quack! Quack! Quack!
Beehive out of sack!”
Quick as you can think, Beehive was out of the sack. The bees rushed from the
hive and started to sting the King.
“Help!” cried the King. He fled from the castle, and the bees followed. They
chased him all the way to— Well, no one knows where, for they never saw him again.
“Hooray!” cried the people of the castle, and the prime minister said, “We never
liked that King anyway.”
So they put Quackling on the throne and gave him a crown.
“Will you be our King?” said the guards.
“Why not?” said Quackling. “One can never have too many friends.”