Paul Bunyan Plants Corn (An American Tall Tale)

Sometimes Paul Bunyan had to think hard to come up with new things to do because most of the time, things came so easy for him. One day, after he and the boys had rerouted one of the Great Lakes, they were sitting around and wondering how to pass the time.

"Sure hope the moisture's in the soil now," Paul said mindlessly, for that had been the whole idea of rerouting the lake, and suddenly his eyes lighted up.

"Looks like you're thinking of some new idea, Paul," Fiddlin' Jimmy said, because he recognized that gleam in Paul's eye.

"Let's test our success," Paul said.

"How'll we do that, boss?" Slim asked.

"We'll plant some corn and see how she takes to the earth now," Paul said. He stuck one of his fingers in the dirt, and with that finger -- which was a Paul Bunyan-sized finger, after all -- he dug a deep, deep hole. If he'd wanted to, he could have planted a whole field just using his fingers, but he was only planning a little test.

So Slim tossed one kernel of corn into the hole.

Pretty soon the men could see that that land was pretty moist because that kernel began to grow right away. In just a few seconds, a sprout of corn was shooting up out of the earth.

The men cheered, and Paul smiled, and he turned to Ole and said, "Looks like we succeeded," but he'd only managed to say that many words, when Fiddlin' Jimmy said, "Why, that cornstalk's the size of a regular man." And by the time Paul and Ole and Slim and Babe and all the others turned to look, that cornstalk was taller than any regular man. It was up to Paul's knees, and that is tall!

"Better stop that corn from growing too tall," Paul said, but by the time he'd said that, that cornstalk had shot right up into the sky, and the men lost sight of it in the clouds.

"What'll we do, Paul?" Slim asked, and Paul looked around and pointed at Ole because Ole was a sturdy fellow, and Paul had lots of faith in his strength. "Ole," Paul said, "climb up to the top of that stalk, will you? We'll have to lop off its top to stop it from growing forever."

Well, Ole was happy to oblige, so he climbed onto that cornstalk, which was no ordinary cornstalk, mind you. It was, by this time, as thick as an old tree, and Ole began to shimmy up, and up, and up. Everyone watched him climb.

After a while they lost sight of Ole because he, too, was lost in the clouds.

"You OK, Ole?" Paul shouted up to him, and they listened hard and heard Ole call back, "I'm fine, Paul, but I can't reach the top. She just keeps growing."

"Well, then," Paul said, and he was scratching his head, trying to figure out another plan. "You better come down, Ole, and we'll figure out another plan."

"Can't do that!" Ole called, and his voice was fainter now, he was so far away. "I've been trying to climb down, but she's growing so fast, I can't climb down fast enough either. And I have to say, I'm getting hungry up here."

Now Slim didn't like to hear his men were hungry. He prided himself on his cooking, and so he cooked up a few dozen pancakes, and Paul shot those up in the air with a giant slingshot so Ole could eat.

"Mmmmm, mmmm," Ole called. "Thanks, boys. Now I sure hope you can get me down soon."

Now Paul had a thought. "She's growing so fast because of all the moisture in the ground, so if I can just choke off the moisture," and he looked at Babe, his blue ox, and he grinned, and Babe grinned back at him because Babe knew just what old Paul was thinking.

The two of them went to the railroad, and there they grabbed a few dozen steel rails, and together they hurried back to the men and the cornstalk, pulling those rails behind them.

Now Paul went to work. He picked up those rails and bent them and twisted them and tied them tightly around the stalk. Not many men can tie steel rails, but Paul Bunyan could. And once he did that, he trapped the moisture down below, and none of it could rise up through that stalk. So pretty soon the cornstalk stopped growing, and it started to get dry.

"Wowee," Ole called, "wait'll you see what's coming," and soon enough all the men saw.

You see, when the sun hit the top of that dry stalk, the corn kernels began to pop, and thousands and thousands of popped kernels began to tumble down out of the sky. That was the first popcorn anyone had ever seen, and some of the cows were so startled at the sight, they were sure it was snow and began to shiver, and some say that the whole herd nearly froze to death at the sight.

Luckily, though, the stalk itself began to curl up and wither, and as it did, it slowly crumpled, and Ole rode that stalk right back to the ground. And after that, everyone always talked about the day Paul Bunyan and his men invented popcorn.

The Wise Centaur (A Tale of Ancient Greece)

Long ago, centaurs roamed the mountainsides of Greece. Mountain shepherds who told tales of the centaurs spoke of coming upon one of them standing motionless among the trees. The shepherd might think, for a moment, that he had spied a man, for the centaur had a human head, muscular arms and a strong, arching neck. But when the centaur moved, he gave away his true form. The centaur's body was that of a powerful horse.

They were wild creatures, fierce and often cruel, with huge, dangerous hooves and hands like claws, and most men tried to stay as far away from them as possible, for the centaurs brought chaos to the world of men.

But two centaurs -- Chiron and Pholus -- descended from a different line. Pholus was the son of Silenus and a nymph, Chiron the son of the great Titan king Cronos and the sea nymph Philyra. Pholus and Chiron were peace-loving and always kind to humans.

When Philyra gave birth to her centaur-shaped child, she begged the gods to transform her into a tree, and she left Chiron to live alone near a cave on faraway Mount Pelion. Chiron grew up there, far from the world of men and gods, and though he lived among the other centaurs, he kept himself apart. Unlike the other centaurs, his interests were not in drinking and merrymaking. Chiron wanted to learn all there was to know in the world.

In his distant cave, he studied and became famous for his knowledge of a thousand things. He taught humans to use plants and medicinal herbs for healing, and his musical talent was so great the gods said that even the stars stopped to listen to his songs.

As time passed, many gods and men sent their sons to learn from Chiron. The great heroes Jason, Peleus, Achilles, Asclepius and Heracles all were foster sons of the great centaur, and he taught them all he knew. Most important, Chiron taught his pupils to combine their physical, moral and intellectual strengths. "You must use all three if you wish to be truly heroic," he taught them. And the greatest of the Greek heroes absorbed Chiron's wisdom and goodness.

But Chiron stayed in the mountains. Sometimes, on their journeys, his former students and foster sons would visit him. They would sit in his cave, telling him tales of their adventures in the world. Sadly, one of the greatest heroes would be Chiron's downfall.

One summer day, Heracles went to the mountain to visit his old friends Pholus and Chiron. Coming first to Pholus' cave, Heracles called out, "It is your friend come to visit." Pholus, pleased to see him, served him a wonderful supper.

"Let us have some wine," Heracles said. Pholus shook his head. "There is just one jar, and it belongs to all the centaurs," he said. "It was a gift from the god Dionysus, and we must not open it."

Heracles waved his hand. "Open it!" he said bravely. "Do not be afraid," for Heracles feared no one.

At last Pholus agreed. He fetched the jar and opened it, but when the other centaurs smelled the wine, it maddened them, and they dashed from their caves and out from among the trees. Carrying flaming torches, they rushed Pholus' cave. Heracles managed to fend them off, but many of the creatures were mortally wounded.

Tending one of his fellow centaurs, Pholus drew Heracles' poisoned arrows from a wound and accidentally dropped it on his foot. The poison instantly killed him. Heracles, powered by anger and accompanied by Chiron, drove off the others, chasing them all the way to Cape Malea where they took refuge with Chiron. In the battle that followed, Chiron accidentally dropped one of Heracles' poisoned arrows. It grazed his leg, and Heracles stared in disbelief and anguish at Chiron's deep, painful wound.

"You are the greatest healer in the world, Chiron," Heracles cried. "Surely there is something you can do to heal your wound."

Chiron sadly shook his head and shivered in pain. "I warned you long ago when you were my student that your weapons were not natural. This wound cannot be healed, and because I am immortal, I cannot die."

For a long while Chiron writhed in anguish, and search though he did for a cure, he could find none. Unable to recover, he prayed to the gods to grant him death.

The gods, saddened by Chiron's pain and thankful to him for all his goodness, granted his wish. Prometheus took on Chiron's immortality, and so, quietly, peacefully, Chiron lay down to die.

When the greatest of the centaurs died, the world was quiet. The other centaurs fled and the sky wept rain upon the earth. Heracles knelt down and sobbed with grief at the loss of his great friend and the wisest of teachers.

"He will not be forgotten," the gods proclaimed, and Heracles, hearing this, looked up.

There, high in the sky, he saw a new constellation of stars. And so it was that Chiron had been transformed into the newest family of stars. When Heracles saw the strong and gentle archer with the centaur's sleek body aiming a bow and arrow across the starlit sky, he smiled, for he knew Chiron would always watch over people and guide them to goodness and knowledge.

The second book collection of wonderful tales from "Tell Me a Story" is available for $14.95, plus $2 for postage and handling. Send your orders to "The Spectacular Gift," in care of Andrews McMeel Publishing, P.O. Box 419242, Kansas City, Mo. 64141; or call (800) 642-6480. Be sure to indicate your newspaper's name on your order. Allow three to four weeks for delivery.

The Zodiac Calendar Race (A Chinese Tale)

Long, long ago the Jade Emperor was seeking a way to measure time, and so he called upon the animals to gather. When most had arrived, he explained his plan: There would be a race -- across a vast plain, through a forest, over a mountain, and at last across a wide, raging river.

"The first 12 animals to cross the finish line," the emperor said, "will have one year named after them. We'll begin tomorrow at dawn."

The Cat scampered at once to tell his best friend, the Rat, about the race.

"We'll both run," the Cat said. "Promise me you'll wake me in the morning. We'll need to get an early start, and you know how I like to sleep in."

The Rat agreed, but just before dawn the Rat woke with a start and, forgetting to wake the Cat, he scurried to the starting line. By the time the Cat woke, the race had already begun. As fast as he could, the Cat ran toward the starting line. When he saw the others in the far distance and only dust in their wake, he yowled with fury. Now he would never be part of the Zodiac Calendar! (Ever since that day the Cat has been chasing the Rat, hoping to take his revenge.)

But the Rat was so excited, he had forgotten all about the Cat. When he saw the others at the starting line, however, his heart quaked. He could not run half as fast as many of them, and the Rat was not a good swimmer. But the Rat was cunning.

He noticed the Ox, and knowing the Ox was a strong swimmer and rather gullible, the Rat sprinted to catch up with him. "Friend," he said to the Ox, "will you let me ride on your head? I'm so small that I'll never run as fast as you. I'll jump off before you cross the finish line."

The Ox was a kind fellow, and he agreed to let the Rat sit on his head. He was making good time, panting hard but far ahead of the others. When he reached the river, he leaped in and swam with all his strength.

When the Ox and the Rat could see the finish line just ahead, the Ox cried, "We're almost there!" But as they neared shore, the Rat leaped onto land and sprinted to the finish line. So it was the Rat who was the first to arrive, and that is why the first year in the Chinese Zodiac Calendar is named after the Rat. The second year is named after the Ox, for he finished one step behind.

The Tiger was not far behind, but the current in the river pushed him downstream. No matter how hard he paddled, he could not keep up with the Ox and he reached the finish line third, so the third year in the calendar is the year of the Tiger. Next came the Rabbit, who had planned to cross the river by leaping from rock to rock. Alas, in the middle of the river he lost his balance and nearly drowned.

The Rabbit grabbed a log that was floating past. Wet and wide-eyed, the Rabbit held fast and floated toward the shore. Meanwhile, the Dragon was just passing overhead.

Everyone thought the Dragon would surely win since he could fly, and at first he was ahead, but when he passed a land where everyone was dying of thirst, his heart ached and he stopped to make rain for the people. Then, when he saw the Rabbit holding onto the log for dear life, again his heart ached. He huffed and puffed and let forth a great wind that pushed the log to shore. The Rabbit jumped to safety and on to the finish, just head of the Dragon.

The Rabbit understood how much the Dragon had done to help, and ever since that day those who are born in the Year of the Rabbit, the fourth year, enjoy good fortune in the fifth year, the Year of the Dragon.

As the first five finishers caught their breath, they were startled to hear thundering hooves, and they looked up to see the Horse galloping toward them. "Sixth, I shall be sixth!" he cried, but the others noticed what the Horse had failed to see.

The Snake was clinging to the Horse's leg. Just as he was about to cross the finish line, the Snake jumped out. The Horse was so startled, he took a step back, and that is how the Snake took sixth position, and the Horse was named for the seventh year.

Meanwhile the Rooster, the Monkey, and the Goat were running toward the river. When the Rooster saw the other two, he had an idea. "Wait, wait up for me!" he cried. "None of us is a strong swimmer. Let's help each other!"

And so the Monkey, the Rooster and the Goat joined together and built a raft and made oars. With all their strength, they paddled their way across the river, and when they landed, they leaped out. The Goat pulled ahead of the Monkey, who barely beat the Rooster to the finish line. They became years eight and nine and 10.

The Jade Emperor saw the Dog would likely come in 11th, for he was a strong swimmer. Alas, he so loved to play in the water that he was in there splashing around, losing time.

"Hurry!" the others cried. The Dog looked up. "Am I last?" he panted, as he paddled hurriedly to shore. Just as he reached land, the Pig appeared on the river's edge. He was exhausted, squealing, "Oink, oink, wait!"

It took him some time to cross the line.

"What took you so long?" the others asked.

The Pig looked down. He had to admit he'd stopped to eat, and he'd eaten too much, and he'd grown sleepy. For a while he had slept beneath a nice, shady tree, and he woke up just in time to see the Dog run by to take 12th place.

The Jade Emperor smiled at the 12 finishers. "Pig, you made it just in time, the 12th year shall be named after you."

Soon afterward, he announced his calendar, immortalizing the winners of the Zodiac Calendar Race.

Poseidon's Lost Continent (A Greek Tale)

In the earliest times, when the gods were dividing the Earth among themselves, Poseidon, great god of the sea, chose a beautiful continent and the islands that surrounded it to have as his own. Never had anyone seen a fairer place. Everything about the continent was splendid. It seemed that Poseidon, in his choice, had been blessed beyond all other gods.

In the years that followed, Poseidon fathered five sets of twin sons. Poseidon and Cleito's firstborn twin was named Atlas, and in honor of his son, Poseidon named his continent Atlantis. He named the ocean that surrounded the land for his son, too, and this ocean became known as the Atlantic.

To honor his 10 sons, Poseidon divided Atlantis into 10 parts. Atlas was made king over the vast territory, and he was granted the largest part. Atlas' brothers ruled as princes over the remaining nine provinces. Everyone was happy with his lot, for everyone's land was marvelously rich.

Atlantis abounded in bountiful plains, in gleaming lakes and flowing rivers, in forests of timber and mountains that rose majestically above the sea. The land was rich with plants of every kind and animals of every imaginable shape and size. Veins of gold, silver and other precious elements coursed through the earth itself.

At the far southern end of Atlantis, the kings built a city that was so magnificent that nothing could compare. The city also was called Atlantis. Built of waterways ringed by land, the city outshone all others. In its center, on a high hill, the Atlanteans raised a great temple to Poseidon, to honor the god who had created this world. The statue of the god rode in a golden chariot pulled by winged steeds, and dolphins surrounded him. The city beyond the temple brimmed with cold and hot springs; shining copper roadways laced the land; magnificent race courses and palatial homes dotted the landscape. Huge vessels bobbed in deep-water harbors.

For many years the 10 kings ruled with righteousness and justice, fairness and kindness, wisdom and goodness. Atlantis was a heavenly place.

Every five years, King Atlantis and his nine brothers gathered in the temple of Poseidon. There they met beneath a ceiling carved of ivory and passed judgments and inscribed their laws on a golden tablet. All the people lived by these laws. The people knew the kings ruled justly and wisely, and they never thought to question the kings' judgment. The Atlanteans were, in every way, a noble people, and like their kings, they combined gentleness with wisdom and strength.

Alas, as time passed, the Atlanteans began to forget their past. As their worldly power grew, they desired still more power. Ambition overcame kindness. Greed overcame wisdom. All the luxury of the people's lives had pampered them, turning them soft and selfish. The Atlanteans no longer valued goodness over wealth, wisdom over luxury. The reverence for the gods grew weaker and weaker within them, until the people had lost all their virtue. They built armies designed to conquer Athens and the other nations to the east. Instead of loving and protecting their neighbors, now they longed to own them and to rule over them.

From above, from the land of the gods on Mount Olympus, Zeus watched this transformation. The people's greed and ambition infuriated Zeus. At last he decided he must teach them a terrible lesson. He decided to deliver a lesson, a devastating blow.

So one night, Zeus threw thunderbolt after thunderbolt down to Atlantis, splitting the the mid-Atlantic range and sparking volcanic eruptions. The sea began rising faster and faster, and soon after that, water began to pour into the paradise that once was Atlantis. Steaming water flooded the land. People tried to stop the flood, but there was no stopping it. As the flood spread, an earthquake trembled and exploded, casting buildings, people, animals, fields and temples into the air. The world the Atlanteans knew began to crumble and fall. Their civilization sank beneath the boiling waves.

In a single night, as the clouds gathered and Zeus watched from above, Atlantis vanished beneath the sea.

"That is the lesson!" Zeus roared, though no Atlanteans remained to learn the lesson.

Ever since that time, people have remembered Atlantis. Many have searched for its remains. In Mayan texts, in Plato's writings, in rock carvings and spiral structures, in the similarities in languages and in the pyramids of Egypt and those of Mexico, scientists, artists, philosophers, dreamers, scholars, psychics and clerics have attempted to recapture the once beautiful land of Atlantis, to bring back to the world the noble spirit that once ruled the world.

King Midas and the Golden Touch (A Greek Tale)

Once upon a time there lived a king named Midas who loved gold. King Midas had a daughter named Goldie, whom he loved with all his heart. But Midas often neglected his child, for he spent all his time admiring his treasure rooms and counting his gold.

"Father," Goldie would say, "come outside with me and see the flowers blooming."

"No time," Midas would answer, idly patting her head. "Here, my child, this dazzling golden necklace will amuse you."

Goldie did not care for jewels or gold. She loved walking barefoot in her simple clothes over grassy fields. She loved the feel of the wind in her hair, roses and bird songs, the light in the sky at dusk and dawn, the scent of wood smoke and lilacs. She often walked alone, wishing that her father would join her and learn to love the world as she did.

One day as Midas sat in his treasure room counting his gold, a man appeared before him. He did not look like any ordinary man. He wore a leopard skin around his broad, bronzed shoulders and vines were twined around his head.

"Who are you?" Midas asked.

"I am Bacchus, god of wine and pleasure," the stranger said. "I have come to thank you for being kind to my old teacher, Silenus. The gods do not forget such kindness. I have come to grant you any wish you make."

"Ah yes," Midas said, for he remembered an old man who had appeared one night at the palace gates. Midas had given him food and shelter, and the old man had thanked him and promised he would be rewarded.

So a god had come to give thanks. Midas was thrilled. "Please be seated," Midas said, "and look at my beautiful coins."

Bacchus smiled weakly. "I prefer the way grapes glow when the sun shines down on them."

Midas laughed. "Grapes look best served on a golden platter," he said. "My only wish is for gold. I wish all that I touched would turn to gold."

"Your wish is granted," Bacchus said with a frown on his face, and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Just then Midas heard the bell calling him to eat. He turned to leave the room, but as he touched the door, he gasped, for it had turned to gold. He touched his robe, and it too turned to gold. He looked down and saw that his leather sandals were pure gold.

He walked through the hallways, touching everything he passed. The columns turned to gold, as did the floor beneath his feet. By the time he reached the table, he was brimming with excitement. "Goldie!" he cried. "I am the happiest man in the world."

"But Father," Goldie said, "your robe is stiff."

"Solid gold!" Midas cried. "The gods have granted me the golden touch!"

"Look at your chair, Father," Goldie said unhappily. Sure enough, it was gold. And his napkin turned to gold with his touch. "We are the luckiest people in all the world," he said, reaching for a piece of bread. But to his horror, the bread had turned to gold.

"Oh no!" he cried. This was terrible indeed! He could not eat anything, for everything he touched turned to gold. Staring down at his golden plate, he wondered what to do.

"Oh Father, you will starve!" Goldie exclaimed. She ran to his side to comfort him.

"No! No!" he cried, but before he could stop her, she had thrown her arms around him, and now his precious daughter was hard and cold, a golden statue, no longer a child.

"Oh Bacchus," Midas cried. "Take this dreadful gift away. I want my child!" But Bacchus was far away by then. He did not hear the king's cry.

All that night the poor king wept, holding his daughter in his arms, wishing he could undo what he had done. "I will never be greedy again," he called to the gods. "Please send Bacchus to me. I will be different from now on."

At dawn Bacchus appeared. "Do you still love gold so much?" he asked the king.

"No! Take away my golden touch and give me back my child."

"Go to the river," Bacchus said. "Bathe yourself and you will be cured."

Midas ran like lightning to the river and dived into the water. As he did, small golden pellets floated past, but Midas no longer cared for these. He scrubbed and prayed to the gods, and before long his clothing became soft and white again, and his sandals turned to soft leather.

He ran back to the palace and clasped his daughter to him. A moment later she began to grow soft and warm.

"Oh Father," she said, as her lips began to move. "Father, I dreamed I could not speak or move. I dreamed that all the world was gold."

Midas held her close to him. "A terrible dream, my darling."

That night as Midas ate his dinner, he licked his lips. "Never have I tasted such wonderful food!" When he unfolded his napkin, he smiled at Goldie and said, "and this linen is so beautiful." He took Goldie's hands in his. "And you, my child. You are more precious than gold."

"Will you walk in the woods with me tonight, Father?" Goldie asked.

"I will, of course!" the king said with delight.

That evening Goldie and King Midas walked into the woods, and he found more happiness there than he had ever known. Now Midas understood what real treasures were.

The second book collection of wonderful tales from "Tell Me a Story" is available for $14.95, plus $2 for postage and handling. Send your orders to "The Spectacular Gift," in care of Andrews & McMeel, P.O. Box 419242, Kansas City, Mo. 64141; or call (800) 642-6480. Be sure to indicate your newspaper's name on your order. Allow three to four weeks for delivery.

The Magic of the Tell Tale (A Japanese Folktale)

Once upon a time, a woodcutter returned home early from his work in the forest. He had cut down a great deal of wood, and he was glad to reach home before dark. But just as he was about to walk inside, he heard his wife talking to someone. He peered through the window, and he saw his wife preparing to sell his favorite statue to the local pawnbroker.

The woodcutter was furious. He loved this statue of the goddess Amaterasu, and though the family was poor, his wife had promised she would never sell it.

Brimming with rage, the woodcutter was about to rush inside the house to punish his wife and the merchant for this misdeed, but he suddenly stopped. Amaterasu, after all, is the ruler of the gods, and she rules with warmth and love, wisdom and peace and compassion. So he knew he must follow her teachings. And so he stopped himself and looked down at the ground.

Just then he noticed in his woodpile a knotty piece of wood with a hole in the middle, and this gave him an idea.

He began to make noise, and he called out, "Dear wife, I'm home!"

The wife quickly turned to the pawnbroker and whispered, "Quick, you must hide. It's my husband," and she hurried to hide the pawnbroker in a large wooden chest.

Just as she was closing the lid, the woodcutter walked inside.

"What brings you home so early?" his wife asked, pretending to be innocent.

"I rushed home to show you this gift from the goddess of the forest," and with that he lifted up the wood with the hole in the middle. He leaned forward and said, "The goddess gave me this because I work so hard. It is a Tell Tale."

"What is that?" his wife asked, knitting her brow. She could not imagine.

"When I look through this," the woodcutter said, "I can see everything that is hidden to the naked eye."

"My heavens," said his wife, "that is miraculous."

"Watch how it works," the woodcutter said, and he peered through the hole and walked around the house. When he reached the wooden chest, he said, "My, my, there is something inside this chest. Quick, bring me a rope."

The wife was terribly nervous, but she did as her husband requested, and the woodcutter promptly tied up the chest. "I shall take this to the pawnshop to sell it. There must be something valuable inside, for the Tell Tale never lies!"

And so he hauled the chest off to the pawnshop.

Naturally, the pawnbroker was not there, but his son was, and when the woodcutter showed him the chest, the young man said, "This is worthless!"

"I believe it must be valuable," the woodcutter said, "I'll step outside to give you time to think it over."

The moment the woodcutter walked outside, the pawnbroker whispered from inside the chest, "Give him 50 pieces of gold!" And the son at once recognized his father's voice.

When the woodcutter stepped back inside, the pawnbroker's son paid him, and the woodcutter returned home carrying his sack of gold.

The next morning, the woodcutter's wife told her best friend the story of the magical Tell Tale and, of course, before the day was done, the story had spread far and wide. One neighbor told another, who told another, and soon the story reached a faraway town where a group of priests decided the woodcutter might be able to solve their problem.

They set off at once to visit him, and when they arrived, they explained.

"A thief has stolen all the money from our temple," they said. "We lost everything we had, and we have heard about your magical Tell Tale. We have come to ask your help in finding the thief."

The woodcutter was terribly embarrassed. He didn't dare confess his lie to priests. And so, carrying his Tell Tale, he traveled with them back to their temple. He peered around, walking behind the temple and examining the priests' own statue of Amaterasu in the garden. But the woodcutter saw nothing, and at long last he said, "In three days, I will have your money back." And then he returned home.

Back home he could not sleep. How would he ever find the thief? He lost his appetite. By the second day he was sick with worry, but that night, as he lay awake in bed, he heard someone tapping at his window.

"Who is it?" he asked.

And he heard a deep voice say, "I stole the money from the temple, and I've come to beg you for mercy. I promise to return the money, but please, keep my secret or my family will be ruined!"

The woodcutter had an idea. "I am glad you came to me," he said, "for of course I already knew you were the thief, but I hoped you would repent. This is what you must do. Take the treasure and bury it beneath the statue of Amaterasu behind the temple. And you must promise never to steal again."

The thief agreed, and the next day the woodcutter returned to the priests. "I must look once more," he said, and he took out his Tell Tale and began to search through the temple and out in the garden. At last, he came to the statue of Amaterasu. "Ah-ha!" he cried. "Dig beneath this statue and you shall find your gold!"

The priests dug up the ground, and they found their treasure, and they were so grateful to the woodcutter that they rewarded him with great sacks of gold.

The thief lived an honest life from that day on, and the woodcutter's wife never again kept a secret from her husband. And they all lived happily ever after.

Golden Dreams (A Tale of the Arabian Nights)

Once upon a time, there lived a very rich man named Farid in Baghdad. For a long time, Farid enjoyed his wealth, but one day he lost all his money. After this, he earned a living by working in the fields. One night, exhausted from his long labors, Farid lay down in bed and began to imagine ways he might find his way back to wealth.

That night in his dream, a voice told Farid he must go to Cairo. "There you will find wealth," the voice in his dream said.

And so the next morning, Farid set out for Cairo hundreds of miles away. He walked the whole way, and the journey took him many months. At long last he reached the great city. There he took shelter in a mosque.

That night as he was sleeping, a group of thieves walked into the mosque. They wanted to break in to the house next door to the mosque, which was connected by a door.

When the people in the house heard the noise at their back door, they called the police. And when the police reached the mosque, they found only Farid, fast asleep.

"Wake up!" they cried, and though Farid had no idea what was happening, the police insisted he was guilty of attempted robbery. They arrested him, tossed him in the wagon and carried him to prison.

A few days later, Farid was brought before the judge.

"I'm innocent," Farid told the judge.

"And why have you come to Cairo?" the judge asked.

"I had a dream," Farid answered. "In my dream, a voice told me if I came to Cairo, I would find my fortune. Alas, my fortune has been arrest and days in prison."

The judge stared in wonder at Farid. "You say it was only a dream that led you here?" he said.

"That is true," Farid said. "I trust my dreams."

The judge laughed. "Perhaps this experience will teach you to know better," he said. "I have had such dreams myself."

"You have?" Farid asked. "What were your dreams?"

"Three times I've dreamed of finding a fortune," he said. "One of my dreams told me to go to Baghdad, as a matter of fact."

"That is where I live," Farid said. "Where were you to find your fortune in Baghdad?"

The judge smiled, remembering. "My dream told me to find a sand-colored house with a long front stoop painted red and three palm trees in the front yard. There I would find a great deal of money buried beneath one of the trees."

Farid nodded, thinking this over. "Which tree?" he asked.

Again the judge laughed. "You are a strange man, indeed. It was the middle tree. And the voice of my dream told me if I traveled to Baghdad and found this house and dug beneath this tree, I would never again have to work."

"But you didn't go?" Farid asked.

"I am a wise man," the judge answered, "and I understood that a dream is an illusion, a sleep-filled fantasy, a magical creation of the overheated mind. I know enough to know that imagination is not reality. So, of course, I didn't waste my time."

Farid looked down at the floor. "Perhaps you are right," he said softly.

The judge shook his head. He felt sorry for this poor man who had already suffered. Clearly he was no thief. He was only a fool. "Dear fellow," he said, "if you believe the voices of our dreams are real, you have been punished enough by this long, fruitless journey."

The judge ordered the guards to set Farid free and to give him enough money to return home to Baghdad by caravan.

And so Farid rode the many miles back to Baghdad. Throughout the journey, he dreamed of the judge's story. That sand-colored house with three palm trees precisely fit the description of Farid's own house.

When he reached home, he quickly gathered his shovels and spades, and he dug beneath the middle palm tree in his yard.

There he found a box full of gold, enough to live the rest of his days in comfort. Overjoyed by his good fortune, Farid was generous to his friends and neighbors, and he taught others to pay close, careful attention to their dreams.

"Tell Me a Story 3: Women of Wonder," the third CD in the audiobook series, is now available. For more information, please visit www.mythsandtales.com.

The Cinnamon Tree (A Chinese Tale)

In China two boys lived near each other, but they were as different from each other as night is from day. Go Ne loved nature. Wen Shu loved only what money could buy.

One day Go Ne came upon a baby swallow that had fallen from its nest. The little bird's leg was broken. Go Ne carefully lifted up the creature into his hands and hurried home. There he bound the broken leg and nursed the swallow for days until its leg was healed and strong. Then Go Ne opened the window and said, "Fly away now, little swallow. You are free."

The bird perched on the window ledge for a moment and then flew away.

That afternoon the swallow returned, carrying in his beak a yellow seed. Go Ne thanked the bird and ran outside. There he planted it in his garden.

The next morning Go Ne looked outside and saw that a tall, thick, twisting vine had grown overnight. And on that vine was a ripe pumpkin. It was huge, almost as large as the full moon in the spring sky. The boy realized that this food was a gift from the swallow. He took his knife and sliced open the pumpkin. When he looked inside, he saw, in place of pumpkin meat, great stacks of silver and gold coins.

Word spread quickly of the wealth Go Ne had earned by his kindness. Nearly everyone was happy for the boy, because he was loved for his generosity. But Wen Shu, who stood among the crowd staring in wonder at the pumpkin, was not happy. "I want to be rich!" he thought enviously.

He set off at once and walked along until he spied a swallow sitting upon a rooftop. Wen Shu grabbed a long stick, reached up, and knocked the swallow to the ground.

The swallow cried out, for when it fell, it broke its leg. Wen Shu picked up the wounded bird. "Don't worry," he said, and carried the swallow home. There he tended to the broken bone, nursing the bird as closely as Go Ne had done. When the swallow was strong and healthy, he took it to the open window and set it free.

Before long the swallow returned, a seed in his beak.

Wen Shu was overjoyed. He planted the seed in the soil outside his house, and within a day a thick vine grew, and on that vine a giant pumpkin sprouted.

Wen Shu sliced open the pumpkin, but to his surprise, there was no gold or silver inside. Instead Wen Shu saw a little old man with a long, white beard. The old man pointed a thin finger at Wen Shu. "You are a bad child," he said. "Don't you know that jealousy is wrong? Don't you know that hurting a swallow so you can nurse it back to health is cruel?"

Wen Shu looked at the ground as the old man went on. "Well," he said, "I suppose you still wish to have your riches, do you?"

Wen Shu looked up and nodded.

"Then follow me," said the old man, and he began to climb the vine.

Wen Shu quickly followed him. They climbed for what seemed like hours, but at last they reached the top.

"Welcome to the Palace of the Boundless Cold," the old man said. "We are now on the moon."

Wen Shu could not believe his eyes. The palace was made of shimmering gold, and surrounding it were plants of jade, trees of silver, bushes thick with rubies and emeralds. Wen Shu wandered around, amazed and delighted. "I am rich!" he cried.

But there was no food in this world, and there was no water, and Wen Shu had no mat upon which to sleep. And it was cold, so cold the boy's toes began to feel as brittle as ice. After a while the brilliant jewels nearly blinded him, and the vine upon which he had climbed to the Palace of the Boundless Cold had withered.

"Sir," Wen Shu called for the old man, "I have learned my lesson. I am punished for my jealousy. Please let me go home."

"Very well," the old man said, and handed him a silver ax. "With this ax you must cut down the cinnamon tree. When you have finished cutting it, you may return to Earth."

Wen Shu ran to the cinnamon tree and set to work. This, of course, was a special cinnamon tree, with a trunk and branches made of solid gold, leaves of bright green jade and blossoms of shiny sapphires.

"Ah," sighed Wen Shu, "I shall take these jewels home, and then I will be the wealthiest man in China." He raised his ax, swung, and cut a deep gash in the trunk. He raised the ax again, but as he did, he felt a sudden and sharp pain between his shoulders.

He turned and saw, behind him, a giant white crow. "Get away," he cried. "Get away or I'll chop off your head."

The crow flew away, and Wen Shu turned back to the tree. But when he did, he saw that the cut he had made had disappeared. In its place was smooth, hard, golden bark.

He lifted the ax and swung again, but once again the crow attacked. Each time Wen Shu tried to cut that tree, the crow attacked him. And each time Wen Shu shooed the bird away, the cut he had made disappeared.

Ever since that day, Wen Shu has been trying to chop down the cinnamon tree on the moon. If you look up at the moon when it is full, you will see him with his ax, and also see the white crow, and you may remember Wen Shu's folly.

The second book collection of wonderful tales from "Tell Me a Story" is available for $14.95, plus $2 for postage and handling. Send your orders to "The Spectacular Gift," in care of Andrews McMeel Publishing, P.O. Box 419242, Kansas City, Mo. 64141; or call (800) 642-6480. Be sure to indicate your newspaper's name on your order. Allow three to four weeks for delivery.

Anansi's Common Sense (A West African Tale)

Everyone knows Anansi the spider always has a trick or two, and sometimes three, up his sleeve. He wants to be the most powerful creature in the world, and he doesn't like to hear about others who know more than he does. One spring day, a long time ago, he came up with what he knew would be his best plan of all.

Anansi came upon a huge egg that lay on the beach. Now Anansi knew that eggs were precious things, and so he stood nearby and kept an eye on that egg. And before long that egg hatched, and out popped six bright-eyed chicks, and after a while, when they were large enough, they flew away, and Anansi kept that eggshell for himself.

He had a great plan for his egg. He decided he was going to collect all the common sense in the world. He would store it inside his eggshell, because everyone knows that eggshells always contain precious things. When others needed common sense, they would have to come to Anansi, and he would charge them for his wisdom. And in this way, Anansi would not only be the creature with all the common sense, he would also be rich!

And so, in his wily way, Anansi went around collecting common sense from every corner and nook and cranny. He collected every bit he heard and saw and thought, and he put it all inside his eggshell.

As the creatures heard about Anansi's collection, they came to see him, bringing gifts of corn and sugarcane to pay for his advice.

"When we want to stay dry in the rain, what shall we do?" the hares asked.

"Dig a hole in the ground," Anansi answered, "and crawl inside."

"We're so very tired from flying," the birds told Anansi. "What shall we do?"

"Sleep," Anansi said. "And never try to fly when you are too tired."

"What can we do to stop our children from crying?" the herons asked.

"Teach them to fish," Anansi said, "and they will never be hungry."

Anansi felt proud of himself, but still he went out collecting common sense until, one day, for all his searching, he could find no more.

"At last, I've collected all the common sense there is!" he said. But now he was worried that someone might try to steal his eggshell when he wasn't looking, and he decided that he must find a good hiding place.

He traveled around looking for a good spot, and at last he spied a tall tree. "There's where I'll hide my eggshell," he said, "way up there under the leaves where no one will see it."

Anansi knew he must be careful not to break his eggshell on the journey up the tree, and so he carefully tied a rope around its middle, and then tied the two ends of the rope together, and this rope he hung around his neck, so that the eggshell rested right on his belly.

"All set!" he cried, delighted with his plan. He began to climb the tree.

Now as you know, climbing a tree is hard work in the best of times, but climbing a tree with a fragile egg next to your belly is harder than you can imagine. Each time he took another step, he feared the egg would break, and he couldn't grip the tree very well at all. He kept trying and trying, all the while being careful to watch out for the egg, but he kept slipping to the ground again.

As he was struggling to climb, he heard someone burst out laughing, and when he turned he saw a young boy standing not far from the tree.

"Why are you laughing?" Anansi asked angrily.

The little boy laughed again. "You look funny," he said. "What are you trying to do?"

"I'm taking my egg to its nest," Anansi answered, and he hoped the little boy would not look inside his eggshell. After all, he needed to hide his common sense.

"If you want to climb the tree, wouldn't it make sense to tie the eggshell to your back?" the boy asked.

Well, when Anansi heard such a wise piece of comon sense coming out of the mouth of such a little boy, he was furious. He thought he had collected all the common sense there was, but if this little boy had so much, then surely there were others who had some. "How did I miss that?" he asked.

The little boy looked questioningly at him. "Sometimes the easiest things seem hard," the little boy said. "Sometimes we need others' help."

Now Anansi was truly furious, for once again the boy had proven that Anansi did not have all the common sense in the world. In his fury, he tugged at the rope that held his eggshell, but he tugged too hard, for he had forgotten that some things require gentle handling.

The eggshell burst into little pieces, and all the common sense scattered onto the ground, and the wind lifted it and scattered it near and far, so that everybody got a little bit of common sense, but no one got it all. So the world has Anansi to thank for that.

The second book collection of wonderful tales from "Tell Me a Story" is available for $14.95, plus $3.50 for postage and handling. Send your orders to "The Spectacular Gift," in care of Andrews McMeel Publishing, P.O. Box 419242, Kansas City, Mo. 64141; or call (800) 642-6480. Be sure to indicate your newspaper's name on your order. Allow three to four weeks for delivery.

The King of Compassion (A Tale From India)

Once upon a time there was a great king who ruled his people with generosity and kindness. He showed compassion for everything, for all the birds and animals and for every person, young and old. He also honored the gods. So good was the king that every living creature from far and near came to his palace to seek his protection and advice. He smiled upon everyone who came and never turned anyone away.

The gods in the heavens watched the king day and night. They spoke of him often, amazed by his goodness.

"I wonder," said Indra, "if we ought to test the king to see how far his goodness spreads."

"Yes," said Dharma, "that would be wise. It is difficult to believe that he is as good as he seems."

The two gods formed a plan. Indra turned himself into a large black hawk. Dharma took the shape of a white dove. "Let us begin," said Indra the hawk, and Dharma the dove began to fly toward the palace. Indra gave chase.

On they flew, through the bright autumn sky, the hawk chasing the dove.

People down below looked up to see the defenseless dove flying as fast as he could, the fierce hawk close upon him.

"Fly to the king," the people shouted to the dove. Heeding their words with a nod, Dharma flew straight toward the palace. Spying an open window, he flew inside, directly to the room where the king sat holding counsel with his advisers.

The dove landed in the compassionate king's arms and nestled there, shivering with fear.

A moment later the great hawk flew through the window and alighted on the table before the king.

"King," said the hawk, "that bird you hold in your arms is my natural prey. Surely you know that. I am starving, and if I do not have a meal, I will die. You, good king, would not wish to be responsible for my death. I am a spirited creature, and my presence on this earth was ordained by the gods. I know you do not want to disobey the gods and see me die of starvation. Give me that dove, and I will be forever grateful to you."

The king looked into the hawk's dark eyes and felt compassion for the bird. Then he looked down at the dove and stroked its white feathers.

"Save me, good king," whispered the dove. "I have come to you for help. My family will not survive without me."

The king looked into the hawk's eyes once more and said: "I cannot give you the dove who has come to me for protection. To save your life, I grant you any other food you wish to eat. I will give you all that is equal to this dove."

The hawk stood tall and proud. "Very well, king," the hawk said, "I choose your flesh. Nothing less will satisfy my deep hunger."

"Very well," said the king without a moment's hesitation, and he stood and called to his servants. "Bring a scale."

The servants, who loved their king, began to murmur among themselves, but they obeyed his wish and brought him a large silver scale. The king placed the dove on one side of the scale, then took up a sharp knife and cut a piece of flesh from his own body and placed this on the other side. The scale did not move. He cut another piece, and still the scale did not budge. He cut again, but the more flesh he placed on the scale, the heavier the dove seemed to become.

At last the king stepped onto the scale. Only when he stood tall upon one side did the scale balance.

"You will have to eat me whole," the king said to the hawk. "It seems my weight is equal to the dove."

Just at that moment a voice spoke from the heavens. "Well done, king. The scale is balanced."

"Take me, then, good hawk," said the king. His servants and advisers gasped in horror. "King, you must not give up your life for a mere white dove."

"I will not break my promise," said the king.

The hawk and the dove looked into each other's eyes, and at that moment they abandoned their disguises and stood before the noble king in their true forms, as the great gods Indra and Dharma.

"You are, indeed, as good as you appear," they said, and with these words they restored his injured body, gave him their blessings, and disappeared, promising always to watch over the compassionate king.

The second book collection of wonderful tales from "Tell Me a Story" is now available for $14.95, plus $2 for postage and handling. Send your orders to "The Spectacular Gift," in care of Andrews & McMeel, P.O. Box 419242, Kansas City, Mo. 64141; or call (800) 642-6480. Be sure to indicate your newspaper's name on your order. Allow three to four weeks for delivery.

The Flying Canoe (A French Canadian Tale)

Once upon a time, long ago, there lived a man in Quebec whose name was Jean Baptiste. One day the devil visited Jean Baptiste and offered him a deal.

"If you will give up your God for one whole year," the devil said, "I'll grant you a wish. Any wish."

Well, this sounded fine to Jean Baptiste. Surely one year would be easy, and what did he wish? Ah, he looked out at the sea of snow around him. He thought it would be nice if he could travel with ease in the long winter months.

"Make my canoe fly," Jean Baptiste said. "If you do, I shall happily give you my soul."

"Done," the devil said, "so long as you do not utter the name of your God. And one more thing: You must return the canoe to its starting place before dawn, or you'll forfeit your soul."

"Agreed!" said Jean Baptiste.

For many months, he did not think about his visitor. By the middle of winter, Jean Baptiste was working hard in the forest with his fellow lumberjacks, chopping down enormous trees. The work was exhausting. Their limbs were frozen; their backs ached. But worst of all, their hearts were lonely. They had no one but each other as companions. They longed to hear the sound of their wives; instead, they heard only each other thundering, "Timber!" and the thud of trees landing in thick snow.

One night they gathered around a fire and talked longingly of home. They spoke of the fine meals and hugs and kisses, laughter and love. "Ah, mon dieu, I miss my wife!" Jacques sighed.

Pierre agreed. "Moi aussi. Me, too!"

"Ah yes!" Bernard groaned. Paul and Roger nodded. Louis sighed, "If only we could get home for a night."

Jean Baptiste could not stand his friends' sad voices or the longing in his own heart. And then he remembered ... "We'll go home!" he cried.

Roger snickered. Bernard laughed. Paul shook his head and said, "Jean Baptiste, we can't reach home. There's 6 feet of snow on the road!"

"We'll take my canoe," Jean Baptiste announced with pride.

The others thought he must be mad.

Jean Baptiste winked. "Trust me," he explained. "I've made a deal. I have a canoe that will fly."

The others could see that the devil had visited their friend.

"Let's go!" Jean Baptiste said. A moment later his canoe appeared, just like that!

"Come on," he said, pointing at the canoe. "Remember, do not speak the name of our lord or fly over a church or touch a cross."

Several of the men climbed right in, while a few stayed behind, for some had no faith in the promise of the devil; they were certain this would end in disaster.

But those who joined their friend cheered as Jean Baptiste whispered the magic words the devil had taught him. He would not share those words with those who refused to go along.

And once he had uttered those words, the canoe rose into the brisk night air.

"Paddle, friends," Jean Baptiste said. So each man grabbed a paddle and off they flew through the sky. That canoe sped toward their home.

As the canoe reached their village, the wives came out to study the strange flying machine. When they saw their husbands, they let out a cheer so loud that the men's hearts rose even higher than the canoe.

"Here we are!" cried Jean Baptiste as they drifted to the ground.

That night everyone celebrated -- dancing and singing, laughing and kissing, cheering and shouting with joy.

Jean Baptiste was happiest of all. He twirled his wife around the dance floor. He lifted her into the air. He kissed her and hugged her. He grew dizzy with pleasure.

As the night went on and dawn threatened to break, the other men realized they had to return to camp.

"He'll lose his soul if we don't reach camp before dawn," they whispered to each other. "Hurry, we must find our friend Jean Baptiste."

They searched everywhere -- in his house and in everyone else's, in cafes and dance halls, in restaurants and pubs. At long last they found him in the inn so exhausted with pleasure that he was asleep beneath a table.

"Hurry up, we must go back!" they cried, but Jean Baptiste did not hear a word. At last the others picked him up and carried him as fast as they could back to the canoe.

One of the men remembered the magic words and mumbled these. Up flew the canoe into the air.

"Paddle!" they cried. And so they did, but just a few moments before they reached camp, Jean Baptiste suddenly woke.

"Mon dieu!" he cried. "My God!"

The others turned and looked at him with horror.

"Where are we?" he asked. He was terribly confused.

But it was too late. Jean Baptiste had uttered the name he had vowed never to say, and that canoe turned nose first toward the ground.

Down, down, down the canoe plunged. It finally crashed into the top of a gigantic pine, and cries of despair filled the forest as each man tumbled out and down, down, down.

No one ever saw that canoe again.

And no one ever saw those men again.

So much for a pact with the devil!

One Wish (An Irish Tale)

Once upon a time Liam O'Toole, a poor farmer, walked into his house after a long day's work. He took his wife, Colleen, in his arms. "Darling wife," said Liam, "we may be poor, but we shan't always be! I have a good feeling about that!"

"Ah, to be sure," Colleen said to her husband, for she had confidence in him and was certain that life on their little farm in County Mayo would get easier. Most of all, Colleen hoped that one day they would have a child. Nothing would bring her more joy.

Now Patrick O'Toole, Liam's father, looked up and grinned at his son. "And what do you think will bring this change, my son?" he asked. Patrick had grown old and no longer could work the farm, so he and his wife, Meghan, lived with their son and daughter-in-law.

"I'm not certain, Father," Liam said, "but I've a good feeling."

Patrick laughed. "So, do ye think you'll find a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?" That, of course, was exactly what Patrick had always dreamed.

"Could be," Liam answered.

Liam's mother, Meghan, only smiled. She was dreaming, too, as always she dreamed of just one thing: that the eyesight she had lost 10 years earlier would return. She longed one day to see again the sweeping moors of County Mayo and the warm blue eyes of her beloved son.

Liam knew his family's wishes, and he too wished for just one thing: to make each of them happy. Every day when he set off to work, he was determined to do just that -- to find a way to make everyone's wish come true.

One day he was hard at work in the potato fields when suddenly he heard footsteps behind him. He turned quickly to find a beautiful deer just a few feet away. She was looking intently at him.

Liam's mouth began to water. How lovely it would be to offer his family a fine meal, something tastier and more substantial than potatoes and peas. He looked down at the ground and saw his hatchet there. He quickly bent and reached for it, prepared to strike.

Still the deer did not move.

Liam raised the hatchet overhead, but just as he was about to bring it down upon her neck, the animal spoke.

"Don't kill me," she said.

Liam dropped the hatchet instantly. The deer's voice sounded just as a deer's voice would sound. It was lyrical, soft and gentle. He couldn't possibly hurt this creature. So he gritted his teeth.

"Why not?" he asked, and his hands began to tremble.

"If you spare me," the deer replied, "I'll grant you any wish. I promise you that. Come back tomorrow to this same spot, and I shall be here. If you have a wish, I'll grant that wish. If you have no wish, you can kill me."

Now Liam had no real desire to kill the deer, and besides, he thought, why not? Stranger things had happened in this part of the world. He'd heard tales.

"All right, then," he said, and the deer slowly turned and ambled away into the woods.

That night Liam told the family of the magical deer.

"Ah," said Patrick O'Toole, "well, son, don't be a fool. Think how happy we would all be if you wished for a big pot of gold!"

"Not gold," Meghan cried. "Think how nice it would be if your old Ma could see again. Think of that! Let's not be greedy."

"Ah," Colleen said, "it would be good to have some gold and kind of you, Patrick, to wish for Ma's eyesight, but nothing in the world is worth more than a wee little baby. Think how happy a baby would make our whole family!"

Liam nodded as he listened to each wish. He tried to imagine life with a big pot of gold and with a wee little baby and with his mother able to see again. Every wish seemed right and good.

All night long he tossed and turned, thinking of each of the wishes. If only he had more than one!

When morning dawned, Liam dressed quickly, and before the others were awake, he hurried out to the potato field. Sure enough, just as she had promised, there stood the deer.

"Have you a wish, Liam O'Toole?" she asked him.

"I do indeed," Liam answered.

"And what is your wish then?" asked the deer. "It shall be granted the moment you ask."

Liam took a deep breath, and as he spoke he smiled. "I wish my ma could see my wee little baby rocking in a cradle made of solid gold," he said. And then thanking the deer, and giving her a little caress on the cheek, he raced home to see if his wish had come true.

As Liam flung open the cottage door, he saw that, sure enough, his wish had been granted. His wife rocked a wee little baby in a gold cradle as his mother looked on, beaming with delight. And the family lived happily ever after.

Readers who want to hear their favorite story on the second audiobook CD for "Tell Me a Story," soon to begin production, should send their suggestions by e-mail to kellsmom@ca.rr.com. Those selected will receive a free copy of the first CD, "Tell Me a Story: Timeless Folktales" (www.mythsandtales.com).

Fool's Gold (A Sufi Tale)

Long ago, a hermit was walking through a bleak desert land when he happened to spot a cave. The hermit had been walking for a long time and was exhausted from the hot sun, so he decided he would go inside the cave to rest.

He crept through the small opening, and inside he was surprised to see the cave was as bright as day. The light, he saw, came from a source at the center of the cave. He scrambled to see what it could be.

"Oh," he gasped, for there before him was a huge pile of golden coins, so large and bright that they lighted up the whole cave.

The hermit at once turned around and stumbled out of the cave. When he was outside, he began running. He ran as fast as he could down the road.

Soon the hermit passed a rocky ridge. He did not know that three robbers were hiding just behind the rocks. The robbers spent their days and nights lying in wait for travelers. When anyone happened past, the robbers would jump out and steal all his belongings.

But the robbers were surprised to see the hermit, for he was running as fast as could and looking over his shoulder as if something were chasing him. And yet he carried nothing at all!

Still, the chief robber was curious, and so he jumped from his hiding place into the hermit's path. "Why are you running so fast?" he asked the hermit. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I am running away from evil," the hermit answered, breathlessly. "Evil is chasing me, and I am running as fast as I can so that it doesn't catch me."

Now the other two robbers jumped out from behind the ridge, and all three men looked down the path. They stared, they squinted, they searched. But they say nothing at all. They began to laugh. "There's nothing behind you," the chief robber said.

"Why don't you show us what it is that's chasing you?" the second robber suggested. And the third robber nodded. "We see nothing, so I suppose you had better show us. It's important to recognize evil."

"That it is," the hermit said, "and so I will show you." He began to tremble at the thought, but he was a kind and generous man, and hoped to protect everyone from evil. And so he turned around, beckoned with a finger and a heavy heart, and began to walk back toward the cave. The robbers followed close behind.

When they reached the entrance to the cave, the hermit nodded. "There it is, but please, I beg you, don't go in there."

"Sir," the first robber said gently, "I must see what has frightened you so. Won't you show us evil?"

"Very well," the hermit said, and tiptoed inside, the robbers following. A moment later the robbers saw the light from the glittering gold. Pointing to the pile, the hermit said, "There's evil, right before your eyes."

Naturally the robbers were delighted, and they assumed the old man was simply mad. "Never fear," said the chief robber. "You go on your way. We'll take care of this."

Relieved to be set free, the hermit slipped away, and the robbers burst into delighted laughter. "Now," said the chief robber, "we must decide what we shall do with our gold."

The three men sat around discussing the problem, for they did not want to leave the treasure. They feared the hermit might lead someone else to the cave. And they were too hungry and weak to carry so much gold.

They decided that one of them should take a little of the gold to the city. There he would buy food and drink, and when he returned and they had regained their strength from a feast, the three would divide up the rest and carry it away.

The third robber said, "I'll go," but he was thinking that while he was in the city, he would eat all he wished to eat; then he would poison the rest of the food. When his companions ate the poisoned food, they would die, and all the gold would be his.

Off he went, coins jingling in his pockets, a smile on his face.

Meanwhile, the two men in the cave decided that as soon as their comrade returned, they would kill him, eat the food, and divide his share of gold between the two of them.

When the third robber returned with the food, the two others attacked him and stabbed him to death. Then they ate all the food. Soon afterward, they died, too.

And so the hermit was right all along. And the treasure remains untouched and hidden deep inside that cave.

While this particular version is Sufi in origin, the tale is found in many different countries. It was the basis, for instance, for Geoffrey Chaucer's "The Pardoner's Tale" in his Canterbury Tales.

The second book collection of wonderful tales from "Tell Me a Story" is available for $14.95, plus $2 for postage and handling. Send your orders to "The Spectacular Gift," in care of Andrews McMeel Publishing, P.O. Box 419242, Kansas City, Mo. 64141; or call (800) 642-6480. Be sure to indicate your newspaper's name on your order. Allow three to four weeks for delivery.

Calling the Dog (An American Tale)

One day, a long time ago down in Mississippi, a dog walked into town. He was a floppy-eared fellow, with a big, wet nose and sad, brown eyes, and just about the sleekest coat -- tan and black and white -- you ever saw. He just walked into town, all alone, and began to wander around. People in the town began commenting.

"Cute dog," they said. "Ought to have a home."

Everyone wanted that dog. Finally, one cool spring evening, a bunch of townsfolk gathered in a field of flowers by the river, and the mayor said, "We'll have to decide where old Henry is going to live." You see, they all agreed that the dog's name must be Henry because he looked like a Henry. And truth be told, that was his name.

So everyone looked at the mayor. "How do we decide where he'll live?" Allison asked. She loved that big, brown-eyed Henry.

"Well," the mayor drawled, "we'll have a contest, and we'll call this contest Calling the Dog." Everyone turned to him and listened closely. This sounded like a very wise plan.

"Here's how it goes," the mayor said. "First, we'll build a fire." They didn't really need a fire, but it made them feel cozy and close to each other, and it was getting a bit chilly as the sun set. "Now we'll sit around this fire," the mayor said, "and we'll tell each other lies. Whoever tells the biggest, grandest, greatest, most fabulous lie will get to live with Henry here."

Henry was nearby, ears cocked, listening too. He loved stories. This seemed a great plan.

"Let's begin," the mayor said. "You first, Allison."

Allison clapped her hands together, straightened her hair, blushed a little bit and looked at everyone. "I can fly," she said. "My nanny taught me how to fly when I was just a little girl, but she told me I could never tell a soul. I would lose my gift if I told, but see, I'd rather be earthbound and live with Henry than fly with the birds."

"Just a minute," Brian interrupted. "That's a fine lie, Ally, but I'll tell you all something. You're not the only one who knows how to fly. I've seen lots of people flying around. If you go down to the valley there" -- and he pointed across the river -- "you'll see a whole town of flying folks and flying animals. I've been there myself, and I can take you there ..."

But before Brian could finish, Sarah jumped up. "People just don't fly," she said, placing her hands on her hips, "but angels fly. I know that for a fact, because I'm an angel, and we fly. But I'll tell you this: I can't fly when people are near because when I spread my wings, and some person catches me at it, he just shrivels up and burns away, so I don't want to harm anyone." She tossed her long, blond hair as if to hide those wings.

"Just one minute there," Gregory interrupted. "If you're going to lie, you have to show me, so I'll show you. Just watch." And he stood up and raced to the river and jumped right in. A minute later he came up all wet and messy.

"There," he said proudly as he walked, dripping, back to the fire. "That's proof. I can breathe underwater. I have lungs, and I have gills, too," he said. "If you don't believe me, you just come on in the water with me."

Now no one wanted to go swimming because the air was too chilly, and so they sat and waited for someone else to speak.

"I'm waiting for a glorious lie," the mayor said. And Henry sat right up and barked in agreement. He hadn't heard a lie worth a dog. The mayor looked all around, and he called on each person, and every person told a story. One said he could travel in time; one said she had elves in her attic; another said he knew how to speak dog, and to prove it, he walked to Henry's side and barked and barked, but Henry just lay there, listening.

They told lies all night long. At last, as the sun began to rise, the mayor looked around the group and saw little Jill sitting quietly, not saying much. It was her turn for a story, so the mayor said, "Jill, did you want to tell a story, sweetie?"

Jill blushed and shook her head and looked down at her lap. Then she looked shyly at Henry. She loved that dog, but she shook her head once again. "Sorry, Mr. Mayor. I love that Henry there. He's the sweetest thing I ever saw, but truth to tell, I've never told a lie in my life."

And the minute she said that, Henry leaped up and ran to little Jill and put his head right in her lap.

"You win!" the mayor said. And everyone clapped because they knew that Jilly had won, fair and square.

The second book collection of wonderful tales from "Tell Me a Story" is available for $14.95, plus $2 for postage and handling. Send your orders to "The Spectacular Gift," in care of Andrews McMeel Publishing, P.O. Box 419242, Kansas City, Mo. 64141; or call (800) 642-6480. Be sure to indicate your newspaper's name on your order. Allow three to four weeks for delivery.

Patriots’ Day

Patriots’ Day
Every year, on the third Monday of April, the state of Massachusetts celebrates the Battles of Lexington and Concord (the first battles of the American Revolution). This holiday is known as Patriot’s Day.

Patriots’ day is a huge celebration for Massachusetts. There are parades, reenactments, the Boston Marathon, and a Red Sox game at Fenway Park.

Folly and Wisdom (A Tale From China)

In ancient China, Confucius was known far and wide as a wise man, the wisest of all human beings. People flocked to listen to his words and to seek answers to their questions.

Confucius, who loved learning, often traveled throughout the country, hoping to learn more about the world and its ways. Other scholars often accompanied him, for they considered him their master. While they journeyed, they talked about nature and society and humankind. They searched for both answers and questions, and because they continued to seek, the flow of knowledge was endless.

One lush summer day, Confucius and 20 of his disciples were traveling through the countryside, admiring the green hillsides, the flowering trees, the flowing rivers. Confucius suddenly spotted a quiet country road that looked as if it were seldom traveled.

"I would like to go down that road," he said to his fellow travelers. "I am sure we will make new discoveries there."

And so they turned up the bumpy road and traveled farther. After a while they came to a crossroad. To their left was a narrow path that led to a tiny village. In the very center of this path, four boys were building a castle from stones and sticks. The boys did not look up when the strangers stopped. They did not notice, so intent were they on their construction.

"I would like to visit that tiny village," Confucius said to his followers, pointing down the path. "Surely the villagers will teach us something new."

"Fine," one of the scholars said. "I'll move these children and their castle out of our way."

The man approached the boys. "Children," he said, and the boys looked up at last. Seeing the 21 men dressed in long robes, riding in such fine carriages, the boys shook with awe. They had never seen so many wise men. They bowed to the man. "Yes, sir?" they asked.

"Please move your little castle," the scholar said. "My master wishes to travel to your village down the road, and your castle is in our way."

Three of the boys at once dashed away into the scrub. But the fourth boy did not move; instead he placed his hands on his hips and scowled. "Your carriages will have to take a detour," he said. "I know of no one who would take down a castle to make way for carriages. I'm afraid I cannot let you pass."

The scholar was aghast. "How dare you speak to me in such a way. Don't you realize you are before the famous Confucius, the wisest man in the world? You will move your castle now, for Confucius wishes to see your village."

Confucius, seeing that the boy would not move, was curious to hear the conversation. He climbed down from his carriage and approached. "Is there a problem?" he asked his friend.

"This little boy will not move his castle," the scholar said angrily. "He dares to stand in our way."

Confucius smiled. "Dear boy," he said, "can you tell me why you will not let us pass?"

"I've explained," the boy said. "No one would move a castle for a single carriage."

"Perhaps you would answer some questions," Confucius said, "and if you answer these correctly, I will turn around. If you are wrong, you will let us take this path to your village."

"That seems fair," the boy said, nodding.

Confucius asked, "What water do fish not inhabit?"

"Well water," the boy answered without a moment's hesitation.

Confucius nodded and then asked, "And what fire has no smoke?"

"The firefly's fire," the boy answered at once.

Now Confucius smiled broadly. "You are a wise child," he said. "I can see that you pay close attention to what's around you."

"I do," the boy said proudly. "I love to learn about the world."

"We shall leave you to your castle, then," Confucius said, but the boy held up his hand.

"Sir, I wonder if I could have a turn. I would like to ask you some questions since they say you are the wisest man in the world. If you answer them correctly, I will take down my castle and lead you to my village."

The scholars were amazed and angry at the bold child, but Confucius said, "Please, ask."

The boy looked up. "I wonder if you would tell me, please, how many stars are there in the sky?"

Confucius paused, trying to find an answer, but he had to admit, he had none.

The boy smiled. "How many clouds pass overhead?" he asked.

Again Confucius paused. "Child," he said, "these are large and abstract questions. Please, ask me something down to earth."

Again the boy smiled. "Tell me, sir, how many strands of hair are there on your head?"

It was Confucius' turn to smile, for again he had no answer. And on that little dirt path in the middle of the countryside in northern China, he realized he had been outwitted by a young boy.

He called to his followers, and they gathered around him.

"Students," he said, bowing to the boy, "today I have been humbled by this child, and I have learned that sometimes even a child knows more than I, and more than all the scholars in the world. Let us leave this boy in peace, for he is as involved in learning as we are. This boy has taught me to be humble today, and so we shall leave him to his castle and take another path."

The boy bowed to the great man. "I see you are wise," he said, and from that day on, he devoted himself to learning, and he grew up to be one of the nation's wisest scholars.

The Thief and the Liar (A West African Tale)

Once upon a time, a thief came upon a man in the forest who was staring up at the sky.

"What are you looking at?" asked the thief.

"Ah, I've just seen a jaguar flying," said the liar. "And I'm waiting for him to come down. I'd like to study his wings."

The thief smiled. "You and I must form a partnership," he said. "All it takes to make a fortune is one thief and one liar, and since I am a thief, we'll make a fine pair."

The liar liked this idea; so together they set out to see the king of a neighboring country. As they walked, they plotted.

When they reached the palace, the liar hid in the forest while the thief went to see the king.

"Your highness," the thief said, "let us have a feast together."

"Impossible," the king said. "We have a terrible drought, and we have no crops even for ourselves."

"How odd," the thief said. "I have just come from a country so rich in crops, everyone is drowning in food."

The king did not believe the thief, but the thief insisted.

"Let us bet," the thief said, and the king decided to wager 300 gold coins because he was certain the drought had destroyed crops far and wide.

The king sent a servant to travel to the land to see if what the thief said was true.

As the servant rode through the forest, the liar stepped out from behind a tree and said, "Where are you going?"

When the servant answered, the liar said, "I have just come from that country."

"Well," said the servant, "how are the crops growing there?"

"Ah, every crop is growing so tall and so strong," the liar answered, "it takes two dozen men to harvest each plant."

To save himself from the long journey, the servant asked the liar to come to the palace to tell his king the news, and the liar agreed.

When the liar explained everything to the king, the king was astonished. But he was an honest man, so he paid the thief 300 gold coins.

The thief and the liar departed and traveled on to the next kingdom, where they pulled the same trick. This time the liar told tales of cauliflower so large, one head needed 12 wagons to carry it to market.

In the next kingdom, the thief told a tale of a kingdom with a church steeple so high a bird alighted on it and was able to peck at the stars.

"Some stars fell from the sky," the thief said.

The king bet the greedy thief 10,000 gold coins that this was not true. Naturally, he sent his servant to find out. The servant came upon the liar, who told him he was indeed from the country with the tall church steeple. The servant asked if the story of the bird and the stars was true.

"Absolutely" the liar said. "Not only that, but I saw 12 men shoving with all their might to roll a monster egg into a cellar."

The servant came and told this story to the king, and the king paid the thief 10,000 gold coins.

The thief and the liar split their earnings into two equal parts and parted ways. Eventually they both married and built homes of their own. But one day, as the liar was counting his coins, he discovered he had been cheated. He wanted to get his fair share, and went to see the thief.

The thief greeted him warmly. When the liar accused him of cheating, the thief said, "If you come next week, I shall pay you what I owe you."

The liar nodded silently. A week passed.

And just before the liar appeared at the thief's door, the thief said to his wife, "I'm going to lie down. When the liar arrives, tell him I have died and you buried me."

The thief's wife rubbed her eyes with an onion and when the liar knocked on the door, she answered it weeping so hard she could barely speak.

"Alas, my husband died," she said, "and we buried him in the hayloft."

The liar knew the thief's tricks and suspected this was not so. "Well, then, I shall take some hay for my debt," and he went to the barn and began to toss the hay with a pitchfork, prodding it this way and that.

Afraid for his life, the thief cried, "I'll pay next week!"

When the next week came, the thief went down into the crypt inside the chapel and stretched out as if he were dead. Once again, he'd told his wife to tell the liar he had died.

But the liar had expected this, so he walked to the chapel. Just after he walked inside, he heard some robbers outside the window plotting to hide their treasure inside the chapel while they set out on more adventures.

The liar stood very still as if he were one of the statues and watched as the robbers divided up their treasure.

There were 12 robbers, but the chief divided their gold into 13 heaps.

"There's no time to count again," the chief said, "so whoever strikes off the head of one of the statues with one stroke will have the 13th bundle."

And with that he lifted an ax and approached the niche where the liar stood. Just as he waved his ax overhead, a voice from the coffin called out, "Clear out of here or the dead will arise from their coffins!"

And the thief leapt out of the coffin. The robbers were so terrified that they ran away, but they left all their gold behind.

"Will this satisfy my debt?" the thief asked the liar.

"It will indeed," the liar said. "It's good to be partners again."

And so they divided the gold, but this time the liar did the dividing.

The Most Precious Jewel (A Hindu Tale)

Once upon a time long ago, an old man lived alone upon a hillside. He was a sannyasi; that is, he had dedicated his whole life towards spirituality. He had given up all worldly possessions. Each morning he woke facing the east. As he watched the sun rise, he said his prayers. He lived a simple life, a quiet life, far from others.

But in the village below the mountaintop, some people whispered about the old man. Gossip spread, the way gossip will, and as the years passed, the rumors spread far and wide. People said the old man was not devout. Rather, they said, he was a wealthy man who had moved to the top of the hillside to hide his wealth from those who might wish to steal it.

"But he does not spend any money," some argued.

"No, but one day he will," others countered.

"Why live such a simple life if he is so rich?" others asked.

Those who gossiped would shrug when anyone asked this question. "That is for the old man to know, and one day we shall discover his secret."

One night a poor peasant fell asleep, and he dreamed. In his dream he saw a magnificent ruby -- a ruby as bright as the sunrise, nearly as large as his own head. And in his dream he saw that this ruby belonged to the old man on the hilltop.

When the peasant woke, he decided he must have that ruby. It was so beautiful, and perhaps if he asked the old man to give it to him, he would agree.

The very next morning before anyone in the village was awake, the peasant began the long hike to the top of the mountain.

That morning when the old man woke, he began to say his prayers when suddenly he heard footsteps behind him.

He turned and saw the peasant just coming over the rise of the hill, and so the old man greeted him. "Good day. Welcome to the hilltop. Perhaps you would like to pray with me?"

The peasant was terribly nervous, but he did not wish to pray. He could not take his mind off the beautiful ruby of his dream, and so without thinking, he simply blurted, "No, I have come for a ruby. I saw it in my dreams. Do you have a ruby that you will give to me?"

Without a word the old man reached out into a clump of tall grass, and he plucked a ruby from its center. He handed the jewel to the peasant. "Here it is. Take it with my blessings."

The peasant could not believe his eyes. The ruby was truly as bright as the sun that now rose in the eastern sky, and it was nearly as big as his head. He held it in his hands, staring, and then he stared at the old man. "You are too kind," he said, and before the old man could change his mind, he hurried back down the hillside.

Hiding the ruby beneath his tattered clothes, he hurried to his hut, and there he placed the magnificent gem upon his little table. He stared in wonder. He turned it this way and that. He touched it, caressed it, kissed its cold surface.

"I am the luckiest man in the world," he said, and all day long he sat that way.

He did not eat. He paced and stared and imagined what would happen now. His life had completely changed. Tomorrow he would carry the ruby to the nearest city; there he would sell it for the highest price. Or no, he thought. Perhaps he ought to keep the ruby, hide it somewhere safe until a day he truly needed it to keep himself from starving. Or no, he thought again, he would take it to the city and give it to a gem cutter who could cut it into many pieces. He could sell a ruby or two, or even 10, and save the rest for another day. But what if the stonecutter told others of his ruby? Then he would never be safe. And perhaps, after all, he should share his wealth, but once he told anyone about the jewel, thieves might break into his hut.

All night long the peasant stared at the ruby, and as he stared, he began to think of the old man upon the hillside, of the moment he reached into the grass and picked up the ruby. He thought of the man's simple life -- his robes, his devotion, his quiet smile.

And so once again, before dawn, he began to climb the mountain. This time he carried the ruby.

And as the sun began to rise, the old man woke, and he turned to the east to begin his prayers, but once again he heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to find the peasant standing there.

"Good morning," the old man said, bowing slightly.

The peasant handed the old man the ruby. "I do not wish to keep this," he said. "But I do have a request."

The old man nodded.

"I wish for you to become my teacher. I want to learn what you know. I wish to know how you gave this ruby away with such ease."

The old man smiled. "You have already begun to learn," he said.