Mighty Mikko: A Book of Finnish Fairy Tales and Folk Tales. Fillmore Parker
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Название: Mighty Mikko: A Book of Finnish Fairy Tales and Folk Tales

Автор: Fillmore Parker

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

Серия:

isbn: 4057664594617

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ When she got to the middle of the stream 208 They were so busy eating and drinking 214 They carried home the treasure on their backs 220 Osmo, the Bear, grunted out: “Huh! That’s easy! We’ll eat the smallest of us next!” 228 “Wake up, Pekka! Wake up! There’s butter running out of your nose!” 239 “I’ll teach that Crow to interfere with my affairs!” the Fox muttered to himself as he trotted off 249 And Mikko, beginning with a little whimpering sound, slowly rose to a high heartrending cry 253 He jerked quickly away and fled and the Bear was left standing with his mouth wide open 259 A terrible creature landed on his nose and drove it full of pins and needles 262 The Wolf went staggering around the room howling at the top of his voice 269 In the confusion that followed the Wolves stampeded, running helter-skelter in all directions 272 “Here are three of us and, see, here on the floor is our harvest already divided into three heaps” 278 He dropped it in the water and of course it spread out far and wide and the current carried it off 282 He ran after Mikko and was about to overtake him when Mikko slipped into a crevice in the rocks. Only one paw stuck out 289 Of course the instant he opened his mouth, the Grouse flew away 292 “Why, do you know,” he said, “my turnips and my bread don’t taste a bit like this!” 296 The first person they met was an old Horse. They put their case to him 300 With that the Bear lifted his paw and the little Mouse scampered off 306 So that was the End 315

       Table of Contents

      The Story of Ilona and the King’s Son

      THE TRUE BRIDE

      There were once two orphans, a brother and a sister, who lived alone in the old farmhouse where their fathers before them had lived for many generations. The brother’s name was Osmo, the sister’s Ilona. Osmo was an industrious youth, but the farm was small and barren and he was hard put to it to make a livelihood.

      “Sister,” he said one day, “I think it might be well if I went out into the world and found work.”

      “Do as you think best, brother,” Ilona said. “I’m sure I can manage on here alone.”

      So Osmo started off, promising to come back for his sister as soon as he could give her a new home. He wandered far and wide and at last got employment from the King’s Son as a shepherd.

      The King’s Son was about Osmo’s age, and often when he met Osmo tending his flocks he would stop and talk to him.

       One day Osmo told the King’s Son about his sister, Ilona.

      “I have wandered far over the face of the earth,” he said, “and never have I seen so beautiful a maiden as Ilona.”

      “What does she look like?” the King’s Son asked.

      Osmo drew a picture of her and she seemed to the King’s Son so beautiful that at once he fell in love with her.

      “Osmo,” he said, “if you will go home and get your sister, I will marry her.”

      So Osmo hurried home not by the long land route by which he had come but straight over the water in a boat.

      “Sister,” he cried, as soon as he saw Ilona, “you must come with me at once for the King’s Son wishes to marry you!”

      He thought Ilona would be overjoyed, but she sighed and shook her head.

      “What is it, sister? Why do you sigh?”

      “Because it grieves me to leave this old house where our fathers have lived for so many generations.”

      “Nonsense, Ilona! What is this little old house compared to the King’s castle where you will live once you marry the King’s Son!”

       But Ilona only shook her head.

      “It’s no use, brother! I can’t bear to leave this old house until the grindstone with which our fathers for generations ground their meal is worn out.”

      When Osmo found she was firm, he went secretly and broke the old grindstone into small pieces. He then put the pieces together so that the stone looked the same as before. But of course the next time Ilona touched it, it fell apart.

      “Now, sister, you’ll come, will you not?” Osmo asked.

      But again Ilona shook her head.

      “It’s no use, brother. I can’t bear to go until the old stool where our mothers have sat spinning these many generations is worn through.”

      So again Osmo took things into his own hands and going secretly to the old spinning stool he broke it and when Ilona sat on it again it fell to pieces.

      Then Ilona said she couldn’t go until the old mortar which had been in use for generations should fall to bits at a blow from the pestle. Osmo cracked the mortar and the next time Ilona struck it with the pestle it broke.

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