Tickled by the lion’s whiskers, the puppy rolled over and wagged its tail playfully At that, the lion prodded it uncertainly with his paw, pushing it to and fro over the floor of his cage.

To the lion’s surprise, the little dog nimbly jumped up and stood on its hind legs, begging.

Puzzled, the lion stared at the dog, shifting his massive head slowly from side to side, not knowing what to make of this funny little animal.

But he let it be.

At feeding time, when the keeper tossed meat into the cage, the lion tore off a piece for the puppy And at sunset, as the lion lay down to sleep, the puppy lay alongside him, resting its tiny head on the lion’s great paws.

From that day on the lion and the puppy lived together in the same cage: the lion sharing his food, never harming his companion, sleeping alongside and, now and then, playing with it.

Then, one day, a fine gentleman visited the zoo and straightaway recognized his long-lost pet. The keeper was informed and, of course, would willingly have handed it over had not the lion raged and roared every time he approached the puppy in the end he gave up and the gentleman had to go home empty-handed.

So the lion and the puppy stayed together; thus it continued for a whole year, until one day the little dog fell sick. And in a short space of time it died.

What a change came over the lion! All the while he licked and sniffed his friend, prodding it with his paw. At last, realizing it was indeed dead, the lion sprang up, his mane quivering with rage. He stalked about the cage, swinging his tail fiercely He flung himself against the iron bars and tore at the wooden floorboards.

All day long he roared in his anguish until finally he sank down beside his dead companion. And he was quiet.

But when the keeper tried to remove the dead puppy, the lion growled menacingly and would not let him near. After a while, the keeper had an idea. Thinking a new puppy would make the lion forget his grief, he thrust another dog between the bars.

But the lion ignored the puppy.

Then, gently, he put his paws about his cold little friend and lay grieving for a full five days.

And on the sixth day the lion died.

LITTLE COTTONTOP

There was once an old man and old woman. One day the old man went off to the fields to plow, while the old woman stayed home to make pancakes. When the pancakes were ready, she said to herself:

“If only we had a son to take some pancakes to his father.”

All of a sudden, a little boy popped out of a pile of cotton, piping, “Hello there, Mummy!”

What a fright he gave the old woman.

“Where did you spring from, Sonny? What’s your name?”

Said the lad in reply, “You spun some cotton, Mummy, and left it in the frame. That’s where I hatched out. My name is Little Cottontop. Now give me the pancakes and I’ll take mem to Daddy”

Once more she was surprised.

“you will take them, Cottontop?”

“Sure I will.”

So the old woman wrapped the pancakes into a bundle and gave them to the little boy. Little Cottontop took the bundle and ran with it over his shoulder to the fields.

As he crossed the field he found his way barred by a clod of earth.

“Daddy, Daddy,” he called. “Help me over the clod of earth! I’ve brought you some pancakes.”

The old man could hear someone calling him, and as he went toward the sound he suddenly saw the little fellow, no bigger than a clod of earth.

“Where did you spring from, Sonny?” he asked.

“I hatched out of a pile of cotton, Daddy,” he said, handing him the pancakes.

As he sat down to eat, he heard the boy call, “Hey, Daddy, can I try plowing?”

The old man shook his head. “You won’t have the strength,” he said.

But Little Cottontop took hold of the plow and began to till the field, singing as he went.

Meantime, a wealthy gentleman was passing by and saw the old man sitting at his meal, with his horse plowing on its own. So the gentleman stepped down from his carriage and called to the old man:

“How do you get your horse to plow by itself?”

“That’s my son plowing,” answered the old man. “That’s him singing, too.”

At that the gentleman came closer, heard the singing, and caught a glimpse of Little Cottontop.

“Good gracious,” he exclaimed. “Sell that lad to me, old fellow?”

But the old man shook his head. “No, I cannot, he’s all I have.”

But Cottontop whispered in his ear, “Go on, Daddy, I’ll run away from him.”

So the poor peasant sold the boy for a hundred rubles. The gentleman handed over the money, took the lad, wrapped him in a handkerchief, and put him into his pocket. When he arrived home he said, to his wife:

“I’ve a big surprise for you, my dear.“

“Oh, do show it to me,” she said in delight.

The gentleman pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and unwrapped it, but there was nothing there. Little Cottontop had run back to his father.

ESCAPE OF
A DANCING BEAR

When I was a boy some men hereabouts used to catch bear cubs and teach them to dance. Then, when they grew older, the bears were dressed up and taken round the fairs. It was the custom for one person to lead the bear, while the other would dress up as a goat and beat a drum.

One such party was once on its way to a fair at Novgorod, a young boy in goatskin leading the way and banging a drum. As was usual for the Novgorod spring fair, the town was packed with visitors from all over Russia and the dancing bear drew much attention, earning his master a tidy sum of money.

At the end of the day, the master, the boy, and the dancing bear made their way to an inn where they gave a last show in the yard. This time they received plenty of wine in reward. The master gratefully gulped down his wine, giving some to the boy and a whole dishful to Old Bruno the Bear.

At nightfall, the party had to spend the night in a field beyond the town. The master tied the bear’s chain around his own waist, as he stretched out on the ground to sleep. Being somewhat tired and tipsy, he was soon snoring contentedly; so, too, was the boy, his assistant.