PLAYING STORY SCHOOL.

Auckland Star, Volume 55, Issue 152, 28 June 1924, Page 22

PLAYING STORY SCHOOL.

"Let's play story school," said Cy. "What kind of school is that?" asked his little sister, Betty. "It is a school where the only lessons are writing stories," answered" Cy. "I shall be the teacher and the rest of you will write stories about whatever I choose." It was raining. Their cousins, Randall and Johnny, had come to play with them. The two boys had carried a large umbrella, which now stood in the corner. When the children were in their places and ready for school, Cy stood up and said: "Now, pupils, it is the easiest thing in the world to write stories. There is a story in everything. This morning will you please write a story about this umbrella?" The children took up their pencils. They looked at their paper; then they looked at the umbrella; then they looked out of the window at the rain; then they looked at the cei'ing; then they looked at the floor, but none of them wrote a word. "There may be a story in everything," said Randall, "but how do you get it out?" "That is what I'd like to know," said Johnny. "Nobody could write a story about that black, ugly, wet, old umbrella." "I should say not," exclaimed Betty. "I could write a lovely story about dolls, or flowers or something interesting." "What, no stories in that umbrella? I can see 20 stories in it!" cried Cy. "I'll tell you what I'll do, 111 start a story for each of you and you can finish it. Here is yours, Betty. Once upon a time a little silkworm lived on a mulberry bush in China. Its favourite food was mulberry leaves. Now, Betty, you can go right on and tell about how it made a cocoon of silk thread, and how that was. woven into silk cloth, and how the silk was made into a cover for an umbrella. That will make a peach of a story?"' Betty looked rather doubtful, but she began writing. "Here is one for you, Randall." continued Cy. "You see those spokes: they are made of steel. Steel is made from iron. Iron comes from mines. The miners dig the ore and then somebody else gets the iron out of the ore." They carry their dinner with them. Once upon a time a miner's little boy took his father's dinner to him. so' that it would be nice and hot. When the little boy arrived at the mine, be met a great big—you go on and finish." "Ali. I was just getting interested." said Randall. "Why don't you go on and finish it yourself?" "Jobnnv. how is this for a beginning?" said Cy, shaking his head at Randall. "The umbrella: has an ivory handle. Ivory is made from elephant tusks. Elephants live in Africa and India. That is too easy. I don't need even to start it for you. There are more stories than I can count right in that umbrella handle." "It wouldn't take mc long to count all the stories I can see in it—zerothat is all I can see." sighed Johnny. While the others tried to write their stories. Cy leaned back in his chair with his eyes shining like stars. He was pretending that be took hold of the handle of the umbrella, ard that it unfolded itself and lifted him right through the ceiling. Off they floated to Africa and India and China and all round the world, Cy gripping firmly the ivory handle. Sun's shining! Rain's over. I've had enough of this. Let's go out of doors and play something that is fuu. Everybody says Cy is a born story writeV, but the rest of us aren't, said Johnny. So that was the end of the Story School.