GOOD NIGHT STORIES

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 21, 25 January 1936, Page 17 (Supplement)

GOOD NIGHT STORIES

One day Mij, Flor, Hanid, Yam and Knarf made themselves so small that when tliey walked in the grass it rose over their heads like trees. That is, you will agree, exceedingly small. Shadows can make themselves as small as they please. They are like rubber bands which can stretch or roll together. Well, they took a walk through the grass in the meadow, for they were in the country, you see. The huge blades of grass waved in the breeze, making a loud whirring noise. Perhaps you have never heard grass whirring. You have missed a great deal. The very next time you are in the country you must make a point of listening to "the grass. All you must do is make yourself as small as your shadow. That is easily done, lam sure. Simply do as your shadow does. Into the whirring grass walked the shadow children and, by and by, they came to a. green stalk with a yellow cup at the top of it. "That's a buttercup," said Hanid. "Let's climb into it and get a cup of butter," Knarf said. But no one paid any attention to him. He was always getting himself and others into trouble. It was astonishing how much trouble ho caused. A little farther on they came to another stem with a white and purple flower on it.

"It's a clovor," Flor announced. "Let's jump over tlie clover," Knarf said. Again no one paid any heed to him. Then tlmy came to a stem with a bine flower on it. "That's a bluebell," Yam said. "Oil, Jet's ring the bluebell." ■ But they didn't. They kept right on walking until they came into a Held where all the stalks were straw-coloured. At the top of each stalk was a cluster of seeds which hung down. "Oats!" exclaimed Knarf. "Let's climb up and get a meal." The others gazed at him questioningly. "And get a .meal?" they repeated. "Certainly," said the shadow boy. "An oatmeal! Didn't you know that?" They smiled. "We've heard of oatmeal," they said, "but it's not the kind of a meal you mean. It's a cereal." "It doesn't matter what you call it. It's a meal. The children have it for breakfast every morning and I'm going to have it now." And with that lv* wound his legs around the stalk and climbed up. "Come down," the others warned. "Something will happen to you if you don't!" They were not sure what it might be, but they knew it would be something. And something it was, sure enough. » No sooner did he reach the cluster of seeds and start to look around for the oatmeal he hoped to find there, than along came the farmer with a scythe. "Z-z-z-z," went the scythe, as the farmer swung it through the oats. It cut through the straw-coloured stalks close to the ground and over they fell, one on top of the other.

"Jump!" shouted the others to Knarf. It was too late. The scythe cut through his oat-stalk and down he fell, liead-over-heels, landing under a heap of stalks where he lay, too frightened to move. And if the others hadn't come by and picked him up, he would probably be lying there still.