Katharine Pyle

Mother's Nursery Tales by Katharine Pyle

Mother's Nursery Tales

These are not new fairy-tales, the ones in this book that has been newly made for you and placed in your hands. They are old fairy-tales gathered together, some from one country, and some from another. They are old, old, old. As old as the hills or the human race, -as old as truth itself. Long ago, even so long ago as when your grandmother's grandmother's grandmother was a little rosy-cheeked girl, and your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather was a noisy shouting little boy, these stories were old.



No one knows who first told them, nor where nor when. Perhaps none of them was told by anyone particular person. Perhaps they just grew upon the Tree of Wisdom when the world was young, like shining fruit, and our wise and simple first parents plucked them and gave them to their children to play with, and to taste. They could not harm the children, these fruits from the tree of wisdom, for each one was a lovely globe of truth, rich and wholesome to the taste. Magic fruit, for one, could eat and eat, and still, the fruit was there as perfect as ever to be handed down through generations, until at last, it comes to you, as beautiful as in those days of long ago.