. Stories for the household . said the poet; and he went to open thedoor. There stood a little boy ; he was quite naked, and the water ranin streams from his long fair curls. He was shivering with cold, andhad he not been let in, he would certainly have perished in the badweather. You little creature! said the poet, and took him by the hand,come to me, and I will warm you. You shall have wine and an apple,for you are a capital boy. And so he was. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and thoughthe water ran down from his fair curls, they fell in beautiful looked like a little an
. Stories for the household . said the poet; and he went to open thedoor. There stood a little boy ; he was quite naked, and the water ranin streams from his long fair curls. He was shivering with cold, andhad he not been let in, he would certainly have perished in the badweather. You little creature! said the poet, and took him by the hand,come to me, and I will warm you. You shall have wine and an apple,for you are a capital boy. And so he was. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and thoughthe water ran down from his fair curls, they fell in beautiful looked like a little angel-child, but was white with cold and trembledall over. In his hand he carried a famous bow, but it looked quitespoiled by the wet; all the colours in the beautiful arrows had beenblurred together by the rain. The old poet sat down by the stove, took the little boy on his knees,pressed the water out of the long curls, warmed his hands in his own,and made him some sweet whine-whey ; then the boy recovered himself, ;.;;.r ; :~. THE OLD POET SHOT THROUGH THE HEART BY CUPID. and his cheeks grew red, and he jumped to the floor and danced roundthe old poet. You are a merry boy, said the old poet. What is your name ? My name is Cupid, he replied ; dont you know me ? There liesmy bow—I shoot with that, you may believe me ! See, now the weatheris clearing up outside, and the moon shines. But your bow is spoiled, said the old poet. That would be a pity, replied the little boy; and he took the bowand looked at it. Oh, it is quite dry, and has suffered no damage ; thestring is quite stiff—I will try it! Then he bent it, and laid an arrowacross, aimed, and shot the good old poet straight through the heart. Do you see now that my bow was not spoiled P said he, and laughedout loud and ran away. What a naughty boy to shoot at the old poetin that way, who had admitted him into the warm room, and been sokind to him, and given him the best wine and the best apple! The Travelling Companion. 4
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