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Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children Chapter 11: The Adventure with the Barber

Chapter 11: The Adventure with the Barber

Days passed, and still Don Quixote rode bare-headed: for as yet he had found no means whereby to win for himself a new helmet. Every day, however, had its adventures, and every turn of the road seemed to lead the knight and his squire into new fields of action.

One morning as they were riding along a highway from a small village to a larger one, they saw a horseman coming slowly towards them.

“See there!” cried Don Quixote. “Now I shall have an adventure that will redound to my glory.”

“Why do you think so?” asked Sancho.

“Do you not see that horseman?” answered Don Quixote. “He wears something on his head that glitters like gold. If I mistake not, he is a knight, and it is Mambrino’s helmet that he wears.”

“Mambrino’s helmet, master!” said Sancho. “What about Mambrino’s helmet?”

“Thou knowest my vow, Sancho,” was the answer. “Tomorrow I shall eat bread on a tablecloth. For that knight who is riding toward us on his prancing steed has a helmet of gold on his head.”

“I don’t see any knight,” said Sancho. “I see only a common man riding a gray donkey much like my own. There is something bright on the top of his head; but all is not gold that glitters.”

“I tell thee, it is Mambrino’s helmet, and it is gold!” cried Don Quixote, growing angry.

Now the truth of the matter is this: The smaller of the two villages I have mentioned had no barber. The people, therefore, were obliged to depend on the barber of the larger village, who rode over whenever he was wanted.

Sometimes he was called upon to trim the men’s beards, sometimes to dress the ladies’ hair; but he was oftenest required to bleed some person who was not feeling well. For in those times it was the custom, when anyone was sick, to open one of his veins and let the “bad” blood run. This was thought to be the best medicine and a cure for all sorts of ailments.

To do this bloodletting was, indeed, the main business of a barber. His sign was a pole with red stripes running spirally around it. These red stripes represented the bloody bandage which was used to bind up the wound. The same sign is used by barbers even now; but good barbers never bleed their customers.

In those olden times, the barber always had a brass basin in which to catch the blood as it flowed from the patient’s arm. This basin was kept very bright and clean; for it was a necessary thing in every barber’s shop, and often used.

And now let us go back to our story. The “knight on his prancing steed” was nobody but the barber of the bigger village, riding on his gray donkey to visit his patients in the smaller village.

The morning was cloudy, and rain might begin to fall at any minute. The barber had a new hat which the rain would spoil. To guard against this misfortune, he clapped his brass basin, upside down, upon his head. It covered hat and all, and was proof against the rain.

Don Quixote, as we know, wanted a helmet. He had read so much about Mambrino’s helmet that he could think of nothing else. His mind, having dwelt so long upon this subject, could turn anything he chose into a golden helmet. Some people in our own times can do as much.

As the barber came nearer, the knight raised his lance, which you will remember was only the branch of a tree. He braced himself in his stirrups and made ready for a charge.

Then he shouted, “Wretch, defend thyself, or at once surrender that which is justly mine.” And without further parley, he rushed upon the barber as fast as Rozinante, with his blundering feet, could carry him.

The barber saw him coming, and had just time enough to throw himself from his donkey and take to his heels. He leaped the hedge at the side of the road and ran across the fields with the swiftness of a deer. But the brass basin, having slipped from his head, was left lying in the dust.

Don Quixote checked his steed. “Here, Sancho!” he cried. “Here is my helmet. Come and pick it up.”

“Upon my word, that is a fine basin,” said Sancho, as he stooped and handed it to his master.

Don Quixote, with great delight, clapped it on his head. He turned it this way and that, and tilted it backward and forward.

“It is pretty large,” he said. “The head for which it was made must have been a big one. The worst is, that it has no visor, and half of one side is lacking.”

Sancho could not help smiling.

“What is the fool grinning at now?” cried his master, angrily.

“Oh, nothing,” answered Sancho. “I was only thinking what a big jolthead it must have been to wear a helmet so much like a barber’s basin.”

“Well, it does look like a barber’s basin,” said Don Quixote. “But that is because some enchanter has changed its form. When we come to a town where there is an armorer, I will have it made over into its proper shape; for there is no doubt that it is really the helmet of the famous Mambrino.”

He turned it about on his head, and pulled it well down over his ears.

“I’ll wear it as it is,” he said. “It is better than nothing.”

“There is that knight’s dappled steed,” said Sancho, pointing to the barber’s gray donkey which was nibbling grass by the roadside. “I have a good mind to exchange my own faithful beast for him.”

“Well, exchange is no robbery,” answered Don Quixote. “We do not plunder those whom we meet, for that would be unbecoming to a knight. The dappled steed is no doubt very dear to its master and therefore should be spared to him; but I give thee leave, Sancho, to exchange saddles.”

“You are a wise master,” said Sancho; and without another word he made his own poor donkey look three times better by dressing him in the barber’s saddle.

Then, well satisfied with themselves and their plunder, the knight and the squire renewed their journey.

Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children

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THE ADVENTURES OF OLD MR. TOAD: OLD MR. TOAD’S MUSIC BAG

Never think that you have learned
    All there is to know.
  That's the surest way of all
    Ignorance to show.

“I’ve found Old Mr. Toad!” cried Peter Rabbit, hurrying after Jimmy Skunk.

“Where?” demanded Jimmy.

“In the water,” declared Peter. “He’s sitting right over there where the water is shallow, and he didn’t notice me at all. Let’s get Unc’ Billy, and then creep over to the edge of the Smiling Pool and watch to see if Old Mr. Toad really does try to sing.”

So they hunted up Unc’ Billy Possum, and the three stole very softly over to the edge of the Smiling Pool, where the bank was low and the water shallow. Sure enough, there sat Old Mr. Toad with just his head out of water. And while they were watching him, something very strange happened.

“What—what’s the matter with him?” whispered Peter, his big eyes looking as if they might pop out of his head.

“If he don’t watch out, he’ll blow up and bust!” exclaimed Jimmy.

“Listen!” whispered Unc’ Billy Possum. “Do mah ol’ ears hear right? ‘Pears to me that that song is coming right from where Brer Toad is sitting.”

It certainly did appear so, and of all the songs that glad spring day there was none sweeter. Indeed there were few as sweet. The only trouble was the song was so very short. It lasted only for two or three seconds. And when it ended, Old Mr. Toad looked quite his natural self again; just as commonplace, almost ugly, as ever. Peter looked at Jimmy Skunk, Jimmy looked at Unc’ Billy Possum, and Unc’ Billy looked at Peter. And no one had a word to say. Then all three looked back at Old Mr. Toad.

And even as they looked, his throat began to swell and swell and swell, until it was no wonder that Jimmy Skunk had thought that he was in danger of blowing up. And then, when it stopped swelling, there came again those beautiful little notes, so sweet and tremulous that Peter actually held his breath to listen. There was no doubt that Old Mr. Toad was singing just as he had said he was going to, and it was just as true that his song was one of the sweetest if not the sweetest of all the chorus from and around the Smiling Pool. It was very hard to believe, but Peter and Jimmy and Unc’ Billy both saw and heard, and that was enough. Their respect for Old Mr. Toad grew tremendously as they listened.

“How does he do it?” whispered Peter.

“With that bag under his chin, of course,” replied Jimmy Skunk. “Don’t you see it’s only when that is swelled out that he sings? It’s a regular music bag. And I didn’t know he had any such bag there at all.”

“I wish,” said Peter Rabbit, feeling of his throat, “that I had a music bag like that in my throat.”

And then he joined in the laugh of Jimmy and Unc’ Billy, but still with something of a look of wistfulness in his eyes.

The Adventures of Old Mr. Toad

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THE ADVENTURES OF OLD MR. TOAD: JIMMY SKUNK CONSULTS HIS FRIENDS

Jimmy Skunk scratched his head thoughtfully as he watched Old Mr. Toad go down the Lone Little Path, hop, hop, hipperty-hop, towards the Smiling Pool. He certainly was puzzled, was Jimmy Skunk. If Old Mr. Toad had told him that he could fly, Jimmy would not have been more surprised, or found it harder to believe than that Old Mr. Toad had a beautiful voice. The truth is, Jimmy didn’t believe it. He thought that Old Mr. Toad was trying to fool him.

Presently Peter Rabbit came along. He found Jimmy Skunk sitting in a brown study. He had quite forgotten to look for fat beetles, and when he forgets to do that you may make up your mind that Jimmy is doing some hard thinking.

“Hello, old Striped-coat, what have you got on your mind this fine morning?” cried Peter Rabbit.

“Him,” said Jimmy simply, pointing down the Lone Little Path.

Peter looked. “Do you mean Old Mr. Toad!” he asked.

Jimmy nodded. “Do you see anything queer about him?” he asked in his turn.

Peter stared down the Lone Little Path. “No,” he replied, “except that he seems in a great hurry.”

“That’s just it,” Jimmy returned promptly. “Did you ever see him hurry unless he was frightened?”

Peter confessed that he never had.

“Well, he isn’t frightened now, yet just look at him go,” retorted Jimmy. “Says he has got a beautiful voice, and that he has to take part in the spring chorus at the Smiling Pool and that he is late.”

Peter looked very hard at Jimmy to see if he was fooling or telling the truth. Then he began to laugh. “Old Mr. Toad sing! The very idea!” he cried. “He can sing about as much as I can, and that is not at all.”

Jimmy grinned. “I think he’s crazy, if you ask me,” said he. “And yet he was just as earnest about it as if it were really so. I think he must have eaten something that has gone to his head. There’s Unc’ Billy Possum over there. Let’s ask him what he thinks.”

So Jimmy and Peter joined Unc’ Billy, and Jimmy told the story about Old Mr. Toad all over again. Unc’ Billy chuckled and laughed just as they had at the idea of Old Mr. Toad’s saying he had a beautiful voice. But Unc’ Billy has a shrewd little head on his shoulders. After a few minutes he stopped laughing.

“Ah done learn a right smart long time ago that Ah don’ know all there is to know about mah neighbors,” said he. “We-uns done think of Brer Toad as ugly-lookin’ fo’ so long that we-uns may have overlooked something. Ah don’ reckon Brer Toad can sing, but Ah ‘lows that perhaps he thinks he can. What do you-alls say to we-uns going down to the Smiling Pool and finding out what he really is up to?”

“The very thing!” cried Peter, kicking up his heels. You know Peter is always ready to go anywhere or do anything that will satisfy his curiosity.

Jimmy Skunk thought it over for a few minutes, and then he decided that as he hadn’t anything in particular to do, and as he might find some fat beetles on the way, he would go too. So off they started after Old Mr. Toad, Peter Rabbit in the lead as usual, Unc’ Billy Possum next, grinning as only he can grin, and in the rear Jimmy Skunk, taking his time and keeping a sharp eye out for fat beetles.

The Adventures of Old Mr. Toad

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Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children

“Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children,” by James Baldwin, is a retelling for the youthful reader of the most interesting parts of Cervantes’ great novel about Don Quixote, the eccentric gentleman who fancies himself a knight-errant. The adventures most appealing to children are included and related in such a way as to form a continuous narrative, with both the spirit and style of the original preserved as much as possible.

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McGuffey’s Third Eclectic Reader Lesson 16: Bird Friends

Words:

  • wife
  • greet
  • beard
  • worms
  • prayers
  • faith
  • grove
  • crusts
  • church
  • furnished

Lesson:

  1. I once knew a man who was rich in his love for birds, and in their love for him. He lived in the midst of a grove full of all kinds of trees. He had no wife or children in his home.
  2. He was an old man with gray beard, blue and kind eyes, and a voice that the birds loved; and this was the way he made them his friends.
  3. While he was at work with a rake on his nice walks in the grove, the birds came close to him to pick up the worms in the fresh earth he dug up. At first, they kept a rod or two from him, but they soon found he was a kind man, and would not hurt them, but liked to have them near him.
  4. They knew this by his kind eyes and voice, which tell what is in the heart. So, day by day their faith in his love grew in them.
  5. They came close to the rake. They would hop on top of it to be first at the worm. They would turn up their eyes into his when he spoke to them, as if they said, ‘He is a kind man; he loves us; we need not fear him.’
  6. All the birds of the grove were soon his fast friends. They were on the watch for him, and would fly down from the green tree tops to greet him with their chirp.
  7. When he had no work on the walks to do with his rake or his hoe, he took crusts of bread with him, and dropped the crumbs on the ground. Down they would dart on his head and feet to catch them as they fell from his hand.
  8. He showed me how they loved him. He put a crust of bread in his mouth, with one end of it out of his lips. Down they came like bees at a flower, and flew off with it crumb by crumb.
  9. When they thought he slept too long in the morning, they would fly in and sit on the bedpost, and call him up with their chirp.
  10. They went with him to church, and while he said his prayers and sang his hymns in it, they sat in the trees, and sang their praises to the same good God who cares for them as he does for us.
  11. Thus, the love and trust of birds were a joy to him all his life long; and such love and trust no boy or girl can fail to win with the same kind heart, voice, and eye that he had.

Adapted from Elihu Burritt.

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McGuffey’s Third Eclectic Reader Lesson 12: A Walk in the Garden

Words:

  • shook
  • gravel
  • invited
  • assure
  • continued
  • plants
  • borders
  • enjoyed
  • meddle
  • admiring

Lesson:

  1. Frank was one day walking with his mother, when they came to a pretty garden. Frank looked in, and saw that it had clean gravel walks, and beds of beautiful flowers all in bloom.
  2. He called to his mother, and said, ‘Mother, come and look at this pretty garden. I wish I might open the gate, and walk in.’
  3. The gardener, being near, heard what Frank said, and kindly invited him and his mother to come into the garden.
  4. Frank’s mother thanked the man. Turning to her son, she said, ‘Frank, if I take you to walk in this garden, you must take care not to meddle with anything in it.’
  5. Frank walked along the neat gravel paths, and looked at everything, but touched nothing that he saw.
  6. He did not tread on any of the borders, and was careful that his clothes should not brush the tops of the flowers, lest he might break them.
  7. The gardener was much pleased with Frank, because he was so careful not to do mischief. He showed him the seeds, and told him the name of many of the flowers and plants.
  8. While Frank was admiring the beauty of a flower, a boy came to the gate, and finding it locked, he shook it hard. But it would not open. Then he said, ‘Let me in; let me in; will you not let me in this garden?’
  9. ‘No, indeed,’ said the gardener, ‘I will not let you in, I assure you; for when I let you in yesterday, you meddled with my flowers, and pulled some of my rare fruit. I do not choose to let a boy into my garden who meddles with the plants.’
  10. The boy looked ashamed, and when he found that the gardener would not let him in, he went slowly away.
  11. Frank saw and felt how much happier a boy may be by not meddling with what does not belong to him.
  12. He and his mother then continued their walk in the garden, and enjoyed the day very much. Before they left, the gardener gave each of them some pretty flowers.

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Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children Chapter 10: The Adventure with the Sheep

One day as they passed the crest of a hill, they saw a great cloud of dust rising in the road at some distance below them. Don Quixote’s eyes flashed with excitement as he watched it.

“The day has come, Sancho,” he cried; “the day has come that shall bring us good fortune and happiness. Now I shall perform an exploit that will be remembered through the ages. See’st thou that cloud of dust, Sancho?”

“I see it, brave master,” answered the squire.

“Well, that dust is raised by an army that is marching this way,” said Don Quixote. “It is a mighty army made up of many nations.”

“If that is the case,” said Sancho, “there must be two armies. For, over to the left of us, there is another cloud of dust.”

Don Quixote looked, and his heart was filled with joy; for he firmly believed that two vast armies were marching towards each other and about to meet in battle. His mind was so filled with fights, adventures, enchantments, and other wonderful things which he had read about, that his fancy easily changed everything he saw into something that he wished to see.

Even his own eyes could not make him believe that the dust was raised by two large flocks of sheep which were being driven along the road. He was so positive about the two armies that even Sancho soon began to feel that he was right.

“Well, sir, what are we to do now?” asked the squire.

“Our duty is plain,” answered the knight. “What ought we to do but aid the weaker and injured side? The army in front of us is commanded by the great Alifanfaron, emperor of the vast island of India. The army on our left is led by his enemy, King Pentapolin of the naked arm.”

“Pray tell me, brave master,” said Sancho, “what is the cause of the trouble? Why are those two great men going thus together by the ears?”

“It is the old, old story,” answered Don Quixote. “Alifanfaron is a Pagan, and he is in love with Pentapolin’s daughter, who is a Christian. But he shall not have her unless he becomes converted and gives up his false belief.”

“No, never!” cried Sancho. “I will stand by Pentapolin and his daughter, and help them all I can.”

“You are right,” said Don Quixote. “There is no need of being a knight to fight in such battles. Men of all conditions may take part in this conflict.”

Then pointing to the clouds of dust with his long finger, he described the various warriors whom he imagined were marching to the conflict. Sancho Panza listened in silence. He turned his eyes this way and that, trying to see the knights and valiant men whom his master was naming.

At last, growing impatient, he cried, “You might as well tell me it is snowing; for not a man nor knight can I see either in this cloud of dust or that.”

“Indeed!” answered Don Quixote, “but don’t you hear their horses neigh, their trumpets sound, their drums beat?”

“Not I,” said Sancho. “I open my ears very wide, and I hear nothing but the bleating of sheep.”

And now the two flocks were drawing very near to them, and the sheep could not only be heard, but plainly seen.

“You are frightened, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Go hide yourself in some safe place while I alone charge into the ranks of the heathen.”

Then he couched his lance, set spurs to Rozinante, and rushed onward like a thunderbolt to meet the nearest flock.

Sancho Panza looked after him in amazement. “Hold, sir!” he cried. “Come back! Are you mad? Those are sheep, and neither pagans nor Christians. Come back, I say.”

But Don Quixote did not hear him. He rode forward furiously. “Courage, brave knights!” he shouted. “March up, fall on, the victory is ours! Follow me, and take your revenge!”

He charged into the midst of the flock. He thrust right and left, and began to spear the poor dumb creatures as gallantly as though they were his mortal enemies.

The men who were driving the sheep called out to him, but he would not listen. He rushed madly this way and that. The sheep were routed and trampled upon in a most terrible manner.

“Where is the general of this army?” cried Don Quixote. “Where art thou, proud Alifanfaron? See, here is a single knight who challenges thee to combat, and who will punish thee for this unjust war.”

The shepherds were now greatly alarmed. They ran forward and began to throw stones at the knight. Some of these, as big as a man’s fist, flew close about his ears; some fell upon his shield; and others belabored the back and sides of unhappy Rozinante. But, paying no attention to this shower of missiles, Don Quixote rode unafraid, shouting as though in the thick of battle, and seeking everywhere for some worthy foe.

“Where art thou, Alifanfaron?” he cried again. But just at that moment a stone struck him in the side with such force as almost to break his ribs.

He reeled in his saddle. He felt sure that he was killed, or at least badly wounded. But he remembered the bottle of healing balsam which the innkeeper had advised him to carry, and he felt in his pocket for it.

He was about to put the bottle to his lips, when — bang! Another stone came whizzing through the air. It broke the bottle; it maimed his hand; it struck him fairly on the mouth.

Such a blow was too much for the valiant knight to withstand. He fell from his horse and lay upon the ground as though dead.

The shepherds got their flocks together and hurried away with all speed. They feared that they had killed the knight and that greater trouble would follow.

Throughout the strange conflict, Sancho sat on his dappled donkey at the top of the hill. He felt ashamed and alarmed at sight of his master’s mad doings. He groaned, and tore his beard in vexation and dismay.

But when he saw the knight knocked from his steed and stretched upon the ground, he hastened to his aid.

“Ah, master,” he cried, “this comes of not taking my advice. Did I not tell you that it was a flock of sheep and no army?”

Don Quixote groaned and sat up. “Friend Sancho,” he said, “it is an easy matter for enchanters to change the shapes of things as they please. At the very moment that my victory was complete my old enemy changed the routed army into a flock of sheep. It was all done to rob me of the glory that belonged to me.”

“Well, I saw nothing but sheep from the first,” said Sancho.

Don Quixote, with much ado, arose and stood on his feet. He opened his mouth and felt of the teeth that had been loosened by that last cruel blow.

“Friend Sancho, learn of me,” he said. “All these storms are only the signs of calmer days. Better success will soon follow. Neither good luck nor bad luck will last always.”

“At any rate,” interrupted Sancho, “many words will not fill a bushel. I think you would make a better preacher than knight-errant.”

“Knights-errant,” answered Don Quixote, “ought to know everything. Some of them have been as good preachers as any who preach in the churches.”

“Very well,” said Sancho. “You may have it as you will. But let us leave this unlucky place and seek lodgings where we may rest and have a bite of wholesome food.”

He helped his master to climb again upon the back of gentle Rozinante, and then he remounted his dappled donkey.

“My trusty Sancho, go thy own pace,” said Don Quixote. “I will follow thee.”

Sancho obeyed, and led the way, keeping to the road which passed over the hills. Don Quixote followed him, riding slowly and gently; for he had been so bruised and wounded in his encounter with the shepherds, that every movement of his steed gave him pain.

Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children by James Baldwin 

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Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children Chapter 3: The Adventure with the Farmer

At the earliest break of day, Don Quixote made ready to ride out in quest of adventures. He buckled on his armor. He took his lance and his shield in his hands. His gallant steed, Rozinante, stood saddled and bridled at the door of the inn.

He again embraced the innkeeper. “Farewell, thou greatest of my benefactors,” he cried. “May heaven bless thee for having made me a knight.”

Then, with the help of a groom, he mounted and rode forth into the world.

Right gayly did he ride. For he felt that he was now in truth a knight, and his mind was filled with lofty thoughts.

Right gayly also did Rozinante canter along the highway, and proudly did he hold his head. For did he not know that he was carrying the bravest of brave men?

They had gone but a little way when Don Quixote suddenly remembered the innkeeper’s command to provide himself with money, clean shirts, and some salve.

“The command must be obeyed,” he said. “I must go home to get those necessary things.”

So he turned his horse’s head and took the first byroad that led towards his village. And now Rozinante seemed to have new life put into his lean body. He sniffed the air and trotted so fast that his heels seemed scarcely to touch the ground.

“This is after the manner of heroes,” said Don Quixote. “Yet I still lack one thing. I need a faithful squire to ride with me and serve me. All the knights I have ever read about had squires who followed in their footsteps and looked on while they were fighting. I think, therefore, that while I am providing myself with money and shirts, I will also get me a squire.”

Presently, as they were passing through a lonely place, the knight fancied that he heard distressing cries. They seemed to come from the midst of a woody thicket near the roadside.

“I thank Heaven for this lucky moment,” he said to himself. “I shall now have an adventure. No doubt I shall rescue someone who is in peril, or I shall correct some grievous wrong.”

He put spurs to Rozinante and rode as fast as he could to the spot from which the cries seemed to issue.

At the edge of the woody thicket he saw a horse tied to a small oak tree. Not far away, a lad of about fifteen years was tied to another oak. The lad’s shoulders and back were bare, and it was he who was making the doleful outcry. For a stout country fellow was standing over him and beating him unmercifully with a horsewhip.

“Hold! hold!” cried Don Quixote, rushing up. “It is an unmanly act to strike a person who cannot strike back.”

The farmer was frightened at the sudden appearance of a knight on horseback. He dropped his whip. He stood with open mouth and trembling hands, not knowing what to expect.

“Come, sir,” said Don Quixote, sternly. “Take your lance, mount your horse, and we will settle this matter by a trial of arms.”

The farmer answered him very humbly. “Sir Knight,” he said, “this boy is my servant, and his business is to watch my sheep. But he is lazy and careless, and I have lost half of my flock through his neglect.”

“What of that?” said Don Quixote. “You have no right to beat him, when you know he cannot beat you.”

“I beat him only to make a better boy of him,” answered the farmer. “He will tell you that I do it to cheat him out of his wages: but he tells lies even while I am correcting him.”

“What! what!” cried Don Quixote. “Do you give him the lie right here before my face? I have a good mind to run you through the body with my lance. Untie the boy and pay him his money. Obey me this instant, and let me not hear one word of excuse from you.”

The farmer, pale with fear, loosed the boy from the cords which bound him to the tree.

“Now, my young man,” said Don Quixote, “how much does this fellow owe you?”

“He owes me nine months’ wages at seven dollars a month,” was the answer.

“Nine times seven are sixty-three,” said the knight. “Sir, you owe this lad sixty-three dollars. If you wish to save your life pay it at once.”

The farmer was now more alarmed than before. He fell upon his knees. He lifted his hands, imploring mercy. He sobbed with fright.

“Noble sir,” he cried, “it is too much; for I have bought him three pairs of shoes at a dollar a pair; and twice when he was sick, I paid the doctor a dollar.”

“That may be,” answered Don Quixote, “but we will set those dollars against the beating you have given him without cause. Come, pay him the whole amount.”

“I would gladly do so,” said the farmer, “but I have not a penny in my pocket. If you will let the lad go home with me, I will pay him every dollar.”

“Go home with him!” cried the lad. “Not I. Why, he would beat me to death and not pay at all.”

“He won’t dare to do it,” answered Don Quixote. “I have commanded him and he must obey. His money is at his house. I give him leave to go and get it. His honor as a knight will make him pay his debt to you.”

“A knight!” said the lad. “He is no knight. He is only John Haldudo, the farmer.”

“What of that?” said Don Quixote. “Why may not the Haldudos have a knight in the family?”

“Well, he is not much of a knight. A knight would pay his debts,” said the lad.

“And he will pay you, for I have commanded him,” said Don Quixote.

Then turning to the farmer, he said, “Go, and make sure that you obey me. I will come this way again soon, and if you have failed, I will punish you. I will find you out, even though you hide yourself as close as a lizard.”

The farmer arose from his knees and was about to speak, but the knight would not listen.

“I will have no words from you,” he said. “You have naught to do but to obey. And if you would ask who it is that commands you, know that I am the valorous Don Quixote de la Mancha, the righter of wrongs and the friend of the downtrodden. So, goodbye!”

Having said this, he gave spurs to Rozinante and galloped away.

The farmer watched him until he was quite out of sight. Then he turned and called to the boy.

“Come, Andrew,” he said. “Come to me now, and I will pay thee what I owe thee. I will obey this friend of the downtrodden.”

“You will do well to obey him,” said the boy. “He is a knight, and if you fail to pay me, he will come back and make things hot for you.”

“Yes, I know,” answered the farmer. “I will pay you well and show you how much I love you.”

Then, without another word, he caught hold of the boy and again tied him to the tree. The boy yelled lustily, but Don Quixote was too far away to hear his cries. The farmer fell upon him and beat him with fists and sticks until he was almost dead. Finally he loosed him and let him go.

“Now, Andrew, go find your friend of the downtrodden,” he said. “Tell him how well I have paid you.”

Poor Andrew said nothing. He hobbled slowly away, while the farmer mounted his horse and rode grimly homeward.

In the meanwhile, Don Quixote was speeding toward his own village. He was very much pleased with himself and with his first adventure as a knight.

“O Dulcinea, most beautiful of beauties,” he cried, “well mayest thyself be happy. For thy knight has done a noble deed this day.”

And thus he rode gallantly onward, his lance clanging against his coat of mail at every motion of his steed.

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Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children Chapter 2: The Adventure at the Inn

Chapter 2: The Adventure at the Inn

One morning in midsummer, Don Quixote arose very early, long before anyone else was awake.

He put on his coat of mail and the old helmet which he had patched with pasteboard and green ribbons.

He took down the short sword that had been his great-grandfather’s, and belted it to his side. He grasped his long lance. He swung the leather shield upon his shoulder.

Then he went out very quietly by the back door, lest he should awaken his niece or the housekeeper.

He went softly to the barn and saddled his steed. Then he mounted and rode silently away through the sleeping village and the quiet fields.

He was pleased to think how easily he had managed things. He was glad that he had gotten away from the house and the village without any unpleasant scenes.

“I trust that I shall presently meet with some worthy adventure,” he said to himself.

But soon a dreadful thought came into his mind: He was not a knight, for no one had conferred that honor upon him; and the laws of chivalry would not permit him to contend in battle with anyone of noble rank until he himself was knighted.

“Whoa, Rozinante!” he said. “I must consider this matter.”

He stopped underneath a tree, and thought and thought. Must he give up his enterprise and return home?

“No, that I shall never do!” he cried. “I will ride onward, and the first worthy man that I meet shall make me knight.”

So he spoke cheeringly to Rozinante and resumed his journey. He dropped the reins loosely upon the horse’s neck, and allowed him to stroll hither and thither as he pleased.

“It is thus,” he said, “that knights ride out upon their quests. They go where fortune and their steeds may carry them.”

Thus, leisurely, he sat in the saddle, while Rozinante wandered in unfrequented paths, cropped the green herbage by the roadside, or rested himself in the shade of some friendly tree. The hours passed, but neither man nor beast took note of time or distance.

“We shall have an adventure by and by,” said Don Quixote softly to himself.

The sun was just sinking in the west when Rozinante, in quest of sweeter grass, carried his master to the summit of a gentle hill. There, in the valley below him, Don Quixote beheld a little inn nestling snugly by the roadside.

“Ha!” he cried. “Did I not say that we should have an adventure?”

He gathered up the reins; he took his long lance in his hand; he struck spurs into his loitering steed, and charged down the hill with the speed of a plow horse.

He imagined that the inn was a great castle with four towers and a deep moat and a drawbridge.

At some distance from the gate he checked his steed and waited. He expected to see a dwarf come out on the wall of the castle and sound a trumpet to give notice of the arrival of a strange knight; for it was always so in the books which he had read.

But nobody came. Don Quixote grew impatient. At length he urged Rozinante forward at a gentle pace, and was soon within hailing distance of the inn. Just then a swineherd, in a field near by, blew his horn to call his pigs together.

“Ah, ha!” cried Don Quixote. “There is the dwarf at last. He is blowing his bugle to tell them that I am coming.” And with the greatest joy in the world he rode onward to the door of the inn.

The innkeeper was both fat and jolly; and when he saw Don Quixote riding up, he went out to welcome him. He could not help laughing at the war-like appearance of his visitor — with his long lance, his battered shield, and his ancient coat of mail. But he kept as sober a face as possible and spoke very humbly.

“Sir Knight,” he said, “will you honor me by alighting from your steed? I have no bed to offer you, but you shall have every other accommodation that you may ask.”

Don Quixote still supposed that the inn was a castle; and he thought that the innkeeper must be the governor. So he answered in pompous tones:—

“Senior Castellano, anything is enough for me. I care for nothing but arms, and no bed is so sweet to me as the field of battle.”

The innkeeper was much amused. “You speak well, Sir Knight. Since your wants are so few, I can promise that you shall lack nothing. Alight, and enter!” And with that he went and held Don Quixote’s stirrup while he dismounted.

The poor old man had eaten nothing all day. His armor was very heavy. He was stiff from riding so long. He could hardly stand on his feet. But with the innkeeper’s help he was soon comfortably seated in the kitchen of the inn.

“I pray you, Senior Castellano,” he said, “take good care of my steed. There is not a finer horse in the universe.”

The innkeeper promised that the horse should lack nothing, and led him away to the stable.

When he returned to the kitchen he found Don Quixote pulling off his armor. He had relieved himself of the greater part of his coat of mail; but the helmet had been tied fast with the green ribbons, as I have told you, and it could not be taken off without cutting them.

“Never shall anyone harm those ribbons,” cried Don Quixote; and after vainly trying to untie them he was obliged to leave them as they were. It was a funny sight to see him sitting there with his head enclosed in the old patched-up helmet.

“Now, Sir Knight,” said the innkeeper, “will you not deign to partake of a little food? It is quite past our supper time, and all our guests have eaten. But perhaps you will not object to taking a little refreshment alone.”

“I will, indeed, take some with all my heart,” answered Don Quixote. “I think I shall enjoy a few mouthfuls of food more than anything else in the world.”

As ill luck would have it, it was Friday, and there was no meat in the house. There were only a few small pieces of salt fish in the pantry, and these had been picked over by the other guests.

“Will you try some of our fresh trout?” asked the landlord. “They are very small, but they are wholesome.”

“Well,” answered Don Quixote, “if there are, several of the small fry, I shall like them as well as a single large fish. But whatever you have, I pray you bring it quickly; for the heavy armor and the day’s travel have given me a good appetite.”

So a small table was set close by the door, for the sake of fresh air; and Don Quixote drew his chair up beside it.

Then the innkeeper brought some bits of the fish, ill-dressed and poorly cooked. The bread was as brown and moldy as Don Quixote’s armor; and there was nothing to drink but cold water.

It was hard for the poor man to get the food to his mouth, for his helmet was much in his way. By using both hands, however, he managed to help himself. Then you would have laughed to see him eat; for, indeed, he was very hungry.

“No true knight will complain of that which is set before him,” he said to himself.

Suddenly, however, the thought again came to him that he was not yet a knight. He stopped eating. The last poor morsel of fish was left untouched on the table before him. His appetite had left him.

“Alas! alas!” he groaned. “I cannot lawfully ride out on any adventure until I have been dubbed a knight. I must see to this business at once.”

He arose and beckoned to the innkeeper to follow him to the barn. “I have something to say to you,” he whispered.

“Your steed, Sir Knight,” said the innkeeper, “has already had his oats. I assure you he will be well taken care of.”

“It is not of the steed that I wish to speak,” answered Don Quixote; and he carefully shut the door behind them.

Then falling at the innkeeper’s feet, he cried, “Sir, I shall never rise from this place till you have promised to grant the boon which I am about to beg of you.”

The innkeeper did not know what to do. He tried to raise the poor man up, but he could not. At last he said, “I promise. Name the boon which you wish, and I will give it to you.”

“Oh, noble sir,” answered Don Quixote, “I knew you would not refuse me. The boon which I beg is this: Allow me to watch my armor in the chapel of your castle tonight, and then in the morning — oh, in the morning — “

“And what shall I do in the morning?” asked the innkeeper.

“Kind sir,” he answered, “do this: Bestow on me the honor of knighthood. For I long to ride through every corner of the earth in quest of adventures; and this I cannot do until after I have been dubbed a knight.”

The innkeeper smiled, and his eyes twinkled. For he was a right jolly fellow, and he saw that here was a chance for some merry sport.

“Certainly, certainly,” he said, right kindly. “You are well worthy to be a knight, and I honor you for choosing so noble a calling. Arise, and I will do all that you ask of me.”

“I thank you,” said Don Quixote. “Now lead me to your chapel. I will watch my armor there, as many a true and worthy knight has done in the days of yore.”

“I would gladly lead you thither,” said the innkeeper, but at the present time there is no chapel in my castle. It will do just as well, however, to watch your armor in some other convenient place. Many of the greatest knights have done this when there was no chapel to be found.”

“Noble sir, I believe you are right,” said Don Quixote. “I have read of their doing so. And since you have no chapel, I shall be content with any place.”

“Then bring your armor into the courtyard of my castle,” said the innkeeper. “Guard it bravely until morning, and at sunrise I will dub you a knight.”

“I thank you, noble sir,” said Don Quixote. “I will bring the armor at once.”

“But stop!” cried the innkeeper. “Have you any money?”

“Not a penny,” was the answer. “I have never read of any knight carrying money with him.”

“Oh, well, you are mistaken there,” said the innkeeper. “The books you have read may not say anything about it. But that is because the authors never thought it worth while to write about such common things as money and clean shirts and the like.”

“Have you any proof of that?”

“Most certainly I have. I know quite well that every knight had his purse stuffed full of money. Everyone, also, carried some clean shirts and a small box of salve for the healing of wounds.”

“It does look reasonable,” agreed Don Quixote, “but I never thought of it.”

“Then let me advise you as a father advises his son,” said the innkeeper. “As soon as you have been made a knight, ride homeward and provide yourself with these necessary articles.”

“I will obey you, most noble sir,” answered Don Quixote.

He then made haste and got his armor together. He carried it to the barnyard and laid it in a horse trough by the well.

The evening was now well gone, and it was growing dark. Don Quixote took his shield upon his left arm. He grasped his long lance in his right hand. Then he began to pace to and fro across the barnyard. He held his head high, like a soldier on duty; and the old patched helmet, falling down over his face, gave him a droll if not fearful appearance.

The full moon rose, bright and clear. The barnyard was lighted up, almost as by day. The innkeeper and his guests stood at the windows of the inn, and watched to see what would happen.

Presently a mule driver came into the yard to water his mules. He saw something lying in the trough, and was stooping to take it out before drawing water from the well. But at that moment Don Quixote rushed upon him.

“Stop, rash knight!” he cried. “Touch not those arms. They are the arms of the bravest man that ever lived. Touch them not, or instant death shall be your doom.”

The mule driver was a dull fellow and very slow. He but dimly understood what was said to him, and so paid no attention to the warning. He laid hold of the coat of mail and threw it upon the ground.

“O my lady Dulcinea! Help me in this first trial of my valor!” cried Don Quixote.

At the same moment he lifted his lance with both hands and gave the mule driver a thrust which laid him flat in the dust of the barnyard.

Another such knock would have put an end to the poor fellow. But Don Quixote was too brave to think of striking a fallen foe.

He picked up the coat of mail and laid it again in the horse trough. Then he went on, walking back and forth as though nothing had happened.

The poor mule driver lay senseless by the side of the trough. The innkeeper and his friends still watched from the inn.

“He is a hard-headed fellow,” said one. “He is used to rough knocks, and will soon recover.”

In a few moments a noisy wagoner drove into the barnyard. He took his team quite close to the trough. Then he began to clear it out in order to give water to his horses.

Don Quixote, however, was ready for him. He said not a word, but lifted his lance and hurled it at the wagoner’s head. It is a wonder that the fellow’s skull was not broken.

The wagoner fell to the ground, yelling most grievously. The people in the inn were frightened, and all ran quickly to the barnyard to put an end to the rough sport.

When Don Quixote saw them coming, he braced himself on his shield and drew his sword.

“O my Dulcinea, thou queen of beauty!” he cried. “Now give strength to my arm and courage to my beating heart.”

He felt brave enough to fight all the wagoners and mule drivers in the world. But just then several of the wagoner’s friends came running into the barnyard, and each began to throw stones at Don Quixote.

The stones fell in a shower about his head, and he was forced to shelter himself under his shield. Yet he stood bravely at his post, and nothing could make him abandon his arms.

“Fling on!” he cried. “Do your worst. I dare you to come within my reach.”

He spoke with such fierceness that every man shrank back in fear. Some took refuge in the barn, but kept on throwing stones.

“Let him alone,” cried the innkeeper. “He is a harmless fellow who wishes to become a knight. He has lost his senses through too much reading. Come away and leave him in peace.”

The men stopped throwing stones. Don Quixote put down his shield and began again to pace back and forth between the horse trough and the barn. He allowed the servants to carry away the wounded wagoner and the unconscious mule driver; but he glared at them so fiercely that they were glad to be out of his reach.

The innkeeper began to think that he had carried the sport far enough. He was afraid that more and worse mischief might be done. So he spoke right gently to Don Quixote:—

“Brave sir, you have done nobly. You have guarded your armor with courage. You have shown yourself worthy of knighthood, and I will give you that honor without further delay.”

“But it is not yet daybreak,” answered Don Quixote. “I must guard my armor till the dawn appears.”

“It is not at all necessary,” said the innkeeper. “I have read of some very famous knights who stood guard only two hours; and you have watched for more than four hours although beset by many foes.”

“Time flies swiftly when one is doing his duty,” said Don Quixote. “The brave man is bravest when he curbs his anger; but if I am again attacked, I shall not be able to restrain my fury. Not a man in this castle shall be left alive unless it be to please you.”

“You shall not be attacked,” said the innkeeper. “You have guarded your armor quite long enough, and I will make you a knight at once, if you are willing.”

“Nothing can please me better,” answered Don Quixote; and he laid his lance gently down by the side of his armor.

The innkeeper, thereupon, called to his guests and servants to come and see the ceremony. A book was brought to him in which he kept his accounts of hay and straw. He opened it with much dignity while Don Quixote stood with closed eyes beside his armor.

The women of the inn gathered in a circle about them. A boy held a piece of lighted candle, while the innkeeper pretended to read a chapter from the book.

The reading being finished, Don Quixote knelt down in the dust of the barnyard. The innkeeper stood over him and mumbled some words without meaning. He gave him a blow on the neck with his hand. Then he slapped him on the back with the flat of his sword.

“Arise, Sir Knight,” he said. “Thou are Don Quixote de la Mancha, the most valorous of men. Be brave, be brave, be always brave.”

Don Quixote arose, feeling that he was now in truth a knight and ready to do valorous deeds.

One of the women handed him his sword. “May your worship be a lucky knight,” she said.

Another arranged the green ribbons which held his helmet in place. “May you prosper, brave sir, wherever you go,” she said.

Don Quixote threw his arms around the innkeeper’s neck and thanked him. He could not rest until he had done some gallant deed. So he sat up all the rest of the night, polishing his armor and thinking impatiently of the morrow.

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Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children Chapter 1: Getting Ready for Adventures

Chapter 1: Getting Ready for Adventures

Many years ago there lived in Spain a very old-fashioned gentleman whom you would have been glad to know. This gentleman had so many odd ways and did so many strange things that he not only amused his neighbors and distressed his friends, but made himself famous throughout the world.

What his real name was, no one outside of his village seemed to know. Some said it was this, some said it was that; but his neighbors called him “the good Mr. Quixana,” and no doubt this was correct.

He was gentle and kind, and very brave; and all who knew him loved him. He had neither wife nor child. He lived with his niece in his own farmhouse close by a quiet little village in the province of La Mancha.

His niece was not yet twenty years of age. So the house was kept and managed by an old servant woman who was more wrinkled than wise and more talkative than handsome. A poor man who lived in a cottage near by was employed to do the work on the farm; and he did so well that the master had much leisure time and was troubled but little with the cares of business.

Mr. Quixana was rather odd in his appearance and dress, as all old-fashioned gentlemen are apt to be.

He was more than fifty years of age, and quite tall and slender. His face was thin, his nose was long, his hair was turning gray.

He dressed very plainly. On week days he wore a coarse blouse and blue trousers of homespun stuff. On Sundays, however, he put on a plush coat and short velvet breeches and soft slippers with silver buckles.

In the hallway of his old-fashioned house a short, rusty sword was always hanging; and leaning against the wall were a rusty lance and a big rawhide shield. These weapons had belonged to his great-grandfather, long ago, when men knew but little about guns and gunpowder.

On the kitchen doorstep an old greyhound was always lying. This dog was very lean and slender, and his hunting days had long been past. But all old-fashioned gentlemen kept greyhounds in those days.

In the barn there was a horse as old and as lean as the greyhound. But of this horse I will tell you much more in the course of my story.

Like many other gentlemen, Mr. Quixana did not work much. He spent almost all his time in reading, reading, reading.

He was seldom seen without a book in his hand. When the weather was fine he would sit in his little library, or under the apple trees in his garden, and read all day.

He often forgot to come to his meals. He was so wrapped up in his books that he forgot his horse, his dog, and even his niece. He forgot his friends; he forgot himself. Sometimes he sat up and read all night.

Now, what kind of books do you suppose he read?

He read no histories nor books of travel. He cared nothing for poetry or philosophy. His whole mind was given to stories — stories of knights and their daring deeds.

He read so many of these stories that he could not think of anything else. His head was full of knights and knightly deeds, of magic and witchcraft, of tournaments and battlefields.

If he had read less, he would have been wiser; for much reading does not always improve the mind.

At length this old-fashioned gentleman said to himself, “Why should I always be a plain farmer and sit here at home? Why may I not become a famous knight?”

The more he thought about this matter the more he wished to be a hero like those of whom he had read in his books.

“Yes, I will be a knight,” he said to himself. “My mind is fully made up. I will arm myself in a coat of mail, I will mount my noble steed, I will ride out into the world and seek adventures.

“No danger shall affright me. With my strong arm I will go forth to protect the weak and to befriend the friendless. Yes, I will be a knight, and I will fight against error wherever I find it.”

So he began at once to get ready for his great undertaking.

The first thing to be done was to find some suitable armor. For what knight ever rode out into the world without being incased in steel?

In the garret of his house there was an old coat of mail. It had lain there among the dust and cobwebs for a hundred years and more. It was rusted and battered, and some of the parts were missing. It was a poor piece of work at the very best.

But he cleaned it as well as he could, and polished it with great care. He cut some pieces of pasteboard to supply the missing parts, and painted them to look like steel. When they were properly fitted, they answered very well, especially when no fighting was to be done.

With the coat of mail there was an old brass helmet. It, too, was broken, and the straps for holding it on were lost. But Mr. Quixana patched it up and found some green ribbons which served instead of straps. As he held it up and looked at it from every side, he felt very proud to think that his head would be adorned with so rare a piece of workmanship.

And now a steed must be provided; for every knight must needs have a noble horse.

The poor old creature in the barn was gaunt and thin and very bony; but he was just the stuff for a war horse, wiry and very stubborn. As the old-fashioned gentleman looked at him he fancied that no steed had ever been so beautiful or so swift.

“He will carry me most gallantly,” he said, “and I shall be proud of him. But what shall I call him? A horse that is ridden by a noble knight must needs have an honorable and high-sounding name.”

So he spent four days in studying what he should call his steed.

At last he said, “I have it. His name shall be Rozinante.”

“And why do you give him that strange name?” asked the niece.

“I will tell you,” he answered. “The word rozin means ‘common horse,’ and the word ante is good Latin for ‘before’ or ‘formerly.’ Now if I call my gallant steed ‘Formerly-a-Common-Horse,’ the meaning is plain; for everybody will understand that he is now no longer common, but very uncommon. Do you see? So his name shall be Rozinante.”

Then he patted the horse lovingly, and gently repeated, “Rozinante! Rozinante!”

He thought that if he could only find as good a name for himself, he would feel like riding out and beginning his adventures at once. For what more could he need?

“Every knight,” he said, “has the right to put Don at the beginning of his name; for that is a title of honor and respect. Now, I shall call myself Don—Don—Don something; but what shall it be?”

He studied this question for eight days. Then a happy thought came into his mind.

“I will call myself Don Quixote,” he cried; “and since my home is in the district of La Mancha, I shall be known throughout the world as Don Quixote de la Mancha. What name is more noble than that? What title can be more honorable?”

The name was indeed not very different from his real name. For have we not said that his neighbors called him Quixana?

The good old gentleman had now mended and polished his armor and found new names for himself and his steed. He felt himself well equipped for adventures. But suddenly the thought came to him that still another thing must be settled before he could ride out and do battle as a real and true knight.

In all the stories he had read, every hero who was worthy of knighthood had claims to some fair lady whom he invoked in time of peril, and to whom he brought the prizes which he had won. It was at her feet that the knight must kneel at the end of every quest. It was from her that he must receive the victor’s crown. To him, therefore, a lady friend was as necessary as a steed or a suit of armor.

Now Don Quixote was not acquainted with many ladies, but he felt that, as a knight, he must center his thoughts upon someone who would be his guiding star as he went faring through the world.

Who should it be?

This question troubled him more than any other had done. He sat in his house for two whole weeks, and thought of nothing else.

How would his niece do?

Well, she was very young, and he was her uncle. In all the books in his library there was no account of a knight kneeling at the feet of his own niece. She was not to be thought of.

As for his housekeeper, she was too old and homely. He could never think of doing homage to one in her humble station.

At length he remembered a handsome, red-cheeked maiden who lived in or near the village of Toboso. Her name was Adonza Lorenzo, and many years ago she had smiled at him as he was passing her on the road. He had not seen her since she had grown up, but she must now be the most charming of womankind. He fancied that no lady in the world was better fitted to receive his knightly homage.

“Adonza Lorenzo it shall be!” he cried, rubbing his hands together.

But what a name! How would it sound when coupled with that of the valorous Don Quixote de la Mancha? Surely it was too common, and she must have a title more like that of a princess. What should it be?

He studied over this for many days, and at last hit upon a name which pleased him much.

“It shall be Dulcinea,” he cried. “It shall be Dulcinea del Toboso. No other name is so sweet, so harmonious, so like the lady herself.”

Thus, after weeks of labor and study, Don Quixote de la Mancha at length felt himself prepared to ride forth into the world to seek adventures. He waited only for a suitable opportunity to put his cherished plans into action.

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