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By some terrible mischance； the signal was
misunderstood。 The men took it for the signal
to charge。 Without a moment's pause； straight
up the slope； they charged on the run； cheering
as they ran。
Some were killed by the spears that were
thrown from the cliffs； before they had gone
half way； some were stabbed as they reached
the crest； and hurled backward from the precipice；
two or three got to the top； and fought
hand to hand with the Hillsmen。 They were
outnumbered； seven to one； but when the last
of the English soldiers lay dead； twice their
number of Hillsmen lay dead around them！
When the relief party reached the spot； later
in the day； they found the bodies of their
comrades； full of wounds； huddled over and in the
barricade； or crushed on the rocks below。
They were mutilated and battered； and bore
every sign of the terrible struggle。 BUT ROUND
BOTH WRISTS OF EVERY BRITISH SOLDIER WAS BOUND
THE RED THREAD！
The Hillsmen had paid greater honour to
their heroic foes than to the bravest of their
own brave dead。
Another instance is the short poem； which；
while being perfectly simple； is rich in suggestion
of more than the young child will see for
himself。 The following example shows the
working out of details in order to provide a
satisfactorily rounded story。
THE ELF AND THE DORMOUSE＇1＇
＇1＇ Adapted from The Elf and the Dormouse； by Oliver
Herford； in A Treasury of Verse for Little Children。
（Harrap。 1s。 net。）
Once upon a time a dormouse lived in the
wood with his mother。 She had made a snug
little nest； but Sleepy…head； as she called her
little mousie； loved to roam about among the
grass and fallen leaves； and it was a hard task
to keep him at home。 One day the mother went
off as usual to look for food； leaving Sleepy…
head curled up comfortably in a corner of
the nest。 〃He will lie there safely till I
come back；〃 she thought。 Presently； however；
Sleepy…head opened his eyes and thought he
would like to take a walk out in the fresh
air。 So he crept out of the nest and through
the long grass that nodded over the hole in
the bank。 He ran here and he ran there； stopping
again an again to cock his little ears for
sound of any creeping thing that might be close
at hand。 His little fur coat was soft and silky
as velvet。 Mother had licked it clean before
starting her day's work； you may be sure。 As
Sleepy…head moved from place to place his long
tail swayed from side to side and tickled the
daisies so that they could not hold themselves
still for laughing。
Presently something very cold fell on Sleepy…
head's nose。 What could it be？ He put up
his little paw and dabbed at the place。 Then
the same thing happened to his tail。 He
whisked it quickly round to the front。 Ah； it
was raining！ Now Sleepy…head couldn't bear
rain； and he had got a long way from home。
What would mother say if his nice furry coat
got wet and draggled？ He crept under a bush；
but soon the rain found him out。 Then he ran
to a tree； but this was poor shelter。 He began
to think that he was in for a soaking when
what should he spy； a little distance off； but
a fine toadstool which stood bolt upright just
like an umbrella。 The next moment Sleepy…
head was crawling underneath the friendly
shelter。 He fixed himself up as snugly as he
could； with his little nose upon his paws and his
little tail curled round all； and before you could
count six； eight； ten； twenty； he was fast asleep。
Now it happened that Sleepy…head was not
the only creature that was caught by the rain
that morning in the wood。 A little elf had
been flitting about in search of fun or mischief；
and he； too； had got far from home when the
raindrops began to come pattering through the
leafy roof of the beautiful wood。 It would never
do to get his pretty wings wet； for he hated to
walkit was such slow work and； besides； he
might meet some big wretched animal that could
run faster than himself。 However； he was
beginning to think that there was no help for it；
when； on a sudden； there before him was the
toadstool； with Sleepy…head snug and dry underneath！
There was room for another little fellow；
thought the elf； and ere long he had safely
bestowed himself under the other half of the
toadstool； which was just like an umbrella。
Sleepy…head slept on； warm and comfortable
in his furry coat； and the elf began to feel
annoyed with him for being so happy。 He
was always a great mischief； and he could not
bear to sit still for long at a time。 Presently
he laughed a queer little laugh。 He had got
an idea！ Putting his two small arms round
the stem of the toadstool he tugged and he
pulled until； of a sudden； snap！ He had broken
the stem； and a moment later was soaring in air
safely sheltered under the toadstool； which he
held upright by its stem as he flew。
Sleepy…head had been dreaming； oh； so cosy
a dream！ It seemed to him that he had
discovered a storehouse filled with golden grain
and soft juicy nuts with little bunches of sweet…
smelling hay； where tired mousies might sleep
dull hours away。 He thought that he was
settled in the sweetest bunch of all； with
nothing in the world to disturb his nap； when
gradually he became aware that something had
happened。 He shook himself in his sleep and
settled down again； but the dream had altered。
He opened his eyes。 Rain was falling； pit…a…pat；
and he was without cover on a wet patch of
grass。 What could be the matter？ Sleepy…
head was now wide awake。 Said he；
〃DEAR ME； WHERE IS MY TOADSTOOL？〃
From these four instances we may； perhaps；
deduce certain general principles of adaptation
which have at least proved valuable to those
using them。
These are suggestions which the practised
story…teller will find trite。 But to others they
may prove a fair foundation on which to build
a personal method to be developed by experience。
I have given them a tabular arrangement below。
The preliminary step in all cases is
Analysis of the Story。
The aim； then； is
to REDUCE a long story or to AMPLIFY a short one。
For the first； the need is
ELIMINATION of secondary threads of narrative；
extra personages；
description；
irrelevant events。
For the second； the great need is of
Realising Imagination。
For both； it is desirable to keep
Close Logical Sequence；
Single Point of View；
Simple Language；
The Point at the End
CHAPTER IV
HOW TO TELL THE STORY
Selection； and； if necessary； adaptationthese
are the preliminaries to the act of telling。 That；
after all； is the real test of one's power。 That
is the real joy； when achieved； the real bugbear；
when dreaded。 And that is the subject of this
chapter； 〃How to tell a story。〃
How to tell a story： it is a short question
which demands a long answer。 The right
beginning of the answer depends on a right
conception of the thing the question is about； and
that naturally reverts to an earlier discussion of
the real nature of a story。 In that discussion it
was stated that a story is a work of art；a message；
as all works of art are。
To tell a story； then； is to pass on the message；
to share the work of art。 The message may be
merely one of humour；of nonsense； even；
works of art range all the way from the 〃Victory〃
to a 〃Dresden Shepherdess；〃 from an
〃Assumption〃 to a 〃Broken Pitcher；〃 and
farther。 Each has its own place。 But whatever
its quality； the story…teller is the passer…on； the
interpreter； the transmitter。 He comes bringing
a gift。 Always he gives； always he bears a
message。
This granted； the first demand of the story…
teller is not far to seek。 No one can repeat a
message he has not heard； or interpret what he
does not understand。 You cannot give； unless
you first possess。 The first demand of the story…
teller is that he possess。 He must FEEL the
story。 Whatever the particular quality and
appeal of the work of art； from the lightest to
the grandest emotion or thought； he must have
responded to it； grasped it； felt it intimately；
before he can give it out again。 Listen； humbly；
for the message。
I realise that this has an incongruous sound；
when applied to such stories as that of the little
pig at the stile or of the greedy cat who ate up
man and beast。 But； believe me； it does
apply even to those。 For the transmittable
thing in a story is the identifying essence； the
characterising savour； the peculiar quality and
point of view of the humour； pathos； or interest。
Every tale which claims a place in good fiction
has this identifying savour and quality； each
different from every other。 The laugh which
echoes one of Seumas McManus's rigmaroles is
not the c