Good Cheer Stories Every Child Should Know | Page 6

tart, which found itself shut up in an immense earthen pot.
Thirty huge mouths, which were connected with thousands of winding
pipes for conducting heat all over the building, were soon choked with
fuel, by the help of two hundred charcoal burners, who, obeying a
private signal, came forth in long array from the forest, each carrying
his sack of coal. Behind them stood Mother Mitchel with a box of
matches, ready to fire each oven as it was filled. Of course the
kindlings had not been forgotten, and was all soon in a blaze.
When the fire was lighted in the thirty ovens, when they saw the clouds
of smoke rolling above the dome, that announced that the cooking had
begun, the joy of the people was boundless. Poets improvised odes, and
musicians sung verses without end, in honour of the superb prince who
had been inspired to feed his people in so dainty a manner, when other
rulers could not give them enough even of dry bread. The names of
Mother Mitchel and of the illustrious engineer were not forgotten in
this great glorification. Next to His Majesty, they were certainly the
first of mankind, and their names were worthy of going down with his
to the remotest posterity.
All the envious ones were thunderstruck. They tried to console
themselves by saying that the work was not yet finished, and that an
accident might happen at the last moment. But they did not really
believe a word of this. Notwithstanding all their efforts to look cheerful,
it had to be acknowledged that the cooking was possible. Their last
resource was to declare the tart a bad one, but that would be biting off
their own noses. As for declining to eat it, envy could never go so far as
that in the country of the Greedy.
After two days, the unerring nose of Mother Mitchel discovered that
the tart was cooked to perfection. The whole country was perfumed
with its delicious aroma. Nothing more remained but to take down the
furnaces. Mother Mitchel made her official announcement to His
Majesty, who was delighted, and complimented her upon her
punctuality. One day was still wanting to complete the month. During
this time the people gave their eager help to the engineer in the
demolition, wishing to have a hand in the great national work and to

hasten the blessed moment. In the twinkling of an eye the thing was
done. The bricks were taken down one by one, counted carefully, and
carried into the forest again, to serve for another occasion.
The TART, unveiled, appeared at last in all its majesty and splendour.
The dome was gilded, and reflected the rays of the sun in the most
dazzling manner. The wildest excitement and rapture ran through the
land of the Greedy. Each one sniffed with open nostrils the appetizing
perfume. Their mouths watered, their eyes filled with tears, they
embraced, pressed each other's hands, and indulged in touching
pantomimes. Then the people of town and country, united by one
rapturous feeling, joined hands, and danced in a ring around the grand
confection.
No one dared to touch the tart before the arrival of His Majesty.
Meanwhile, something must be done to allay the universal impatience,
and they resolved to show Mother Mitchel the gratitude with which all
hearts were filled. She was crowned with the laurel of conquerors,
which is also the laurel of sauce, thus serving a double purpose. Then
they placed her, with her crutch and her cat, upon a sort of throne, and
carried her all round her vast work. Before her marched all the
musicians of the town, dancing, drumming, fifing, and tooting upon all
instruments, while behind her pressed an enthusiastic crowd, who rent
the air with their plaudits and filled it with a shower of caps. Her fame
was complete, and a noble pride shone on her countenance.
The royal procession arrived. A grand stairway had been built, so that
the King and his ministers could mount to the summit of this
monumental tart. Thence the King, amid a deep silence, thus addressed
his people:
"My children," said he, "you adore tarts. You despise all other food. If
you could, you would even eat tarts in your sleep. Very well. Eat as
much as you like. Here is one big enough to satisfy you. But know this,
that while there remains a single crumb of this august tart, from the
height of which I am proud to look down on you, all other food is
forbidden you on pain of death. While you are here, I have ordered all
the pantries to be emptied, and all the butchers, bakers, pork and milk

dealers, and fishmongers to shut up their shops. Why leave them open?
Why