Good Cheer Stories Every Child Should Know | Page 8

Those ministers who had not guessed the secret dared not open
their lips. All the city was one vast hospital. No one was seen in the
streets but doctors and apothecaries' boys, running from house to house
in frantic haste. It was dreadful! Doctor Olibriers was nearly knocked
out. As for the King, he held his tongue and shut himself up in his
palace, but a secret joy shone in his eyes, to the wonder of every one.
He waited three days without a word.
The third day, the King said to his ministers:
"Let us go now and see how my poor people are doing, and feel their
pulse a little."
The good King went to every house, without forgetting a single one. He
visited small and great, rich and poor.
"Oh, oh! Your Majesty," said all, "the tart was good, but may we never
see it again! Plague on that tart! Better were dry bread. Your Majesty,
for mercy's sake, a little dry bread! Oh, a morsel of dry bread, how
good it would be!"
"No, indeed," replied the King. "There is more of that tart!"
"What! Your Majesty, must we eat it all?"

"You must!" sternly replied the King; "you MUST! By the immortal
beefsteaks! not one of you shall have a slice of bread, and not a loaf
shall be baked in the kingdom while there remains a crumb of that
excellent tart!"
"What misery!" thought these poor people. "That tart forever!"
The sufferers were in despair. There was only one cry through all the
town: "Ow! ow! ow!" For even the strongest and most courageous were
in horrible agonies. They twisted, they writhed, they lay down, they got
up. Always the inexorable colic. The dogs were not happier than their
masters; even they had too much tart.
The spiteful tart looked in at all the windows. Built upon a height, it
commanded the town. The mere sight of it made everybody ill, and its
former admirers had nothing but curses for it now. Unhappily, nothing
they could say or do made it any smaller; still formidable, it was a
frightful joke for those miserable mortals. Most of them buried their
heads in their pillows, drew their nightcaps over their eyes, and lay in
bed all day to shut out the sight of it. But this would not do; they knew,
they felt it was there. It was a nightmare, a horrible burden, a torturing
anxiety.
In the midst of this terrible consternation the King remained inexorable
during eight days. His heart bled for his people, but the lesson must
sink deep if it were to bear fruit in future. When their pains were cured,
little by little, through fasting alone, and his subjects pronounced these
trembling words, "We are hungry!" the King sent them trays laden
with--the inevitable tart.
"Ah!" cried they, with anguish, "the tart again! Always the tart, and
nothing but the tart! Better were death!"
A few, who were almost famished, shut their eyes, and tried to eat a bit
of the detested food; but it was all in vain--they could not swallow a
mouthful.
At length came the happy day when the King, thinking their

punishment had been severe enough and could never be forgotten,
believed them at length cured of their greediness. That day he ordered
Mother Mitchel to make in one of her colossal pots a super-excellent
soup of which a bowl was sent to every family. They received it with as
much rapture as the Hebrews did the manna in the desert. They would
gladly have had twice as much, but after their long fast it would not
have been prudent. It was a proof that they had learned something
already, that they understood this.
The next day, more soup. This time the King allowed slices of bread in
it. How this good soup comforted all the town! The next day there was
a little more bread in it and a little soup meat. Then for a few days the
kind Prince gave them roast beef and vegetables. The cure was
complete.
The joy over this new diet was as great as ever had been felt for the tart.
It promised to last longer. They were sure to sleep soundly, and to
wake refreshed. It was pleasant to see in every house tables surrounded
with happy, rosy faces, and laden with good nourishing food.
The Greedy people never fell back into their old ways. Their once
puffed-out, sallow faces shone with health; they became, not fat, but
muscular, ruddy, and solid. The butchers and bakers reopened their
shops; the pastry cooks and confectioners shut theirs. The country of
the Greedy was turned upside down, and if it kept its name, it was only
from habit. As for the tart, it