Short-Stories | Page 8

an American_,

Chapters

1, 7, and Jacob Riis.
Myths of Northern Lands. Guerber.
_Synnove Solbakken_, Björnson.
_A Happy Boy_, Björnson.
_The Fisher Maiden_, Björnson.
_The Bridal March_, Björnson.
_Magnhild_, Björnson.
_A Dangerous Wooing_, Björnson.
_The Eagle's Nest_, Björnson.
_The Bear Hunter_, Björnson.
_Master and Man_, Leo Tolstoi.
_The Doll's House_, Henrik Ibsen.
_The Minister's Black Veil_, Nathaniel Hawthorne.
_The Ambitious Guest_, Nathaniel Hawthorne.
_The Beeman of Orn_, Frank R. Stockton.
_A Branch Road_, Hamlin Garland.
_Mateo Falcone_, Prosper Mérimée.
_The Death of the Dauphin_, Alphonse Dadoed.
_The Birds' Christmas Carol_, Kate Douglas Wiggin.
_Tennessee's Partner_, Bret Harte.

THE GRIFFIN AND THE MINOR CANAAN[1]
_By Frank R. Stockton (1834-1902)_
Over the great door of an old, old church which stood in a quiet town of
a far-away land there was carved in stone the figure of a large griffin.
The old-time sculptor had done his work with great care, but the image
he had made was not a pleasant one to look at. It had a large head, with
enormous open mouth and savage teeth; from its back arose great
wings, armed with sharp hooks and prongs; it had stout legs in front,
with projecting claws; but there were no legs behind,--the body running
out into a long and powerful tail, finished off at the end with a barbed
point. This tail was coiled up under him, the end sticking up just back
of his wings.
The sculptor, or the people who had ordered this stone figure, had
evidently been very much pleased with it, for little copies of it, also in
stone, had been placed here and there along the sides of the church, not
very far from the ground, so that people could easily look at them, and
ponder on their curious forms. There were a great many other
sculptures on the outside of this church,--saints, martyrs, grotesque
heads of men, beasts, and birds, as well as those of other creatures
which cannot be named, because nobody knows exactly what they were;
but none were so curious and interesting as the great griffin over the
door, and the little griffins on the sides of the church.
A long, long distance from the town, in the midst of dreadful wilds
scarcely known to man, there dwelt the Griffin whose image had been
put up over the churchgoer. In some way or other, the old-time sculptor
had seen him, and afterward, to the best of his memory, had copied his
figure in stone. The Griffin had never known this, until, hundreds of
years afterward, he heard from a bird, from a wild animal, or in some
manner which it is not now easy to find out, that there was a likeness of
him on the old church in the distant town. Now this Griffin had no idea
how he looked. He had never seen a mirror, and the streams where he
lived were so turbulent and violent that a quiet piece of water, which
would reflect the image of anything looking into it, could not be found.
Being, as far as could be ascertained, the very last of his race, he had
never seen another griffin. Therefore it was, that, when he heard of this
stone image of himself, he became very anxious to know what he
looked like, and at last he determined to go to the old church, and see

for himself what manner of being he was. So he started off from the
dreadful wilds, and flew on and on until he came to the countries
inhabited by men, where his appearance in the air created great
consternation; but he alighted nowhere, keeping up a steady flight until
he reached the suburbs of the town which had his image on its church.
Here, late in the afternoon, he alighted in a green meadow by the side
of a brook, and stretched himself on the grass to rest. His great wings
were tired, for he had not made such a long flight in a century, or more.
The news of his coming spread quickly over the town, and the people,
frightened nearly out of their wits by the arrival of so extraordinary a
visitor, fled into their houses, and shut themselves up. The Griffin
called loudly for some one to come to him, but the more he called, the
more afraid the people were to show themselves. At length he saw two
laborers hurrying to their homes through the fields, and in a terrible
voice he commanded them to stop. Not daring to disobey, the men
stood, trembling.
"What is the matter with you all?" cried the Griffin. "Is there not a man
in your town who is brave enough to speak to me?"
"I think," said one of the laborers, his voice shaking so that his words
could hardly be