ey saw a pair of most beautiful
bracelets of precious stones, dark red, and made in the shape of a ripe
raspberry and with an inscription: 'To Lisa and Aina'; beside them there
was a diamond breast pin in the shape of a raspberry worm: on it was
inscribed 'Otto, never destroy the helpless!'

Otto felt rather ashamed: he quite understood what it meant, but he
thought that the old man's revenge was a noble one.

The raspberry king had also remembered the big sister, for when she went
in to set the table for dinner, she found eleven big baskets of most
beautiful raspberries, and no one knew how they had come there, but
everyone guessed.

And so there was such a jam-making as had never been seen before, and if
you like to go and help in it, you might perhaps get a little, for they
must surely be making jam still to this very day.

From Z. Topelius.

The Stones of Plouhinec

Perhaps some of you may have read a book called 'Kenneth; or the
Rear-Guard of the Grand Army' of Napoleon. If so, you will remember how
the two Scotch children found in Russia were taken care of by the
French soldiers and prevented as far as possible from suffering from the
horrors of the terrible Retreat. One of the soldiers, a Breton, often
tried to make them forget how cold and hungry they were by telling
them tales of his native country, Brittany, which is full of wonderful
things. The best and warmest place round the camp fire was always
given to the children, but even so the bitter frost would cause them to
shiver. It was then that the Breton would begin: 'Plouhinec is a small
town near Hennebonne by the sea,' and would continue until Kenneth or
Effie would interrupt him with an eager question. Then he forgot how his
mother had told him the tale, and was obliged to begin all over again,
so the story lasted a long while, and by the time it was ended the
children were ready to be rolled up in what ever coverings could be
found, and go to sleep. It is this story that I am going to tell to you.

Plouhinec is a small town near Hennebonne by the sea. Around it
stretches a desolate moor, where no corn can be grown, and the grass is
so coarse that no beast grows fat on it. Here and there are scattered
groves of fir trees, and small pebbles are so thick on the ground that
you might almost take it for a beach. On the further side, the fairies,
or korigans, as the people called them, had set up long long ago two
rows of huge stones; indeed, s