My poor flowers are quite dead,” said little Ida, “they were so pretty yesterday evening, and now all the leaves are hanging down quite withered. What do they do that for,” she asked, of the student who sat on the sofa; she liked him very much, he could tell the most amusing stories, and cut out the prettiest pictures; hearts, and ladies dancing, castles with doors that opened, as well as flowers; he was a delightful student. “Why do the flowers look so faded to-day?” she asked again, and pointed to her nosegay, which was quite withered.

Once upon a time... in the middle of a thick forest stood a small cottage, the home of a pretty little girl known to everyone as Little Red Riding Hood. One day, her Mummy waved her goodbye at the garden gate, saying, 'Grandma is ill. Take her this basket of cakes, but be very careful. Keep to the path through the wood and don't ever stop. That way, you will come to no harm.'

Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl,
the prettiest creature that ever was seen. Her mother was very fond of
her, and her grandmother loved her still more. This good woman made for
her a little red riding-hood, which became the girl so well that
everybody called her Little Red Riding-hood.

Once upon a time there was a fagot-maker and his wife, who had seven
children, all boys. The eldest was but ten years old, and the youngest
only seven.

There was once a woman who wished very much to have a little child, but she could not obtain her wish. At last she went to a fairy, and said, “I should so very much like to have a little child; can you tell me where I can find one?”

“Oh, that can be easily managed,” said the fairy. “Here is a barleycorn of a different kind to those which grow in the farmer’s fields, and which the chickens eat; put it into a flower-pot, and see what will happen.”

Yes, they called him Little Tuk, but it was not his real name; he had called himself so before he could speak plainly, and he meant it for Charles. It was all very well for those who knew him, but not for strangers.

Once upon a time there lived Luck and Puck. Luck was Puck's wife. They had a daughter, who was beautiful but silly.
The time came and matchmakers came to their house. Luck saw them and said, "My daughter, the matchmakers have come to arrange a match for you! Take a jug and fetch some water. But be quick! Let the matchmakers see how quick and skilled you are!"

ON the principal street there stood a fine old-fashioned house; the wall about the court-yard had bits of glass worked into it, so that when the sun or moon shone, it was as if covered with diamonds. That was a sign of wealth, and there was wealth inside there; folks said that the merchant was a man who could just put away two barrels of gold in his best parlor; yes, could put a heap of gold-pieces, as a savings bank against the future, outside the door of the room where his little son was born.

Once upon a time there lived a peasant with his wife in a village. They had no children, and that is why their life was sad and joyless.
One day an old man with a long white beard knocked at their door. The peasant opened the door and let the old man in. The peasant's wife laid the dastarhan — a table¬cloth —with refreshments, brought a decorated tea-pot with aromatic green tea, a piala — a beautiful cup, and fresh, flat cakes of bread. The woman laid soft blankets on the sufu — a raised platform on the ground made from clay — and made the guest sit down there.
After the white-bearded old man had had tea and flat cakes, he thanked the hosts and said to them:
" Let your cherished wishes come true!"

Our Aunt

You ought to have known our aunt; she was charming! That is to say, she was not charming at all as the word is usually understood; but she was good and kind, amusing in her way, and was just as any one ought to be whom people are to talk about and to laugh at. She might have been put into a play, and wholly and solely on account of the fact that she only lived for the theatre and for what was done there. She was an honorable matron; but Agent Fabs, whom she used to call “Flabs,” declared that our aunt was stage-struck.