Bedtime Tale: The Water Babies Ch 1/Part 3

Enjoy this bedtime tale to help you drift off into a peaceful slumber. Tonight we read Chapter 1/Part 3 of the classic, The Water Babies, by Charles Kingsley. This reading describes Tom exploring the world around him. This audio is perfect for children or adults who want to relax, discover magic, or find adventure before a great night's sleep.

Transcript

The Water Babies.

A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby by Charles Kingsley.

Chapter 1,

Part 3.

And there he was,

Out on the great grouse moors,

Which the country folk called Hearthover Fell,

Heather and bog and rock,

Stretching away and up,

Up to the very sky.

Now,

Tom was a cunning little fellow,

As cunning as an old Exmoor stag.

Why not?

Though he was but ten years old,

He had lived longer than most stags,

And had more wits to start with into the bargain.

He knew as well as a stag that if he backed,

He might throw the hounds out.

So the first thing he did when he was over the wall was to make the neatest double sharp to his right,

And run along the wall for nearly half a mile.

Whereby Sir John,

And the keeper,

And the steward,

And the gardener,

And the ploughman,

And the dairymaid,

And all of the hew and cry together,

Went on ahead half a mile in the very opposite direction,

And inside the wall,

Leaving him a mile off on the outside.

While Tom heard their shouts die away in the woods,

And chuckled to himself merrily,

At last he came to a dip in the land,

And went to the bottom of it,

And then he turned bravely away from the wall,

And up the moor.

For he knew that he had put a hill between him and his enemies,

And could go on without their seeing him.

But the Irishwoman,

Alone of them all,

Had seen which way Tom went.

She had kept ahead of everyone the whole time,

And yet she neither walked nor ran.

She went along quite smoothly and gracefully,

While her feet twinkled past each other so fast that you could not see which was foremost,

Till everyone asked the other one where the strange woman was,

And all agreed,

For want of anything better to say,

That she must be in league with Tom.

But when she came to the plantation,

They lost sight of her,

And they could do no less,

For she went quietly over the wall after Tom,

And followed him wherever he went.

Sir John and the rest saw no more of her,

And out of sight was out of mind.

And now Tom was right away into the heather,

Over just such a moor as those in which you've been bred,

Except that there were rocks and stones lying about everywhere,

And that,

Instead of the moor growing flat as he went upwards,

It grew more and more broken and hilly,

But not so rough that little Tom couldn't jog along well enough,

And find time to to stare about at the strange place,

Which was like a new world for him.

He saw great spiders there,

With crowns and crosses marked on their backs,

Who sat in the middle of their webs,

And when they saw Tom coming,

Shook them so fast that they became invisible.

Then he saw lizards,

Brown and gray and green,

And thought they were snakes,

And would sting him,

But they were as much as frightened as he,

And shot away into the heath.

And then,

Under a rock,

He saw a pretty sight,

A great brown sharp-nosed creature,

With a white tag to her brush,

And round her four or five smutty little cubs,

The funniest fellows Tom ever saw.

She lay on her back,

Rolling about,

And stretching out her legs and head and tail in the bright sunshine,

And the cubs jumped over her,

And ran round her,

And nibbled her paws,

And lugged her about by the tail,

And she seemed to enjoy it mightily.

But one selfish little fellow stole away from the rest to a dead crow close by,

And dragged it off to hide it,

Though it was nearly as big as he was,

Whereat all his little brothers set off after him in full cry,

And saw Tom,

And then all ran back,

And up jumped Miss Vixen,

And caught one up in her mouth,

And the rest toddled after her,

And into a dark crack in the rocks,

And there was an end of the show.

And next he had a fright,

For as he scrambled up a sandy brow,

Whir,

Poof,

Poof,

Cock,

Cock,

Kick,

Something went off in his face,

With a most horrid noise.

He thought the ground had blown up,

And the end of the world come.

And when he opened his eyes,

For he shut them very tight,

It was only an old cock grouse,

Who had been washing himself in sand like an Arab,

For want of water,

And who,

When Tom had all but trodden on him,

Jumped up with a noise like the express train,

Leaving his wife and children to shift for themselves,

Like an old coward,

And went off screaming,

Croc,

Croc,

Croc,

Murder,

Thieves,

Fire,

Croc,

Croc,

Cock,

Kick,

The end of the world has come,

Kick,

Kick,

Cock,

Kick.

He was always fancying that the end of the world was come,

When anything happened,

Which was farther off than the end of his own nose.

But the end of the world was not come,

Any more than the twelfth of August was,

Though the old grouse cock was quite certain of it.

So the old grouse came back to his wife and family an hour afterwards,

And said solemnly,

Cock,

Cock,

Kick,

My dears,

The end of the world has not come quite,

But I assure you it's coming the day after tomorrow,

Cock.

But his wife had heard that so often,

That she knew all about it and a little more.

And besides,

She was the mother of a family,

And had seven little poults to wash and feed each day.

And that made her very practical,

And a little sharp-tempered.

So all she answered was,

Kick,

Kick,

Kick,

Go and catch spiders,

Go and catch spiders,

Kick.

So Tom went on and on,

He hardly knew why.

But he liked the great wide strange place,

And the cool fresh bracing air.

But he went more and more slowly as he got higher up the hill,

For now the ground grew very bad indeed.

Instead of soft turf and springy heather,

He met great patches of flat limestone rock,

Just like ill-made pavements,

With deep cracks between the stones and ledges,

Filled with ferns.

So he had to hop from stone to stone,

And now and then he slipped in between,

And hurt his little bare toes,

Though they were tolerably tough ones.

But still he would go on and on and up,

He could not tell why.

What would Tom have said if he had seen,

Walking over the moor behind him,

The very same Irish woman who had taken his part upon the road.

But whether it was that he looked too little behind him,

Or whether it was that she kept out of sight behind the rocks and knolls,

He never saw her,

Though she saw him.

And now he began to get a little hungry,

And very thirsty,

For he had run a long way,

And the sun had risen high in heaven,

And the rock was as hot as an oven,

And the air danced reels over it,

As it does over the lime kiln,

Till everything round seemed quivering and melting in the glare.

But he could not see anything to eat anywhere,

And still less to drink.

The heath was full of bilberries and wimberries,

But they were only in flower yet,

For it was June.

And as for water,

Who can find that on top of a limestone rock?

Now and then he passed by a deep dark swallow hole,

Going down into the earth,

As if it was the chimney of some dwarf's house underground.

And more than once as he passed,

He could hear water falling,

Trickling,

Tinkling,

Many,

Many feet below.

How he longed to get down to it,

And cool his poor baked lips.

But brave little chimney sweep as he was,

He dared not climb down such chimneys as those.

So he went on and on,

Till his head spun round with the heat,

And he thought he heard church bells ringing a long way off.

Ah,

He thought,

Where there is a church,

There will be houses and people,

And perhaps someone will give me a bit and a sup.

So he set off again to look for the church,

For he was sure that he heard the bells quite plain.

And in a minute more,

When he looked round,

He stopped again and said,

Why,

What a big place the world is.

And so it was,

For from the top of the mountain he could see.

What could he not see?

Behind him,

Far below,

Was Hearthover,

And the dark woods,

And the shining Salmon River.

And on his left,

Far below,

Was the town,

And the smoking chimneys of the collieries.

And far,

Far away,

The river widened to the shining sea,

And little white specks,

Which were ships,

Lay on its bosom.

Before him lay,

Spread out like a map,

Great plains and farms and villages,

Amid dark knots of trees.

They all seemed at his very feet,

But he had sense to see that they were long miles away.

And to his right rose moor after moor,

Hill after hill,

Till they faded away,

Blue in the blue sky.

But between him and those moors,

And really at his very feet,

Lay something,

To which as soon as Tom saw it,

He determined to go.

For that was the place for him.

A deep,

Deep green and rocky valley,

Very narrow and filled with wood.

But through the wood,

Hundreds of feet below him,

He could see a clear stream glance.

Oh,

If he could get but down there to that stream.

Then by the stream he saw the roof of a little cottage,

And a little garden set out in squares and beds.

And there was a tiny little red thing moving in the garden,

No bigger than a fly.

As Tom looked down,

He saw that it was a woman in a red petticoat.

Ah,

Perhaps she would give him something to eat.

And there were the church bells ringing again.

Surely there must be a village down there.

Well,

Nobody would know him,

Or what have happened at the place.

The news could not have gotten there yet,

Even if Sir John had sent all the policemen in the county after him,

And he could get down there in five minutes.

Tom was quite right about the hue and cry not having got thither,

For he had come without knowing it,

The best part of ten miles from Hearthover.

But he was wrong about getting down there in five minutes,

For the cottage was more than a mile off,

And a good thousand feet below.

However,

Down he went,

Like a brave little man as he was,

Though he was very footsore,

And tired,

And hungry,

And thirsty.

While the church bells rang so loud,

He began to think that they must be inside his own head,

And the river chimed and tinkled far below.

And this was the song which is sang.

Clear and cool,

Clear and cool,

By laughing shallow and dreaming pool.

Cool and clear,

Cool and clear,

By shining shingle and foaming ware.

Under the crag where the oozle sings,

And the ivied wall where the church bell rings.

Undefiled,

For the undefiled,

Play by me,

Bathe in me,

Mother and child.

Dank and foul,

Dank and foul,

By the smoky town in its murky cowl.

Foul and dank,

Foul and dank,

By wharf and sewer and slimy bank.

Darker and darker the farther I go,

Baser and baser the richer I grow.

Who dares sport with this sin defiled?

Shrink from me,

Turn from me,

Mother and child.

Strong and free,

Strong and free,

The floodgates are open,

Away to the sea.

Free and strong,

Free and strong,

Cleansing my streams as I hurry along.

To the golden sands,

And the leaping bar,

And the taintless tide that awaits me afar.

As I lose myself in the infinite main,

Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again.

Undefiled,

For the undefiled,

Play by me,

Bathe in me,

Mother and child.

So Tom went down,

And all the while he never saw the Irishman going down behind him.

And that is the end of our story this evening.

Until next time,

Sweet dreams.

Reviews

Great finally heard the whole chapter after umpteen listens. Mad dreams to accompany the slumber. Same situation of busy REM sleep always. Extraordinary how busy my little brain is. Lots of issues going on. Family stuff. Jeez what an unexpected complicated family I have. How did that happen?!!! Such a surprise or words to that affect. Where is the love. What makes life so complicated. My generation were not allowed that ‘luxury’ which probably was a good thing. There’s a sense of entitlement which is new in my world and terrible blame. They fuck you up your parents do!!! That’s it. Get on with it now. That’s what my dreams are all about due to my inadequate motherhood of one daughter! My kids got the same treatment and one is just fine, the other isn’t. It’s heartbreaking and there is no end. The punishment is dealt and always will be I feel. It hurts. And I’m a bit scared.
I’ve said enough. I might come back and delete this.