Atmospheric woodcuts illustrate this Newbery Award–winning collection of 19 South American folktales. Charles J. Finger heard the tales firsthand from native storytellers, whose fables of talking animals, witches, giants, and ordinary people in supernatural settings provide remarkable insights into regional values and culture. The first of the stories, "A Tale of Three Tails," tells of an age when the rat had a tail like a horse, the rabbit had a tail like a cat, and the deer's tail was plumed like the tail of a dog. "The Magic Dog" recounts an act of kindness to a stray animal that helps overcome a witch's curse. In "The Calabash Man," the creatures of the jungle assist a suitor in winning his bride, and in "El Enano," a greedy troll's insatiable appetite leads to his downfall. Packed with adventure and full of surprises, these and other stories emphasize the importance of hard work, courage, and loyalty. English author Charles J. Finger (1869–1941) traveled extensively, visiting Africa and South America before settling in Fayetteville, Arkansas. In addition to his 1925 Newbery Medal-winning Tales from Silver Lands, Finger's books include Bushrangers, Tales Worth Telling, Courageous Companions, A Dog at His Heel, and an autobiography, Seven Horizons. Tales from Silver Lands By Charles J. Finger, Paul Honoré Dover Publications, Inc. Copyright © 2017 Charles J. Finger All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-486-82093-4 Contents I A Tale of Three Tails, 1, II The Magic Dog, 14, III The Calabash Man, 23, IV Na-Ha the Fighter, 35, V The Humming-Bird and the Flower, 43, VI The Magic Ball, 48, VII El Enano, 59, VIII The Hero Twins, 69, IX The Four Hundred, 79, X The Killing of Cabrakan, 92, XI The Tale of the Gentle Folk, 99, XII The Tale that Cost a Dollar, 107, XIII The Magic Knot, 122, XIV The Bad Wishers, 134, XV The Hungry Old Witch, 143, XVI The Wonderful Mirror, 156, XVII The Tale of the Lazy People, 170, XVIII Rairu and the Star Maiden, 188, XIX The Cat and the Dream Man, 197, CHAPTER 1 TALES FROM SILVER LANDS A TALE OF THREE TAILS Down in Honduras there is a town called Pueblo de Chamelecon which is not much of a town after all. There is only one street in it, and the houses are like big beehives that have been squared up, and the roofs are of straw. There is no sidewalk, no roadway, and the houses are unfenced, so that you step from the room into the sandy street and, because of the heat, when you are inside you wish that you were out, and when you are outside you wish that you were in. So the children of the place spend much time down at the little river. At least they did when I was there. I rode there on a donkey and, the day being hot, let the animal graze, or sleep, or think, or dream, or work out problems — or whatever it is that a donkey does with his spare time — and I watched the children in the water. There was one, a little baby just able to toddle around, who crawled down to the water's edge, rolled in and swam about like a little dog, much as the babies of Tierra del Fuego will swim in the icy waters of the Far South. He came out on my side of the water, as lively as a grig, smiling every bit as friendly as any other little chap of his age, white, brown, or yellow. I stayed there that night because the day did not get cool and in the evening the people sat outside of their houses and played the guitar and sang. Now I had with me a little musical instrument like a tiny organ, which I bought in France, and it was so compact and handy that I could carry it everywhere as easily as I could a blanket. In fact, I used to ride with it behind my saddle, wrapped in my bedding. Well, as the people seemed to like their music, I brought out mine, so we had a very jolly concert, in spite of my poor voice, which they politely pretended not to notice. Then later, from curiosity, the children came about me and, to amuse them as well as myself, having done so badly at the singing, I did a few tricks with wads of rolled paper and a couple of tin cups, and the little boy who had swum across the pond laughed as loudly as any one there. That pleased his father mightily, so much indeed that he brought me a cup of goat's milk and some cassava bread and told me that I was a fine fellow. To please me further, he sang a very, very long song. It was all about the parrot and the wonderful things it did, a parrot that had lived long among people and learned their songs, and when the bird flew back to the forest, it still sang, and so well that all the other parrots in the forest learned to sing the song from beginning to end. But what was curious was that at the end of every other verse, there was this line: When the rat had a tail like a horse. So when he had done I asked him about that, for all the rats I had seen had tails which were far from beautiful, according to my notion. The man listened gravely, then said: "But certainly, once the rat had a tail like a horse.