Little Hélène danced jumpy-merry on the thatched roof. No heart-hate or shivery-fear for her. But warm-happy. And why, littles? Well, littles, that’s because this was a great time ago. A time when old men could fly and pigs could sing and grandmas made delicious things. So Hélène danced until a talking table came along.

‘Little Hélène Marceau, come dance on top of me. We’ll have a swell time,’ said the table.

‘We haven’t any music,’ Hélène replied. 

‘You’re after wanting music, eh? No fear, we’ll find the pipe and fiddle.’

‘Alright then,’ said Hélène.

Picture it: little Hélène dancing with the warm-joy on top of the table as they went down the path and into the woods in search of music. Table stopped.

‘Little Hélène, what’s that ahead there?’

‘I don’t see anything. Here, you’re after putting a fair few splinters in me feet today. How come you’re so hard-rough?’

‘Never mind that,’ said table, ‘what’s that up ahead?’

‘I sees nothing. I sees nothing. I sees … oh wait now.’

It was a beautiful beige cat with shinning green eyes. It was sitting on a rock under an oak reading a book.

‘A book cat,’ said Hélène. 

It smiled and so they came to say their ‘How do’s.’

‘How do do?’ said Hélène.

‘How do do do?’ said table.

‘I do do do do,’ said cat. ‘Now little Hélène, I suppose you think you’ve managed fine, tripping off to find pipe and fiddle. I suppose you’re off to the lake where little girls dream of puddings and princes.’

‘That’s right,’ said Hélène quite proud of herself.

‘And that’s all grand,’ said the cat, ‘but now supposing you were to do something for me before you go to the lake of dreams.’

‘What is it?’ said Hélène.

‘It’s my kitten. He got locked up in a willow tree. I’ve read as many books as I can, but can’t figure out how to free him.’ The cat made a puzzle-face.

‘Ah cat! You big ninny-noo. You great big trumpolo-brick. Don’t you know it’s only the man on the polar star what can release animals stuck in trees,’ Hélène said.

‘I ain’t such a soapy cat that I don’t know that, little Hélène. But how can I talk to him?’

‘Oh cat, you filarty-ponary, everyone knows you talk to him in your dreams,’ Hélène said.

‘That’s why I need your help. You see, cats can’t dream.’

‘And neither can tables,’ said table.

‘And if you can dream, you can help my kitten,’ Cat said.

‘Very well. I’ll do it.’

And so they left the cat. Hélène continued dancing on the table until they stopped at a meadow where a poem-pigeon spoke to them from a tree: 

‘Where are ye off to so?
How comes ye to this place?
Why ye dance toe-and-toe?
What is it that ye chase?’

‘Hi fiddely-do-de-dum-do-dee,’ said Hélène. ‘I’m off to see the polar star man to free a kitten.’ Hélène pulled out some corn from her pocket and held it out to the pigeon who ate it, mighty happy.

‘Sweet girl, have you not heard
Of the evil witch queen?
She ate many a bird.
She’s the worst ever seen.’

‘Really, silly birdie. That’s all quite silly. I’m not afraid of the witch queen.’

‘She’ll eat you, sweet girlie.
You’ll be lunch, sweet girlie.’

But little Hélène shook her head and would not believe the bird. The poem-pigeon spoke:

‘I must a thing tell ye
She ate my brothers’ three
And she eats littles too,
I’d fly, if I were you.’

Hélène nodded and plucked a clover to put in the pigeon’s crest. 

‘Farewell, luck go with you.
Farewell, ah-oo. Ah-oo.’

And so Hélène and table, with its legs moving, went past river and hill, crag and wood. Hélène was all puzzle-face about the poem-pigeon and polar star man. Then she skipped when an idea came to her.

‘I’ll find the highest tree and climb it. Then I’ll be closer to the polar star. Table, take me to the highest tree.’ 

And they went through wood and past river and over hill and back again into wood and there was the tallest tree. And at the bottom of the tree there were three mushrooms and they were having a famous laugh about something.

‘What are you laughing about?’ said Hélène.

‘We have the shaking-laugh because of you, little Hélène.’

‘Me?’ she said.

‘You are so small
To climb the tree,
That you will fall.
Just watch! You’ll see.’ 

‘I will not fall. No. Then I’ll be the one laughing. At you,’ Hélène said.

‘If you want, then take this spider.
In your pocket and there hide her.
If you take it, then take our curse.
If not, our blessing – nothing worse.’

‘Very well. I’ll take it,’ Hélène said

‘Then woe worth you and a curse on you,’ they said laughing.

Little Hélène put the spider in her pocket and started to climb. But the devilish mushrooms hadn’t told Hélène about the monkey-men or the animal party or the nasty witch-queen whose tree this was. She climbed and climbed. Suddenly she felt a banana hit her head. She looked up and there were the monkey-men slowly dancing on a branch. One of them was playing a fiddle. Little Hélène’s foot began to tap to the music, but she held on tight to the branch. One of the monkey-men spoke:

‘Mickle much and some muckle more,
By all I ever heard or saw,
I’ve got right strong in my great nose
The scent of ten small human toes.
Be it breathing or be it dead.
It shall surely kitchen my bread.’

Little Hélène was afraid. But fear was a coat she couldn’t wear long. So she climbed and boldly showed herself to the monkey-men and their funny faces. 

‘How ye now?
How di-do?
You see me
I see you.’

The monkey-men had the big-eyed hate and began to get the fire-anger in them. It looked very bad for little Hélène and surely she was about to be eaten. But what did Hélène do? She started dancing. Skipping and jumping between the branches. And what did the monkey-men do? But they started dancing too. And they followed her footstep. Where she stepped, they stepped. When she twirled, they twirled. Along the branches they danced until she turned and danced towards the end of one branch. 

Now what happened was this. As she danced towards the end of the branch, it got thinner. Still she kept going and the monkey-men kept going but they began to fall off because the they were too big for the thin end of the branch, but little Hélène was alright because she was little. Anyways, she kept a-dancing until all the monkey-men fell off. 

Then she began climbing again and climbed and climbed for it was a mighty tall tree. She wondered if she was dreaming, because that was what she was needing to do after all. Dreaming or not she was soon upon another two branches which between them had an ale house with the sign of a rooster hanging outside. Well, into the ale house little Hélène goes and there was a great smile-joy within. Everyone was singing and dancing. What a sight! But then one of the pigs spoke:

‘Snook aarar ek snook aree,
By all the things that may so be,
I have here twinkling in my eye
A human, all wicked and sly.
Be it a dream or be it real
This girl shall quickly be my meal.’

But when little Hélène saw all the elves and cows and bears and butterflies and what-all staring at her, she did not fear, but replied as bold as the rising sun and said:

‘Stop deludring, hark to me.
A quest I’m on, so let me be.
The polar star man I’ve to meet
So I’ll be no-one’s tasty treat.’

But the pig replied:

‘Believe you, really I do not,
Since humans put us in the pot.
Let’s cut her into long slices
And cook her with many spices.’

The animals all stared at her and licked their lips and she was afraid. The room grew mighty big and gloomy. Pig made angry eyes at her with the fire-hate in them. She scratched her head for an idea but nothing came. The animals began to step closer to her. Then an idea smacked her. She twirled and danced up to the fire that was burning in the hearth and spoke to it:

‘Skiddle-riddle-me-do,
By fire, spice and old log,
Come now, come out, come you
Come, old father fire frog.’

And the fire started sparking and crackling and in the flames came the orange fire frog for all to see. The animals thought the girl was a witch and this her magic. A butterfly, too curious, came close to the frog and was eaten up. Fire frog spoke:

‘How now little H. What’s with you?
What thing is it you want to do?
By all the wood and by the sun
If there’s no water, we’ll have fun.’

Hélène replied:

‘Father frog, they want to eat me
But I don’t want to be their tea.’

The fire frog replied:

‘Don’t be all so shaky-scared now.
We will stop them, I’ll show you how.’

With that the fire frog held his breath and began to puff himself up. Big, big and bigger he got. Soon, very soon, he was as big as Hélène and the whole room was bright as day. They all stood amazed. Fire frog began to sing:

‘Give up the big-eyed hate
Though you’re hurt and weary,
Have joy now, do not wait,
Shine, dance and be merry.’

Both fire frog and little Hélène began to dance. The band began to play. The faces of the pigs, cows, bears and what-all smiled until they too began dancing. Fire frog ate up another butterfly what flew too close. Now everyone was dancing and a grand scene it was. There were many sunshine-laughs and friend-smiles. They danced and danced and danced. And would you know it, they danced until they fell asleep tired from dancing. Even old father fire frog was sleeping and snoring. 

But little Hélène was young and when she saw everyone had danced themselves to sleep, she crept quietly towards the door and snuck away. Then she climbed the tree. Mighty glad to have escaped the heart-hate of the animals, she climbed and climbed and climbed, for it was a mighty tall tree. 

At last she reached the top where there was a carpet. Hélène stood on it and saw the witch queen. The witch was big-scary and Hélène was much afraid. The witch queen said:

‘Pashar-me-ram, pashar-me-do,
Here’s a tasty one for a stew.
Though be you strong or be you ill
Still yet my stomach you will fill.’

Now, many an animal who had met the witch had trembled and got all hidey-scared. And that was the moment when she would eat them up. But you see littles, our Hélène was of a different mould. No, instead she got rare angry, puffed out her cheeks, stamped and turned bright red. She tore a branch off the tree and threw it over so angry was she.

The witch queen was surprised but then laughed and her ears waggled.

‘Body o’ me what have we here?
Don’t be angry, show me some fear.’

But Hélène stamped her feet and growled and hissed and threw the corn in her pocket down on the carpet. 

‘Body o’ me don’t growl and bite.
Shiver, quiver and take your fright.’

But instead little Hélène shouted, spun around, then stood on one foot with her tongue out and hands waving and looking right odd. The witch queen stopped laughing.

‘My lunch you’ll be, mademoiselle.
But, all’s not well. Not well. Not well.’

Then Hélène’s eyes grew shocking big with the fire-anger in her. And an odd thing began to happen. Her body began to grow. Hands, feet, head, legs, all. Soon she was as big as the witch. Soon, she was bigger. This made an even odder thing happen. As Hélène got bigger, the witch got smaller. Smaller and smaller the witch got. First as small as a dog, then as small as a cat, then as a mouse and squeaking like a mouse, then as small as a carrot. Finally the witch was as small as a pea and still Hélène was angry, so the pea got even smaller and smaller until it vanished into thin air. The witch was gone, but now Hélène was so big the branch could not hold her and she fell out of the tree. Tumbling down and down she came. Tumbling and tumbling, for it was a mighty tall tree. Falling and falling. Then as it looked like she was about to crash, out of her pocket came spider and threw down a web. And little Hélène fell into the web, softly, softly and only her hair brushed the ground. She was upside down and normal size. When she looked up, she saw the spider dancing on a branch. 

‘Wither away, young friend?’ said the spider and danced. She looked to her right, and there was table laughing. She looked to her left and there were the mushrooms laughing. 

‘We told you you would fall,’ they said.

And now little Hélène laughed and spider laughed and they were all laugh-warm for a good long time. Table now started dancing something fancy and the mushrooms were all bobbing their head while spider was fair skiddling and twirling. Hélène got up and put her toes to the dance too and they were at it a good long while. But after that good time, Hélène remembered what she was about and what she had to do. There is a time for dancing and a time for getting on.

‘One thing,’ said the mushrooms, ‘we have given the table a gift. Now it can fly.’

Table then flew up and down and all about, showing off. Little Hélène spoke:

‘Good mushrooms, and sweet spider dear,
Thanks and blessings on all of you.
But look now, the sun’s setting’s near,
We must go. Farewell. Toodle-oo.’ 

Table then turned upside down so his legs were sticking up and on Hélène jumped holding onto his legs. Then she waved to her friends and table flew up and up above all the trees as the sun fell off and the moon got up. The stars were twinkling. 

‘Where to, young one?’ asked table. 

‘There.’ Hélène pointed to the yellow light shinning. The polar star. 

So they flew towards the polar star. They flew and flew and it was a mighty long way and little Hélène was tired. She lay down and began to sleep. She began to have a floaty-dream. And soon she heard the words of the polar star man speak:

‘Hélène, listen to what I say.
Go where the moon’s arms touch the lake.
Look and see a willow tree sway,
The kitten is there, go and take.
It was the witch who trapped him there,
To free him, you must conquer fear.’

And his voice was gone in the sugary-warm of dreams. After a time Hélène opened her eyes and saw where the moon’s long silver arms touched the lake. She pointed and table flew down to the lake and there was the willow tree. But the wind was after blowing mighty strong. It blew Hélène’s hair all about and table was having a hard time staying still.

‘What do we do now?’ Hélène asked table. 

‘I don’t know,’ Table replied.

The wind whistled and shrieked and it was like the witch queen was screaming in the wind. She got off the table and went up to the willow tree. It was hard work walking against the wind. She stood next to the tree and shouted:

‘Come out little kitten! Come out of the tree!’

And the whistling wind cried

And the whistling wind sighed.

‘Come out little kitten! Come out,’ she shouted again.

And the whistling wind cried

And the whistling wind sighed.

‘You’re free little kitten. Come out!’

Only the whistling wind cried

Only the whistling wind sighed. 

Hélène felt all low-sad and her shiny blue eyes began to quiver. ‘We will never get him out,’ she said to table.

‘Look!’ Table said. ‘Up there.’

Hélène looked up in the tree and what a sight. The leaves had come together in a way that looked like a face. It was a smiling face. It was a kind face. It was a happy face. Little Hélène stretched out her hands to the face and a little tear fell down her cheek.

‘Papa!’ she cried out with a shaky-happy voice. 

Just the whistling wind cried

Just the whistling wind sighed. 

With fingertips she tried to touch the leaves and the face. But she couldn’t reach. She was tear-sad.

‘Papa!,’ she called out.

But the whistling wind did cry

But the whistling wind did sigh.

The wind was turning and pushing and pulling and was trying to pull the leaves apart. But her father’s face stayed together. And it spoke. It spoke one word.

‘Dance!’

The wind blew and blew and blew and pulled the leaves apart so that the face was gone. The wind kept blowing mighty fierce. She was all heavy-sad. She wanted to go home. She was for turning away. But then her foot had another idea. Because, you see littles, her foot started dancing. Then the other foot started dancing. And then her legs started dancing and her knees and then her arms and her head and before you knew it, she was all a-dancing. She twirled and whirled and turned and jumped. She felt the warm-joy in her. Then table began to twildy-do with his legs and soon he was dancing with big-joy. Now, an odd thing happened. See, as they danced, well the wind began to slow down and get quiet. 

Did the whistling wind scream and cry?

No. The sad, mad wind left – good bye.

They danced and danced and now it was quiet they heard the sound of a little kitten. Hélène saw it in the tree and she held out her arms and it jumped into them. The little kitten purred for it was big-happy. Well littles, we are almost at the end of our story but there’s one last thing. You see there then music began to play. The pipe and fiddle played and that was grand because that was what little Hélène was after at the beginning. Well this pipe and fiddle was such grand o’le music that, well can you guess? Yes, they began dancing again. Table danced, Hélène danced and even little kitten danced, twidly-do and skippledy-dum. And they were big-happy and jumpy-joy. 

It was said, littles, that they danced until the morning sun rose and warmed their dreamy-sleep.

Such were the days, long ago.