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McTavish, a
Scottish elf, lived in the woods. He wore a black hat and dark green
boots. His pants were red, green, yellow and black tartan. A white shirt
tucked inside his pants made him a dashing elf. Each morning he went to
find mushrooms. They grew around the roots of old oak trees. When he found
one, he put it in a leather bag. One day when he went into the woods, he
spotted another elf. She stood next to some delicious looking mushrooms.
“Who are you?” McTavish asked.
“I am Miss Spell.
I live in the woods too,” she said.
“I haven’t seen
you in the woods before. I am here to pick a few mushrooms,” he said.
“Do not pick this
one,” Miss Spell said. “This is a magic mushroom. You can have all the
rest of the mushrooms but don’t pick this one, or you will turn into a
frog.”
“A frog? How
silly. I won’t turn into a frog if I pick that mushroom. Go away, silly
Miss Spell,” McTavish said.
He picked a lot of
mushrooms in put them in his bag, but he didn’t pick the magic mushroom.
“If I pick this, I may turn into a frog, so I won’t pick it, just in
case.” He put the bag over his shoulder and ran home.
The next day he
went for a walk in the woods and once again saw Miss Spell. “I am glad
you didn’t pick the magic mushroom. You’d be a frog right now. I warn you
again, do not pick this mushroom either,” she said, pointing to another.
“It’s magic. If you pick it you will turn into a pig.”
McTavish laughed.
“I will not turn into a pig if I pick that mushroom, just like I won’t
turn into a frog if I pick the other mushroom. You’re a silly elf.”
“Then go and pick
it. You’ll see. You’ll be a frog, or a pig, and not an elf any more,” Miss
Spell said.
McTavish bent over
and picked the first magic mushroom. “See, I didn’t turn into a frog!” he
said. His body started to shake. He dropped the bag in the dirt. His hat
fell off his head. His feet got big and his skin went green. “Help! I am a
frog!” He jumped into the woods. “Croak! Croak! Croak! I am a frog.
Croak!”
Miss Spell picked
up McTavish’s bag of mushrooms. “I told him not to pick the magic
mushroom, but he didn’t listen to me. Now he’s a frog,” she said. A snail
crept by. “You used to be an elf like McTavish, didn’t you, Malcolm. You
ate one of the magic mushrooms too. I told you not to eat it like I told
McTavish not to eat it.”
Miss Spell giggled
and took the bag of mushrooms home. The next day she just might find an
elf that will listen! |
