The Lion Storyteller Bedtime Book: Text only edition

By Bob Hartman and Krisztina Kallai Nagy

This popular title (originally also available as The Lion Storyteller Book of World Stories) is the second title in the relaunch of the immensely popular Storyteller series in a newly illustrated portrait format.

Bob Hartman's retellings of 40 warm and reassuring bedtime stories, taken from around the world and retold especially for reading aloud.

This new edition is enhanced by useful storytelling tips to help with reading the stories aloud.

As the author says in the introduction: "Bedtime stories need to leave the listener with that safe, warm, happily-ever-after feeling'. And that's what this collection does, time and time again' - "Manchester Evening News".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lion Children's Bks
• Release date: Mar 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9780745967998

Bob Hartman

Bob Hartman is a professional storyteller and award-winning children’s author of over seventy books. He was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but now lives in Wiltshire. He has been entertaining audiences on both sides of the Atlantic for over 30years with his books and performances, which bring together retellings of Bible stories and traditional tales from around the world with his own imaginative stories. His books are full of humour and insight, whilst his storytelling sessions are exciting, engaging, dynamic – and above all, interactive! The Lion Storyteller Bible is used in schools across the United Kingdom as part of a Bible project called Open the Book, and is regularly performed for over 800,000 children in more than 3,000 primary schools. He is well known for his hugely popular The Lion Storyteller collection, the Telling the Bible series, and the highly acclaimed picture books: The Wolf Who Cried Boy, Dinner in the Lions’ Den and The Three Billy Goats’ Stuff.  

Book preview

The Mouse and the Lion

The mouse skittered left.

The mouse skittered right.

The mouse skittered round a rock and under a leaf and past the dark, wide mouth of a cave.

And then the little mouse stopped.

Something had grabbed his tail.

The mouse wrinkled his nose and twitched his whiskers and turned around. The something was a lion!

‘You’re not even a snack,’ the lion yawned, as he picked up the mouse and dangled him over his mouth. ‘But you’ll be tasty, nonetheless.’

‘I’m much more than a snack!’ the little mouse squeaked. ‘I’m brave and I’m clever and I’m stronger than you think. And I’m sure that if you let me go I will be useful to you one day. Much more useful than a bit of bone and fur that you will gobble up and then forget.’

The lion roared with laughter, and the little mouse was blown about by his hot breath.

‘Useful? To me?’ the lion chuckled. ‘I doubt it. But you are brave, I’ll give you that. And cheeky, to boot. So I’ll let you go. But watch your tail. I may not be so generous again.’

The mouse skittered left.

The mouse skittered right.

The mouse skittered away as quickly as he could, and disappeared into the woods.

Hardly a week had passed when the lion wandered out of his cave in search of food.

The lion looked left.

The lion looked right.

But when the lion leaped forwards, he fell into a hunter’s snare!

The ropes wrapped themselves around him. He was trapped.

Just then the little mouse came by.

‘I told you I could be useful,’ the little mouse squeaked. ‘Now I shall prove it to you.’

The lion was in no mood for jokes. He could hear the hunter’s footsteps. ‘How?’ he whispered. ‘how can you help me, now?’

‘Be still,’ said the mouse. ‘And let me do my work.’

The mouse began to gnaw. And to nibble. And to chew. And soon the ropes were weak enough for the lion to snap them with a shrug of his powerful shoulders.

So, just as the hunter appeared in the clearing, the lion leaped away into the forest, with his new friend clinging to his curly mane.

They returned to the cave as the sun fell behind the hills.

‘Thank you, my friend,’ said the lion to the mouse. ‘You are indeed clever and brave, and you have been more useful than I could ever have imagined. From now on, you have nothing to fear from me.’

The little mouse smiled.

Then he skittered left.

And he skittered right.

And he skittered off into the night.

Silly Jack

On Monday morning, Jack’s mother sent him off to work for the carpenter. Jack worked hard, and at the end of the day the carpenter gave him a shiny new penny.

Jack carried the penny home, tossing it in the air as he went. But as he crossed the little bridge over the narrow brook, he dropped the penny and lost it in the water below.

When he told her, Jack’s mother shook her head. ‘You silly boy,’ she sighed, ‘you should have put the penny in your pocket. You must remember that tomorrow.’

On Tuesday morning, Jack’s mother sent him off to work for the farmer. Jack worked very hard, and at the end of the day the farmer gave him a jug of milk.

Jack remembered his mother’s words, and carefully slipped the jug of milk into his big coat pocket. But as he walked home, the milk splashed and splooshed and spilled out of the jug and all over Jack’s fine coat.

When he told her, Jack’s mother shook her head. ‘You silly boy,’ she sighed, ‘you should have carried the jug on your head. You must remember that tomorrow.’

On Wednesday morning, Jack’s mother sent him off to work for the baker. Jack worked very hard, and at the end of the day, the baker gave him a beautiful black cat.

Jack remembered his mother’s words, and carefully sat the cat on his head. But on the way home, the cat was frightened, leaped from Jack’s head into a nearby tree, and refused to come down.

When he told her, Jack’s mother shook her head. ‘You silly boy,’ she sighed, ‘you should have tied a string around the cat’s collar and pulled it home behind you. You must remember that tomorrow.’

On Thursday morning, Jack’s mother sent him off to work for the butcher. Jack worked very hard, and at the end of the day, the butcher gave him a huge leg of lamb.

Jack remembered his mother’s words, tied a string around the meat, and pulled it home behind him. But by the time he got home, the meat was covered with dirt, and good for nothing but to be thrown away.

When he told her, Jack’s mother shook her head. ‘You silly, silly boy,’ she sighed. ‘Don’t you know you should have carried it home on your shoulder? Promise me you will remember that tomorrow.’

Jack promised, and on Friday morning, his mother sent him off to work for the man who ran the stables. Jack worked very hard, and at the end of the day, the man gave him a donkey!

Jack looked at the donkey. Jack remembered his promise. Then he swallowed hard, picked that donkey up, and hoisted it onto his shoulders!

On the way home, Jack passed by the house of a rich man – a rich man whose beautiful daughter had never laughed in all her life.

But when she saw poor, silly Jack giving that donkey a ride, she giggled, she chuckled, then she burst out laughing, right there and then.

The rich man was delighted, and gave Jack his daughter’s hand in marriage, and a huge fortune besides.

When he told her, Jack’s mother didn’t shake her head. No, she hugged him and she kissed him and she shouted, ‘Hooray!’ and she never ever called him ‘silly’ again.

The Girl Who Played With the Stars

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl who wanted one thing and one thing only – to play with the stars in the sky!

Every night, before she fell asleep, she would stare out of her bedroom window at the stars dancing above her, and wish that someday she might dance with them.

One night, she decided to make her wish come true. So she crept from her bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the front door. And she set off to find her way to the stars.

The moon was full. The night was warm and bright. And it wasn’t long before she spotted the stars – reflected in the water of a little pond.

‘Excuse me,’ she whispered to the pond, ‘can you tell me how to get to the stars?’

‘That’s easy,’ the pond rippled and shook, ‘the stars come and shine in my eyes on most nights, so brightly in fact that I have trouble sleeping. If you want to find them, you’re welcome to jump in.’

And so the little girl did. She swam and swam around that little pond, but she could not find a single star. So she climbed sadly out again, said goodbye to the pond, and set off, dripping, down the path.

Before long, she came to a little field. And there were the stars, dancing like tiny lights in the dewy grass. And dancing with them were the fairies – clapping their hands and beating their wings to the sound of harp and pipe and drum.

‘Excuse me,’ she called to the little people, ‘I want more than anything to play with the stars. Do you mind if I join you?’

‘Of course not,’ the fairies called back. ‘Come and dance with us as long as you like.’

And so the little girl danced. She danced round and round till she could hardly stand. But she never danced with any stars, no, not one. For the stars were not there at all. They were nothing more than reflections in the wet grass.

When the little girl realized this, she fell to the ground sobbing. And the fairies stopped their dancing and hovered round her.

‘I’ve swum and I’ve swum,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve danced and I’ve danced. And still I have not found the stars.’

The fairies felt sorry for the little girl, so they did what they could. They gave her a little riddle.

‘Ask Four Feet to carry you to No Feet At All,’ they told her. ‘Then ask No Feet At All to carry you to the Stairs Without Steps. And there you will find the stars.’

The fairies went back to their dancing, and the little girl went on her way.

Soon she met a horse.

‘Excuse me,’ she asked, as politely as she could, ‘I’m on my way to the stars. Could you give me a ride?’

The horse neighed and shook his shaggy head. ‘I cannot help you,’ he explained. ‘For I am here to help the fairies and the fairies only.’

‘Ah,’ the little girl smiled, ‘then you must be Four Feet. The fairies told me about you. They said that I must ask you to take me to No Feet At All.’

‘Well, that’s different!’ the horse snorted. ‘Climb aboard, and we shall be there in no time.’ And off they went, through the forests and over the fields – hooves hammering and hair blowing, west and west and west, until they reached the sea.

‘I can carry you no further,’ the horse explained. ‘You must wait here on the beach for No Feet At All.’

The little girl had so many questions. Who was No Feet At All? What did he look like? How would she find him? But before she could ask a single question, the horse turned and galloped away. The little girl looked up into the sky. The stars were as far away as ever. And