A little horse lived in a stable.
The stable had a wooden door that never shut properly.
He had a brown coat and four hard feet.
His tail was always moving.
He loved to help his mother.
Two swallows lived under the roof.
Every evening they came back to the same corner.
The yard outside was small.
In it there was a well, and a pile of dry hay.
One evening, the sky began to grow dark.
His mother said, “Take this sack of wheat to the mill.”
“It is just across the river.”
“The mill lamp is still on. You will be in time.”
The sack was full and heavy. It smelled of dry summer.
The little horse carried it and set off.
He looked back once.
His mother stood at the door. She nodded to him.
The road was quiet.
He could hear the river before he saw it.
The sun was a small red piece above the trees.
The wind came, and the grass bent down.
He came to the river.
The water was moving. He could not see the bottom.
He stopped.
He was a little afraid.
He had never crossed it alone.
An old ox was standing by the river. He was white on the face.
“Uncle Ox, is this river deep?”
The old ox lifted his head.
“Shallow,” he said. “It comes to my shin.”
The old ox put his head down and went on eating.
The little horse started to step in.
A little squirrel was up in a tree. His tail was very big.
“Do not go in! Do not go in!”
“This river is very deep.”
“My friend fell in once.”
The squirrel was jumping up and down.
The little horse pulled his foot back.
Shallow? Deep?
He did not know.
He stood by the river.
The water kept moving.
The air off the water was cold.
Something small went by in the water, and then was gone.
His shadow moved on the water.
The sky grew a little darker.
He looked at the water again.
He thought for a while.
“I will try it myself.”
He put one foot in.
The water came to his shin.
He put another foot in.
The water came to his knee.
One more step, and it came to his belly.
One more step, and it came to his back.
So it was not shallow. And it was not deep.
It was just right.
The bottom was soft and a little slippery.
The little horse walked slowly.
One step. Then one more.
He came up on the other side.
The grass on the bank tickled his legs.
His legs were shaking a little.
Water fell off him, drop by drop.
The mill was a small stone house with a big wheel.
The wheel turned, and the water turned with it.
He took the wheat to the mill.
The old man at the mill took the sack.
“It is dark, and the road is long,” he said. “Go home carefully.”
The old man gave him a pat on the neck.
The little horse turned back.
By the time he got home, the sky was black.
The moon was up. A few stars were out.
The moonlight lay on the river.
He could hear the water all the way home.
The river was one bright line.
His mother had lit a lamp at the door.
“Did you take it?”
“I took it.”
“Is the river deep?”
“Not deep. Not shallow,” said the little horse. “Just right.”
His mother rubbed his head.
“Go to sleep now.”
The little horse went to his own corner of the stable.
He folded his legs under him.
The hay was dry and soft. His mother had put it down fresh for him.
He closed his eyes.
It had been a good day.
There was still a little cold from the river on his coat.
Outside the window, the river was still moving, softly.
His mother stood in the door and watched him for a moment.
Then she shut the door, and it was quiet.
The Little Horse Crosses the River is an old Chinese folktale, and it is still a favorite Chinese fairy tale at bedtime.
In China, this story is told to children. It has been told for a very long time.
They call it The Little Horse Crosses the River.
The wind grew small.
The lamp was still on.
There.
So put your head down.
Good night, little horse.
Good night, river outside the window.
This is a very old Chinese bedtime story. It is not long, and it is very gentle. Best read slowly, with the lights low.
