Wry-Face

Wry-Face the gnome stared, and stared, and stared, his eyes growing rounder and rounder; but he had no time to weep on account of

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe

Wry-Face, the gnome, laughed to himself so that he ached, and he rolled over the ground with mirth.

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe

"This," cried Wry-Face, "is why I have not slept the whole night through!" and he wept like anything.

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe

When Wry-Face heard this terrible threat, he took to his heels, and ran from the Most-Enormous-House of Heigh-Heavy the Giant.

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe

Wry-Face tossed and tossed till it was nearly morning; and his bones were so sore that he could lie no longer.

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe

So Wry-Face carried the potato into his house, and stored it in his bin.

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe

"Now there is one thing quite certain," said Heigh-Heavy, "and that is that you shall never marry my daughter So-Small; for, my Wry-Face, I will turn you into a brown potato, and a brown potato you shall remain your whole life through!"

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe

Wry-Face lay this way, then that, but no matter what way he lay, he found a great lump just beneath him which was as hard as hard, and as nobbly as could be.

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe

"Dear me, what can be the matter?" thought Wry-Face; for he could hardly see to finish making his pie.

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe

Wry-Face, the gnome, hiding among the bracken and looking as mischievous as anything.

The Book of Stories for the Story-teller Fanny E. Coe