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Stuart was so small that it was often difficult to find him in the house. When his father, his mother or his brother George could not find him, they had to call him. You could often hear somebody’s cry: “Stuart! Stu-ooo-art!” Very often you entered the dining-room, and he was in an arm-chair, and you couldn’t see him. Mr. Little was always afraid to lose him. He even made him a tiny red cap, such as hunters wear, and this cap helped all the family to find Stuart.

One day when he was seven years old, his mother said: “Today I shall make a pudding for dinner!” And Stuart went to the kitchen after her. He was very hungry and when Mrs. Little opened the door of the electric refrigerator, he slipped inside it. He hoped to find a piece of cheese. He did not say a word to his mother, but he was greatly surprised when she closed the door and left him inside the refrigerator. “Hasn’t Mother seen me?” he thought. “Why has she closed the door? That must be a joke!” But then he was frightened.

“Help!” he shouted. “It’s dark here! It’s cold here! Help! Let me out! I’m cold!”

But his voice was weak and his mother did not hear him. In the darkness he fell into a saucer of apple-sauce. It was cold as ice. Stuart trembled, and his teeth chattered. Only half an hour later Mrs. Little opened the door again and found Stuart on a piece of butter hopping up and down and blowing on his hands.

“Stuart!” she cried, “my poor little boy!”

“How about a glass of brandy?” said Stuart. “I’m chilled to the bone.”

But his mother made him some hot tea instead and put him to bed in his cigarette box and placed a small hot-water bottle against his feet. However, Stuart caught a bad cold. He had to stay in bed for almost two weeks.

During his illness the other members of the family were very kind to Stuart. Mrs. Little played with him. George made him a soap bubble pipe and a bow and arrow. Mr. Little made him a pair of skates out of two paper clips.

One cold afternoon Mrs. Little looked out of the window and saw a small bird on the window-sill. At first she thought it was dead, but then she decided to bring the bird into the warm room and put it near the radiator. She did so, and what do you think? Soon the bird opened her eyes. It was a pretty little brown bird with a yellow breast. Mrs. Little found a place for her in the dining-room, and fed her, and gave her a cup of water. Soon the bird felt much better and began to hop around the house and look at everything with great interest. At last she hopped upstairs and into Stuart’s room. Stuart was still in bed.

“Hello,” he said. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“My name is Margalo,” said the bird in a musical voice. “I come from fields once tall with wheat, from pastures deep in fern and thistle; I come from vales of meadow-sweet, and I love to whistle.”

Stuart sat up in bed. “Say that again!” he said.

“I can’t,” said Margalo. “I have a sore throat.”

“So have I,” said Stuart. “Don’t come near me, you may catch it.”

“I’ll stay here, near the door,” said Margalo.

“You can take my medicine if you want,” said Stuart. “And my nose drops too.”

“Thank you very much, you are very kind,” said the bird.

“Did they take your temperature?” asked Stuart.

“No,” said Margalo, “but I don’t think it is necessary.”

“Well, we must be sure,” said Stuart, and he gave her the thermometer. Margalo put it under her tongue, and she and Stuart sat very still for three minutes. Then she took it out and looked at it.

“Normal,” she said. Stuart was very glad to hear it. He liked this bird very much, she was so beautiful.

“I hope,” he said, “that my parents have prepared you a nice bed?”

“Oh, yes,” Margalo said. “I am going to sleep in the fern on the bookshelf in the dining-room. You have a nice house. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall go to bed. It is getting dark outside. I always go to bed at sundown. Good night, sir!”

“Please don’t call me “sir”,” cried Stuart. “Call me Stuart.”

“Very well,” said the bird. “Good night, Stuart!” And she hopped off.

“Good night, Margalo,” cried Stuart. “See you in the morning!”

Stuart lay down again.

“This is a very nice bird,” he whispered and sighed.

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This version of Stuart Little was originally published in Moscow, in 1964.  All rights are reserved by respective copyright owners and this version must not be used in any other but private ESL study settings.  Hard or electronic copies for business purposes are prohibited.

© 1998 Ervin Nemeth. All rights reserved.

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