Change of voice in dialogue adds to clearness of pictures. Nothing is more colorless than a reading by one whose intonation is not in keeping with the part he interprets, and the story told in a monotone is boresome and valueless to the child. He associates tone and action and wants them to be true to each other. He is dissatisfied if the old witch speaks like a loving mother, while the heavy tones of the wicked giant, the gentle ones of the good fairy, and the mirthful, rippling notes of the joyous, beautiful maiden delight him and make him responsive to the tale. They transform the personages of the story into living, breathing creatures who walk in his presence and smile or frown in his face.
Pauses are wonderfully effective in heightening the interest in a story. Children fairly quiver with expectation if frequent pauses are used when the moments of suspense grow big. They creep nearer in their eagerness to hear about what happens next, fearing that they will miss a bit of the attractive thread. One small boy, asked why he took such delight in listening to a certain story-teller, said: “I don’t know if it’s the way she looks or the way she says it. She’ll be going along, telling about what happens, and all at once she’ll say, ‘And then——’ and stop a little bit until you think all kinds of things are going to happen.” This feeling is general with children, although they may not voice it, and behind the naïve words is a psychological truth. The pause heightens the dramatic effect and focuses the interest on the coming sentences.
Above all things, there should be no stopping in the midst of a tale to correct a child. If one shows evidence of lagging interest, mention his name as if the story were being told for him. “And, John, when little Red Riding Hood reached her grandmother’s house she knocked on the door.” This makes him feel that although many children are listening to the story, it is being given solely for his benefit. It touches his pride and grips his attention long enough to enable the narrator to muster all his forces and heighten the interest in the tale so that it will abound in suspense from that point. If it fails to do that, something is wrong, either with the selection or the presentation. Perhaps the pictures are not being made clear because they were not first clear in the mind of the teller. Perhaps the story is not an interesting one to that particular group of children. It is the narrator’s business to find the reason, just as artists in Europe must learn what is at fault when their hearers hiss. Audiences on the Continent are not so polite as those in America, and there is no mistaking their feeling about a performance. When sounds of disapproval sweep over the house, the performer must rise to heights that will compel admiration or face a ruined career. Likewise, when a small boy becomes troublesome, the story-teller should not pause to correct him, but should make the tale so thrillingly fascinating that the lad forgets to be naughty. Mothers seldom meet with this problem, but settlement workers are having to solve it constantly, and they do it successfully only by knowing what lies close to the child’s interests and telling stories that touch those interests.