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Mother Goose In Prose=
By
L. Frank Baum
(AKA Edith Van Dyne)
=
Contents
The
Little Man and His Little Gun
&=
nbsp;
Introduction.
None of us, whether children or adults, needs =
an
introduction to Mother Goose. Those things which are earliest impressed upon
our minds cling to them most tenaciously The snatches sung in the nursery a=
re never
forgotten, nor are they ever recalled without bringing back with them myria=
ds
of slumbering feelings and half-forgotten images.
We hear the sweet, low voice of the mother,
singing soft lullabies to her darling, and see the kindly, wrinkled face of=
the
grandmother as she croons the old ditties to quiet our restless spirits. On=
e generation
is linked to another by the everlasting spirit of song; the ballads of the
nursery follow us from childhood to old age, and they are readily brought f=
rom
memory's recesses at any time to amuse our children or our grandchildren.
The collection of jingles we know and love as =
the
"Melodies of Mother Goose" are evidently drawn from a variety of
sources. While they are, taken altogether, a happy union of rhyme, wit, pat=
hos,
satire and sentiment, the research after the author of each individual vers=
e would
indeed be hopeless. It would be folly to suppose them all the composition of
uneducated old nurses, for many of them contain much reflection, wit and
melody. It is said that Shelley wrote "Pussy-Cat Mew," and Dean S=
wift
"Little Bo-Peep," and these assertions are as difficult to dispro=
ve
as to prove. Some of the older verses, however, are doubtless offshoots from
ancient Folk Lore Songs, and have descended to us through many centuries.
The connection of Mother Goose with the rhymes
which bear her name is difficult to determine, and, in fact, three countries
claim her for their own: France, England and America.
About the year 1650 there appeared in circulat=
ion
in London a small book, named "Rhymes of the Nursery; or Lulla-Byes for
Children," which contained many of the identical pieces that have been
handed down to us; but the name of Mother Goose was evidently not then know=
n.
In this edition were the rhymes of "Little Jack Homer," "Old
King Cole," "Mistress Mary," "Sing a Song o'
Sixpence," and "Little Boy Blue."
In 1697 Charles Perrault published in France a
book of children's tales entitled "Contes de ma Mere Oye," and th=
is
is really the first time we find authentic record of the use of the name of
Mother Goose, although Perrault's tales differ materially from those we now
know under this title. They comprised "The Sleeping Beauty,"
"The Fairy," "Little Red Riding Hood," "Blue
Beard," "Puss in Boots" "Riquet with the Tuft,"
"Cinderella," and "Little Thumb"; eight stories in all.=
On the
cover of the book was depicted an old lady holding in her hand a distaff and
surrounded by a group of children listening eagerly. Mr. Andrew Lang has ed=
ited
a beautiful English edition of this work (Oxford, 1888).
America bases her claim to Mother Goose upon t=
he
following statement, made by the late John Fleet Eliot, a descendant of Tho=
mas
Fleet, the printer:
At the beginning of the eighteenth century the=
re
lived in Boston a lady named Eliza Goose (written also Vergoose and Vertigo=
ose)
who belonged to a wealthy family. Her eldest daughter, Elizabeth Goose (or =
Vertigoose),
was married by Rev. Cotton Mather in 1715 to an enterprising and industrious
printer named Thomas Fleet, and in due time gave birth to a son. Like most
mothers-in-law in our day, the importance of Mrs. Goose increased with the
appearance of her grandchild, and poor Mr. Fleet, half distracted with her
endless nursery ditties, finding all other means fail, tried what ridicule =
could
effect, and actually printed a book under the title "Songs of the Nurs=
ery;
or, Mother Goose's Melodies for Children." On the title page was the
picture of a goose with a very long neck and a mouth wide open, and below t=
his,
"Printed by T. Fleet, at his Printing House in Pudding Lane, 1719. Pri=
ce,
two coppers."
Mr. Wm. A. Wheeler, the editor of Hurd &
Houghton's elaborate edition of Mother Goose, (1870), reiterated this
assertion, and a writer in the Boston Transcript of June 17, 1864, says:
"Fleet's book was partly a reprint of an English collection of songs
(Barclay's), and the new title was doubtless a compliment by the printer to=
his
mother-in-law Goose for her contributions. She was the mother of sixteen
children and a typical 'Old Woman who lived in a Shoe.'"
We may take it to be true that Fleet's wife wa=
s of
the Vergoose family, and that the name was often contracted to Goose. But t=
he
rest of the story is unsupported by any evidence whatever. In fact, all that
Mr. Eliot knew of it was the statement of the late Edward A. Crowninshield,=
of
Boston, that he had seen Fleet's edition in the library of the American
Antiquarian Society. Repeated researches at Worcester having failed to brin=
g to
light this supposed copy, and no record of it appearing on any catalogue th=
ere,
we may dismiss the entire story with the supposition that Mr. Eliot
misunderstood the remarks made to him. Indeed, as Mr. William H. Whitmore
points out in his clever monograph upon Mother Goose (Albany, 1889), it is =
very
doubtful whether in 1719 a Boston printer would have been allowed to publish
such "trivial" rhymes. "Boston children at that date," =
says
Mr. Whitmore, "were fed upon Gospel food, and it seems extremely impro=
bable
that an edition could have been sold."
Singularly enough, England's claim to the
venerable old lady is of about the same date as Boston's. There lived in a =
town
in Sussex, about the year 1704, an old woman named Martha Gooch. She was a =
capital
nurse, and in great demand to care for newly-born babies; therefore, through
long years of service as nurse, she came to be called Mother Gooch. This go=
od
woman had one peculiarity: she was accustomed to croon queer rhymes and jin=
gles
over the cradles of her charges, and these rhymes "seemed so senseless=
and
silly to the people who overheard them" that they began to call her
"Mother Goose," in derision, the term being derived from Queen
Goosefoot, the mother of Charlemagne. The old nurse paid no attention to her
critics, but continued to sing her rhymes as before; for, however much grown
people might laugh at her, the children seemed to enjoy them very much, and=
not
one of them was too peevish to be quieted and soothed by her verses. At one
time Mistress Gooch was nursing a child of Mr. Ronald Barclay, a physician
residing in the town, and he noticed the rhymes she sang and became interes=
ted
in them. In time he wrote them all down and made a book of them, which it is
said was printed by John Worthington & Son in the Strand, London, in 17=
12,
under the name of "Ye Melodious Rhymes of Mother Goose." But even
this story of Martha Gooch is based upon very meager and unsatisfactory
evidence.
The earliest English edition of Mother Goose's
Melodies that is absolutely authentic was issued by John Newbury of
None of the earlier editions, however, contain=
ed
all the rhymes so well known at the present day, since every decade has add=
ed
its quota to the mass of jingles attributed to "Mother Goose." So=
me
of the earlier verses have become entirely obsolete, and it is well they ha=
ve,
for many were crude and silly and others were coarse. It is simply a result=
of
the greater refinement of modern civilization that they have been relegated=
to
oblivion, while the real gems of the collection will doubtless live and gro=
w in
popular favor for many ages.
While I have taken some pains to record the
various claims to the origin of Mother Goose, it does not matter in the lea=
st
whether she was in reality a myth, or a living Eliza Goose, Martha Gooch or=
the
"Mere Oye" of Perrault. The songs that cluster around her name ar=
e what
we love, and each individual verse appeals more to the childish mind than d=
oes
Mother Goose herself.
Many of these nursery rhymes are complete tale=
s in
themselves, telling their story tersely but completely; there are others wh=
ich
are but bare suggestions, leaving the imagination to weave in the details o=
f the
story. Perhaps therein may lie part of their charm, but however that may be=
I
have thought the children might like the stories told at greater length, th=
at
they may dwell the longer upon their favorite heroes and heroines.
For that reason I have written this book.
In making the stories I have followed mainly t=
he
suggestions of the rhymes, and my hope is that the little ones will like th=
em,
and not find that they interfere with the fanciful creations of their own i=
maginations.
L Frank Baum
&=
nbsp;
Sing a Song o' Sixpence
&=
nbsp;
Sing a song o' sixpence, a handful of rye, Four-and-twenty
blackbirds baked in a pie; When the pie was =
opened
the birds began to sing, Was not that a da=
inty
dish to set before the King?
If you have never heard the legend of Gilligren
and the King's pie, you will scarcely understand the above verse; so I will
tell you the whole story, and then you will be able to better appreciate the
rhyme.
Gilligren was an orphan, and lived with an unc=
le
and aunt who were very unkind to him. They cuffed him and scolded him upon =
the
slightest provocation, and made his life very miserable indeed. Gilligren n=
ever
rebelled against this treatment, but bore their cruelty silently and with
patience, although often he longed to leave them and seek a home amongst ki=
nder
people.
It so happened that when Gilligren was twelve
years old the King died, and his son was to be proclaimed King in his place,
and crowned with great ceremony. People were flocking to London from all pa=
rts
of the country to witness the festivities, and the boy longed to go with th=
em.
One evening he said to his uncle,
"If I had sixpence I could make my
fortune."
"Pooh! nonsense!" exclaimed his uncl=
e,
"a sixpence is a small thing. How then could you make a fortune from
it?"
"That I cannot tell you," replied
Gilligren, "but if you will give me the sixpence I will go to London, =
and
not return until I am a rich man."
"The boy is a fool!" said his uncle,
with anger; but the aunt spoke up quickly.
"Give him the money and let him go,"=
she
said, "and then we shall be well rid of him and no longer be obliged to
feed and clothe him at our expense."
"Well," said her husband, after a moment's thought, "here is the money; but remember, this is all I shall ever give you, and when it is gone you must not come to me for more."<= o:p>
"Never fear," replied Gilligren,
joyfully, as he put the sixpence in his pocket, "I shall not trouble y=
ou
again."
The next morning he cut a short stick to assist
him in walking, and after bidding goodbye to his uncle and aunt he started =
upon
his journey to London.
"The money will not last him two days,&qu=
ot;
said the man, as he watched Gilligren go down the turnpike road, "and =
when
it is gone he will starve to death."
"Or he may fall in with people who will t=
reat
him worse than we did," rejoined the woman, "and then he 'll wish=
he
had never left us."
But Gilligren, nothing dismayed by thoughts of=
the
future, trudged bravely along the London road. The world was before him, and
the bright sunshine glorified the dusty road and lightened the tips of the =
dark
green hedges that bordered his path. At the end of his pilgrimage was the g=
reat
city, and he never doubted he would find therein proper work and proper pay,
and much better treatment than he was accustomed to receive.
So, on he went, whistling merrily to while away
the time, watching the sparrows skim over the fields, and enjoying to the f=
ull
the unusual sights that met his eyes. At noon he overtook a carter, who div=
ided
with the boy his luncheon of bread and cheese, and for supper a farmer's wi=
fe
gave him a bowl of milk. When it grew dark he crawled under a hedge and sle=
pt
soundly until dawn.
The next day he kept steadily upon his way, and
toward evening met a farmer with a wagon loaded with sacks of grain.
"Where are you going, my lad?" asked=
the
man.
"To London," replied Gilligren, &quo=
t;to
see the King crowned."
"Have you any money?" enquired the
farmer.
"Oh yes," answered Gilligren, "I
have a sixpence."
"If you will give me the sixpence," =
said
the man, "I will give you a sack of rye for it."
"What could I do with a sack of rye?"
asked Gilligren, wonderingly.
"Take it to the mill, and get it ground i=
nto
flour. With the flour you cou=
ld
have bread baked, and that you can sell."
"That is a good idea," replied
Gilligren, "so here is my sixpence, and now give me the sack of rye.&q=
uot;
The farmer put the sixpence carefully into his
pocket, and then reached under the seat of the wagon and drew out a sack, w=
hich
he cast on the ground at the boy's feet.
"There is your sack of rye," he said,
with a laugh.
"But the sack is empty!" remonstrated
Gilligren.
"Oh, no; there is some rye in it."
"But only a handful!" said Gilligren,
when he had opened the mouth of the sack and gazed within it.
"It is a sack of rye, nevertheless,"
replied the wicked farmer, "and I did not say how much rye there would=
be
in the sack I would give you. Let this be a lesson to you never again to buy
grain without looking into the sack!" and with that he whipped up his
horses and left Gilligren standing in the road with the sack at his feet and
nearly ready to cry at his loss.
"My sixpence is gone," he said to
himself, "and I have received nothing in exchange but a handful of rye!
How can I make my fortune with that?"
He did not despair, however, but picked up the
sack and continued his way along the dusty road. Soon it became too dark to
travel farther, and Gilligren stepped aside into a meadow, where, lying down
upon the sweet grass, he rolled the sack into a pillow for his head and pre=
pared
to sleep.
The rye that was within the sack, however, hurt
his head, and he sat up and opened the sack.
"Why should I keep a handful of rye?"=
; he
thought, "It will be of no value to me at all."
So he threw out the rye upon the ground, and
rolling up the sack again for a pillow, was soon sound asleep. When he awoke
the sun was shining brightly over his head and the twitter and chirping of =
many
birds fell upon his ears. Gilligren opened his eyes and saw a large flock o=
f blackbirds
feeding upon the rye he had scattered upon the ground. So intent were they =
upon
their feast they never noticed Gilligren at all.
He carefully unfolded the sack, and spreading =
wide
its opening threw it quickly over the flock of black birds. Some escaped and
flew away, but a great many were caught, and Gilligren put his eye to the s=
ack and
found he had captured four and twenty. He tied the mouth of the sack with a
piece of twine that was in his pocket, and then threw the sack over his
shoulder and began again his journey to
"I have made a good exchange, after
all," he thought, "for surely four and twenty blackbirds are worth
more than a handful of rye, and perhaps even more than a sixpence, if I can
find anyone who wishes to buy them."
He now walked rapidly forward, and about noon =
entered
the great city of London.
Gilligren wandered about the streets until he =
came
to the King's palace, where there was a great concourse of people and many
guards to keep intruders from the gates.
Seeing he could not enter from the front, the =
boy
walked around to the rear of the palace and found himself near the royal
kitchen, where the cooks and other servants were rushing around to hasten t=
he
preparation of the King's dinner.
Gilligren sat down upon a stone where he could
watch them, and laying the sack at his feet was soon deeply interested in t=
he
strange sight. Presently a servant in the King's livery saw him and came to=
his
side.
"What are you doing here?" he asked,
roughly.
"I am waiting to see the King," repl=
ied
Gilligren.
"The King! The King never comes here," s=
aid
the servant; "and neither do we allow idlers about the royal kitchen. =
So
depart at once, or I shall be forced to call a guard to arrest you."
Gilligren arose obediently and slung his sack =
over
his shoulder. As he did so the
birds that were within began to flutter.
"What have you in the sack?" asked t=
he
servant.
"Blackbirds," replied Gilligren.
"Blackbirds!" echoed the servant, in
surprise, "well, that is very fortunate indeed. Come with me at
once!"
He seized the boy by the arm and drew him hast=
ily
along until they entered the great kitchen of the palace.
"Here, Mister Baker!" the man called,
excitedly, "I have found your blackbirds!"
A big, fat man who was standing in the middle =
of
the kitchen with folded arms and a look of despair upon his round, greasy f=
ace,
at once came toward them and asked eagerly, "The blackbirds? are you s=
ure
you can get them?"
"They are here already; the boy has a bag
full of them."
"Give them to me," said the cook, who
wore a square cap, that was shaped like a box, upon his head.
"What do you want with them?" asked
Gilligren.
"I want them for a pie for the King's
dinner," answered Mister Baker; "His Majesty ordered the dish, an=
d I
have hunted all over London for the blackbirds, but could not find them. Now
that you have brought them, however, you have saved me my position as cook,=
and
perhaps my head as well."
"But it would be cruel to put the beautif=
ul
birds in a pie," remonstrated Gilligren, "and I shall not give th=
em
to you for such a purpose."
"Nonsense!" replied the cook, "=
the
King has ordered it; he is very fond of the dish."
"Still, you cannot have them," decla=
red
the boy stoutly, "the birds are mine, and I will not have them
killed."
"But what can I do?" asked the cook,=
in
perplexity; "the King has ordered a blackbird pie, and your birds are =
the
only blackbirds in London."
Gilligren thought deeply for a moment, and
conceived what he thought to be a very good idea. If the sixpence was to ma=
ke
his fortune, then this was his great opportunity.
"You can have the blackbirds on two
conditions," he said.
"What are they?" asked the cook.
"One is that you will not kill the
birds. The other condition is=
that you
secure me a position in the King's household."
"How can I put live birds in a pie?"
enquired the cook.
"Very easily, if you make the pie big eno=
ugh
to hold them. You can serve t=
he pie
after the King has satisfied his hunger with other dishes, and it will amuse
the company to find live birds in the pie when they expected cooked ones.&q=
uot;
"It is a risky experiment," exclaimed
the cook, "for I do not know the new King's temper. But the idea may
please His Majesty, and since you will not allow me to kill the birds, it is
the best thing I can do. As for your other condition, you seem to be a very
bright boy, and so I will have the butler take you as his page, and you sha=
ll
stand back of the King's chair and keep the flies away while he eats."=
The butler being called, and his consent secur= ed, the cook fell to making the crusts for his novel pie, while Gilligren was t= aken to the servants' hall and dressed in a gorgeous suit of the King's livery.<= o:p>
When the dinner was served, the King kept look=
ing
for the blackbird pie, but he said nothing, and at last the pie was placed
before him, its crusts looking light and brown, and sprigs of myrtle being
stuck in the four corners to make it look more inviting.
Although the King had already eaten heartily, =
he
smacked his lips when he saw this tempting dish, and picking up the
carving-fork he pushed it quickly into the pie.
At once the crust fell in, and all the four and
twenty blackbirds put up their heads and began to look about them. And comi=
ng
from the blackness of the pie into the brilliantly lighted room they though=
t they
were in the sunshine, and began to sing merrily, while some of the boldest
hopped out upon the table or began flying around the room.
At first the good King was greatly surprised; =
but
soon, appreciating the jest, he lay back in his chair and laughed long and
merrily. And his courtiers and the fine ladies present heartily joined in t=
he laughter,
for they also were greatly amused.
Then the King called for the cook, and when Mi=
ster
Baker appeared, uncertain of his reception, and filled with many misgivings,
His Majesty cried,
"Sirrah! how came you to think of putting
live birds in the pie?"
The cook, fearing that the King was angry,
answered,
"May it please your Majesty, it was not my
thought, but the idea of the boy who stands behind your chair."
The King turned his head, and seeing Gilligren,
who looked very well in his new livery, he said,
"You are a clever youth, and deserve a be=
tter
position than that of a butler's lad. Hereafter you shall be one of my own
pages, and if you serve me faithfully I will advance your fortunes with your
deserts."
And Gilligren did serve the King faithfully, a=
nd
as he grew older acquired much honor and great wealth.
"After all," he used to say, "t=
hat
sixpence made my fortune. And=
it all
came about through such a small thing as a handful of rye!"
&=
nbsp;
The Story of Little Boy Blue
&=
nbsp;
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn. The sheep 's in t=
he
meadow, the cow 's in the corn; Where 's the litt=
le boy
that minds the sheep? He 's under the
haystack, fast asleep!
There once lived a poor widow who supported he=
rself
and her only son by gleaning in the fields the stalks of grain that had been
missed by the reapers. Her little cottage was at the foot of a beautiful
valley, upon the edge of the river that wound in and out among the green hi=
lls;
and although poor, she was contented with her lot, for her home was pleasant
and her lovely boy was a constant delight to her.
He had big blue eyes, and fair golden curls, a=
nd
he loved his good mother very dearly, and was never more pleased than when =
she
allowed him to help her with her work.
And so the years passed happily away till the =
boy
was eight years old, but then the widow fell sick, and their little store of
money melted gradually away.
"I do n't know what we shall do for
bread," she said, kissing her boy with tears in her eyes, "for I =
am
not yet strong enough to work, and we have no money left."
"But I can work," answered the boy;
"and I 'm sure if I go to the Squire up at the Hall he will give me
something to do."
At first the widow was reluctant to consent to
this, since she loved to keep her child at her side, but finally, as nothing
else could be done, she decided to let him go to see the Squire.
Being too proud to allow her son to go to the
great house in his ragged clothes, she made him a new suit out of a pretty =
blue
dress she had herself worn in happier times, and when it was finished and t=
he boy
dressed in it, he looked as pretty as a prince in a fairy tale. For the bri=
ght
blue jacket set off his curls to good advantage, and the color just matched=
the
blue of his eyes. His trousers were blue, also, and she took the silver buc=
kles
from her own shoes and put them on his, that he might appear the finer. And
then she brushed his curls and placed his big straw hat upon them and sent =
him
away with a kiss to see the Squire.
It so happened that the great man was walking =
in
his garden with his daughter Madge that morning, and was feeling in an
especially happy mood, so that when he suddenly looked up and saw a little =
boy
before him, he said, kindly,
"Well, my child, what can I do for you?&q=
uot;
"If you please, sir," said the boy,
bravely, although he was frightened at meeting the Squire face to face, &qu=
ot;I
want you to give me some work to do, so that I can earn money."
"Earn money!" repeated the Squire,
"why do you wish to earn money?"
"To buy food for my mother, sir. We are very poor, and since she is=
no
longer able to work for me I wish to work for her."
"But what can you do?" asked the Squ=
ire;
"you are too small to work in the fields."
"I could earn something, sir, could n't
I?"
His tone was so pleading that mistress Madge w=
as
unable to resist it, and even the Squire was touched. The young lady came
forward and took the boy's hand in her own, and pressing back his curls, she
kissed his fair cheek.
"You shall be our shepherd," she sai=
d,
pleasantly, "and keep the sheep out of the meadows and the cows from
getting in to the corn. You know, father," she continued, turning to t=
he
Squire, "it was only yesterday you said you must get a boy to tend the
sheep, and this little boy can do it nicely."
"Very well," replied the Squire,
"it shall be as you say, and if he is attentive and watchful he will be
able to save me a good bit of trouble and so really earn his money."
Then he turned to the child and said,
"Come to me in the morning, my little man,
and I will give you a silver horn to blow, that you may call the sheep and =
the
cows whenever they go astray. What is your name?"
"Oh, never mind his name, papa!" bro=
ke
in the Squire's daughter; "I shall call him Little Boy Blue, since he =
is
dressed in blue from head to foot, and his dress but matches his eyes. And =
you
must give him a good wage, also, for surely no Squire before ever had a
prettier shepherd boy than this."
"Very good," said the Squire,
cheerfully, as he pinched his daughter's rosy cheek; "be watchful, Lit=
tle
Boy Blue, and you shall be well paid."
Then Little Boy Blue thanked them both very
sweetly and ran back over the hill and into the valley where his home lay
nestled by the riverside, to tell the good news to his mother.
The poor widow wept tears of joy when she heard
his story, and smiled when he told her that his name was to be Little Boy B=
lue.
She knew the Squire was a kind master and would be good to her darling son.=
Early the next morning Little Boy Blue was at =
the
Hall, and the Squire's steward gave him a new silver horn, that glistened
brightly in the sunshine, and a golden cord to fasten it around his neck. A=
nd then
he was given charge of the sheep and the cows, and told to keep them from
straying into the meadowlands and the fields of grain.
It was not hard work, but just suited to Little
Boy Blue's age, and he was watchful and vigilant and made a very good sheph=
erd
boy indeed. His mother needed food no longer, for the Squire paid her son l=
iberally,
and the Squire's daughter made a favorite of the small shepherd and loved to
hear the call of his silver horn echoing amongst the hills. Even the sheep =
and
the cows were fond of him, and always obeyed the sound of his horn; therefo=
re
the Squire's corn thrived finely, and was never trampled.
Little Boy Blue was now very happy, and his mo=
ther
was proud and contented and began to improve in health. After a few weeks s=
he
became strong enough to leave the cottage and walk a little in the fields e=
ach
day; but she could not go far, because her limbs were too feeble to support=
her
long, so the most she could attempt was to walk as far as the stile to meet
Little Boy Blue as he came home from work in the evening. Then she would le=
an
on his shoulder and return to the cottage with him, and the boy was very gl=
ad
he could thus support his darling mother and assist her faltering steps.
But one day a great misfortune came upon them,
since it is true that no life can be so happy but that sorrow will creep in=
to
temper it.
Little Boy Blue came homeward one evening very
light of heart and whistled merrily as he walked, for he thought he should =
find
his mother awaiting him at the stile and a good supper spread upon the tabl=
e in
the little cottage. But when he came to the stile his mother was not in sig=
ht,
and in answer to his call a low moan of pain reached his ears.
Little Boy Blue sprang over the stile and found
lying upon the ground his dear mother, her face white and drawn with suffer=
ing,
and tears of anguish running down her cheeks. For she had slipped upon the
stile and fallen, and her leg was broken!
Little Boy Blue ran to the cottage for water a=
nd
bathed the poor woman's face, and raised her head that she might drink. The=
re
were no neighbors, for the cottage stood all alone by the river, so the chi=
ld was
obliged to support his mother in his arms as best he could while she crawled
painfully back to the cottage. Fortunately, it was not far, and at last she=
was
safely laid upon her bed. Then Little Boy Blue began to think what he shoul=
d do
next.
"Can I leave you alone while I go for the
doctor, mamma?" he asked, anxiously, as he held her clasped hands tigh=
tly
in his two little ones. His mother drew him towards her and kissed him.
"Take the boat, dear," she said,
"and fetch the doctor from the village. I shall be patient till you
return."
Little Boy Blue rushed away to the river bank =
and
unfastened the little boat; and then he pulled sturdily down the river unti=
l he
passed the bend and came to the pretty village below. When he had found the
doctor and told of his mother's misfortune, the good man promised to attend=
him
at once, and very soon they were seated in the boat and on their way to the
cottage.
It was very dark by this time, but Little Boy =
Blue
knew every turn and bend in the river, and the doctor helped him pull at the
oars, so that at last they came to the place where a faint light twinkled
through the cottage window. They found the poor woman in much pain, but the=
doctor
quickly set and bandaged her leg, and gave her some medicine to ease her su=
ffering.
It was nearly midnight when all was finished and the doctor was ready to st=
art
back to the village.
"Take good care of your mother," he =
said
to the boy, "and do n't worry about her, for it is not a bad break and=
the
leg will mend nicely in time; but she will be in bed many days, and you must
nurse her as well as you are able."
All through the night the boy sat by the bedsi=
de,
bathing his mother's fevered brow and ministering to her wants. And when the
day broke she was resting easily and the pain had left her, and she told Li=
ttle
Boy Blue he must go to his work.
"For," said she, "more than ever
now we need the money you earn from the Squire, as my misfortune will add to
the expenses of living, and we have the doctor to pay. Do not fear to leave=
me,
for I shall rest quietly and sleep most of the time while you are away.&quo=
t;
Little Boy Blue did not like to leave his moth=
er
all alone, but he knew of no one he could ask to stay with her; so he placed
food and water by her bedside, and ate a little breakfast himself, and star=
ted off
to tend his sheep.
The sun was shining brightly, and the birds sa=
ng
sweetly in the trees, and the crickets chirped just as merrily as if this g=
reat
trouble had not come to Little Boy Blue to make him sad.
But he went bravely to his work, and for sever=
al
hours he watched carefully; and the men at work in the fields, and the Squi=
re's
daughter, who sat embroidering upon the porch of the great house, heard oft=
en
the sound of his horn as he called the straying sheep to his side.
But he had not slept the whole night, and he w=
as
tired with his long watch at his mother's bedside, and so in spite of himse=
lf
the lashes would droop occasionally over his blue eyes, for he was only a
child, and children feel the loss of sleep more than older people.
Still, Little Boy Blue had no intention of
sleeping while he was on duty, and bravely fought against the drowsiness th=
at
was creeping over him. The sun shone very hot that day, and he walked to the
shady side of a big haystack and sat down upon the ground, leaning his back=
against
the stack.
The cows and sheep were quietly browsing near =
him,
and he watched them earnestly for a time, listening to the singing of the
birds, and the gentle tinkling of the bells upon the wethers, and the faraw=
ay
songs of the reapers that the breeze brought to his ears.
And before he knew it the blue eyes had closed
fast, and the golden head lay back upon the hay, and Little Boy Blue was fa=
st
asleep and dreaming that his mother was well again and had come to the stil=
e to
meet him.
The sheep strayed near the edge of the meadow =
and
paused, waiting for the warning sound of the horn. And the breeze carried t=
he
fragrance of the growing corn to the nostrils of the browsing cows and temp=
ted
them nearer and nearer to the forbidden feast. But the silver horn was sile=
nt,
and before long the cows were feeding upon the Squire's pet cornfield and t=
he
sheep were enjoying themselves amidst the juicy grasses of the meadows.
The Squire himself was returning from a long,
weary ride over his farms, and when he came to the cornfield and saw the co=
ws
trampling down the grain and feeding upon the golden stalks he was very ang=
ry.
"Little Boy Blue!" he cried; "h=
o!
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn!" But there was no reply. He rode=
on
a way and now discovered that the sheep were deep within the meadows, and t=
hat
made him more angry still.
"Here, Isaac," he said to a farmer's=
lad
who chanced to pass by, "where is Little Boy Blue?"
"He 's under the haystack, your honor, fa=
st
asleep!" replied Isaac with a grin, for he had passed that way and seen
that the boy was lying asleep.
"Will you go and wake him?" asked the
Squire; "for he must drive out the sheep and the cows before they do m=
ore
damage."
"Not I," replied Isaac, "if I w=
ake
him he 'll surely cry, for he is but a baby, and not fit to mind the sheep.=
But
I myself will drive them out for your honor," and away he ran to do so,
thinking that now the Squire would give him Little Boy Blue's place, and ma=
ke
him the shepherd boy, for Isaac had long coveted the position.
The Squire's daughter, hearing the angry tones=
of
her father's voice, now came out to see what was amiss, and when she heard =
that
Little Boy Blue had failed in his trust she was deeply grieved, for she had
loved the child for his pretty ways.
The Squire dismounted from his horse and came =
to
where the boy was lying.
"Awake!" said he, shaking him by the
shoulder, "and depart from my lands, for you have betrayed my trust, a=
nd
let the sheep and the cows stray into the fields and meadows!"
Little Boy Blue started up at once and rubbed =
his
eyes; and then he did as Isaac prophesied, and began to weep bitterly, for =
his
heart was sore that he had failed in his duty to the good Squire and so for=
feited
his confidence.
But the Squire's daughter was moved by the chi=
ld's
tears, so she took him upon her lap and comforted him, asking,
"Why did you sleep, Little Boy Blue, when=
you
should have watched the cows and the sheep?"
"My mother has broken her leg," answ=
ered
the boy, between his sobs, "and I did not sleep all last night, but sa=
t by
her bedside nursing her. And I tried hard not to fall asleep, but could not
help myself; and oh, Squire! I hope you will forgive me this once, for my p=
oor mother's
sake!"
"Where does your mother live?" asked=
the
Squire, in a kindly tone, for he had already forgiven Little Boy Blue.
"In the cottage down by the river,"
answered the child; "and she is all alone, for there is no one near to
help us in our trouble."
"Come," said Mistress Madge, rising =
to
her feet and taking his hand; "lead us to your home, and we will see i=
f we
cannot assist your poor mother."
So the Squire and his daughter and Little Boy =
Blue
all walked down to the little cottage, and the Squire had a long talk with =
the
poor widow. And that same day a big basket of dainties was sent to the cott=
age,
and Mistress Madge bade her own maid go to the widow and nurse her carefully
until she recovered.
So that after all Little Boy Blue did more for=
his
dear mother by falling asleep than he could had he kept wide awake; for aft=
er his
mother was well again the Squire gave them a pretty cottage to live in very
near to the great house itself, and the Squire's daughter was ever afterward
their good friend, and saw that they wanted for no comforts of life.
And Little Boy Blue did not fall asleep again =
at
his post, but watched the cows and the sheep faithfully for many years, unt=
il
he grew up to manhood and had a farm of his own.
He always said his mother's accident had broug=
ht
him good luck, but I think it was rather his own loving heart and his devot=
ion
to his mother that made him friends. For no one is afraid to trust a boy wh=
o loves
to serve and care for his mother.
&=
nbsp;
The Cat and the Fiddle
&=
nbsp;
Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the f=
iddle,
The cow jum=
ped
over the moon! The little dog la=
ughed To see such sport=
, And the dish ran =
off
with the spoon!
Perhaps you think this verse is all nonsense, =
and
that the things it mentions could never have happened; but they did happen,=
as
you will understand when I have explained them all to you clearly.
Little Bobby was the only son of a small farmer
who lived out of town upon a country road. Bobby's mother looked after the
house and Bobby's father took care of the farm, and Bobby himself, who was =
not
very big, helped them both as much as he was able.
It was lonely upon the farm, especially when h=
is
father and mother were both busy at work, but the boy had one way to amuse
himself that served to pass many an hour when he would not otherwise have k=
nown
what to do. He was very fond of music, and his father one day brought him f=
rom
the town a small fiddle, or violin, which he soon learned to play upon. I d=
on't
suppose he was a very fine musician, but the tunes he played pleased himsel=
f;
as well as his father and mother, and Bobby's fiddle soon became his consta=
nt
companion.
One day in the warm summer the farmer and his =
wife
determined to drive to the town to sell their butter and eggs and bring back
some groceries in exchange for them, and while they were gone Bobby was to =
be
left alone.
"We shall not be back till late in the
evening," said his mother, "for the weather is too warm to drive =
very
fast. But I have left you a dish of bread and milk for your supper, and you
must be a good boy and amuse yourself with your fiddle until we return.&quo=
t;
Bobby promised to be good and look after the
house, and then his father and mother climbed into the wagon and drove away=
to
the town.
The boy was not entirely alone, for there was =
the
big black tabby-cat lying upon the floor in the kitchen, and the little yel=
low
dog barking at the wagon as it drove away, and the big moolie-cow lowing in=
the
pasture down by the brook. Animals are often very good company, and Bobby d=
id
not feel nearly as lonely as he would had there been no living thing about =
the
house.
Besides he had some work to do in the garden,
pulling up the weeds that grew thick in the carrot-bed, and when the last f=
aint
sounds of the wheels had died away he went into the garden and began his ta=
sk.
The little dog went too, for dogs love to be w=
ith
people and to watch what is going on; and he sat down near Bobby and cocked=
up
his ears and wagged his tail and seemed to take a great interest in the wee=
ding.
Once in a while he would rush away to chase a butterfly or bark at a beetle
that crawled through the garden, but he always came back to the boy and kept
near his side.
By and by the cat, which found it lonely in the
big, empty kitchen, now that Bobby's mother was gone, came walking into the
garden also, and lay down upon a path in the sunshine and lazily watched the
boy at his work. The dog and the cat were good friends, having lived togeth=
er so
long that they did not care to fight each other. To be sure Towser, as the
little dog was called, sometimes tried to tease pussy, being himself very
mischievous; but when the cat put out her sharp claws and showed her teeth,
Towser, like a wise little dog, quickly ran away, and so they managed to get
along in a friendly manner.
By the time the carrot-bed was all weeded, the=
sun
was sinking behind the edge of the forest and the new moon rising in the ea=
st,
and now Bobby began to feel hungry and went into the house for his dish of =
bread
and milk.
"I think I 'll take my supper down to the
brook," he said to himself, "and sit upon the grassy bank while I=
eat
it. And I 'll take my fiddle, too, and play upon it to pass the time until
father and mother come home."
It was a good idea, for down by the brook it w=
as
cool and pleasant; so Bobby took his fiddle under his arm and carried his d=
ish
of bread and milk down to the bank that sloped to the edge of the brook. It=
was
rather a steep bank, but Bobby sat upon the edge, and placing his fiddle be=
side
him, leaned against a tree and began to eat his supper.
The little dog had followed at his heels, and =
the
cat also came slowly walking after him, and as Bobby ate, they sat one on
either side of him and looked earnestly into his face as if they too were
hungry. So he threw some of the bread to Towser, who grabbed it eagerly and=
swallowed
it in the twinkling of an eye. And Bobby left some of the milk in the dish =
for
the cat, also, and she came lazily up and drank it in a dainty, sober fashi=
on,
and licked both the dish and spoon until no drop of the milk was left.
Then Bobby picked up his fiddle and tuned it a=
nd
began to play some of the pretty tunes he knew. And while he played he watc=
hed
the moon rise higher and higher until it was reflected in the smooth, still
water of the brook. Indeed, Bobby could not tell which was the plainest to =
see,
the moon in the sky or the moon in the water. The little dog lay quietly on=
one
side of him, and the cat softly purred upon the other, and even the moolie-=
cow
was attracted by the music and wandered near until she was browsing the gra=
ss
at the edge of the brook.
After a time, when Bobby had played all the tu=
nes
he knew, he laid the fiddle down beside him, near to where the cat slept, a=
nd
then he lay down upon the bank and began to think.
It is very hard to think long upon a dreamy su=
mmer
night without falling asleep, and very soon Bobby's eyes closed and he forg=
ot
all about the dog and the cat and the cow and the fiddle, and dreamed he was
Jack the Giant Killer and was just about to slay the biggest giant in the
world.
And while he dreamed, the cat sat up and yawned
and stretched herself; and then began wagging her long tail from side to si=
de
and watching the moon that was reflected in the water.
But the fiddle lay just behind her, and as she
moved her tail, she drew it between the strings of the fiddle, where it cau=
ght
fast. Then she gave her tail a jerk and pulled the fiddle against the tree,
which made a loud noise. This frightened the cat greatly, and not knowing w=
hat
was the matter with her tail, she started to run as fast as she could. But
still the fiddle clung to her tail, and at every step it bounded along and =
made
such a noise that she screamed with terror. And in her fright she ran strai=
ght
towards the cow, which, seeing a black streak coming at her, and hearing the
racket made by the fiddle, became also frightened and made such a jump to g=
et
out of the way that she jumped right across the brook, leaping over the very
spot where the moon shone in the water!
Bobby had been awakened by the noise, and open=
ed
his eyes in time to see the cow jump; and at first it seemed to him that she
had actually jumped over the moon in the sky, instead of the one in the bro=
ok.
The dog was delighted at the sudden excitement
caused by the cat, and ran barking and dancing along the bank, so that he
presently knocked against the dish, and behold! it slid down the bank, carr=
ying
the spoon with it, and fell with a splash into the water of the brook.
As soon as Bobby recovered from his surprise he
ran after the cat, which had raced to the house, and soon came to where the
fiddle lay upon the ground, it having at last dropped from the cat's tail. =
He examined
it carefully, and was glad to find it was not hurt, in spite of its rough
usage. And then he had to go across the brook and drive the cow back over t=
he
little bridge, and also to roll up his sleeve and reach into the water to
recover the dish and the spoon.
Then he went back to the house and lighted a l=
amp,
and sat down to compose a new tune before his father and mother returned.
The cat had recovered from her fright and lay
quietly under the stove, and Towser sat upon the floor panting, with his mo=
uth
wide open, and looking so comical that Bobby thought he was actually laughi=
ng
at the whole occurrence.
And these were the words to the tune that Bobby
composed that night:
&=
nbsp;
Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the f=
iddle,
The cow jum=
ped
over the moon! The little dog la=
ughed To see such sport=
, And the dish ran =
off
with the spoon!
&=
nbsp;
The Black Sheep
&=
nbsp;
Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, my little ma=
ster,
three bags full; One for my master=
and
one for his dame, And one for the l=
ittle
boy that lives in the lane.
It was a bright spring day, and the sun shone =
very
warm and pleasant over the pastures, where the new grass was growing so jui=
cy
and tender that all the sheep thought they had never tasted anything so del=
icious.
The sheep had had a strange experience that
morning, for the farmer had taken them down to the brook and washed them, a=
nd
then he tied their legs together and laid them on the grass and clipped all=
the
heavy, soft wool from their bodies with a great pair of shears.
The sheep did not like this very well, for eve=
ry
once in a while the shears would pull the wool and hurt them; and when they
were sheared they felt very strange, for it was almost as if someone took o=
ff
all your clothes and let you run around naked. None of them were in a very =
good
temper this morning, although the sun shone so warmly and the grass was so
sweet, and as they watched the farmer and his man carry their wool up to the
house in great bags, the old ram said, crossly,
"I hope they are satisfied, now that they
have stolen from us all our soft, warm fleece."
"What are they going to do with it?"
asked one of the sheep.
"Oh, they will spin it into threads and m=
ake
coats for the men and dresses for the women. For men are such strange creat=
ures
that no wool grows on them at all, and that is why they selfishly rob us of=
our
fleece that they may cover their own skinny bodies!"
"It must be horrid to be a man," said
the Black Sheep, "and not to have any wool grow on you at all. I 'm so=
rry
for that little boy that lives in the lane, for he will never be able to ke=
ep
warm unless we give him some of our wool."
"But what a shame it is," continued =
the
ram, "for the farmer to steal all the wool from us when we have taken =
all
the trouble to grow it!"
"I do n't mind," bleated a young lamb
named Frisky, as it kicked up its heels and gambolled about upon the grass;
"it 's nice to have all that heavy wool cut off my back, for I sha' n't
have to carry it around wherever I go."
"Oh, indeed!" sneered the ram, "=
;you
like it, do you? Have you any idea what you look like, all sheared down to =
your
skin? How would you like to have someone come along and see you, now that y=
ou
are all head and legs?"
"Oh, I would n't mind," said the lamb
again; "I shall grow more wool by wintertime, and I 'm sure I do n't l=
ook
any worse than you do."
Some of the sheep looked at the ram and began =
to
titter, for he was old and thin, and looked very comical indeed without any
wool. And this made him so angry that he went off by himself and began eati=
ng grass,
and would not speak to the others at all.
"I do n't know why sheep should feel badly about having their fleeces cut," remarked the Black Sheep, thoughtfull= y, "for the farmer is very kind to us, and so is his dame, and I am glad = my wool serves to keep them warm in the winter. For before the snow comes our = wool will grow out again, and we shall not be any the worse for our loss."<= o:p>
"What do those people who have n't any sh=
eep
do for clothes?" asked the lamb.
"I 'm sure I do n't know. They must nearly freeze in the win=
ter. Perhaps
the ram can tell us."
But the ram was still angry, and refused to say
anything, so the sheep stopped talking and began to scatter over the pasture
and eat the tender, new grass.
By and by the Black Sheep wandered near the la=
ne,
and looking up, saw the little boy watching it through the bars.
"Good morning, Black Sheep," said the
boy; "why do you look so funny this morning?"
"They have cut off my wool," answered
the sheep.
"What will they do with it, Black
Sheep?" enquired the little boy.
"They will make coats of it, to keep
themselves warm."
"I wish I had some wool," said the
boy," for I need a new coat very badly, and mamma is so poor she cannot
buy me one."
"That is too bad," replied the Black
Sheep; "but I shall have more wool by and by, and then I will give you=
a
bagful to make a new coat from."
"Will you really?" asked the boy,
looking very much pleased.
"Indeed I will," answered the sheep, "for you are always kind and have a pleasant word for me. So you watch until my wool grows again, and then you shall have your share of it."<= o:p>
"Oh, thank you!" said the boy, and he
ran away to tell his mother what the Black Sheep had said.
When the farmer came into the field again the
Black Sheep said to him, "Master, how many bags of wool did you cut fr=
om
my back?"
"Two bags full," replied the farmer;
"and it was very nice wool indeed."
"If I grow three bags full the next time,=
may
I have one bag for myself?" asked the sheep.
"Why, what could you do with a bag of
wool?" questioned the farmer.
"I want to give it to the little boy that
lives in the lane. He is very=
poor
and needs a new coat."
"Very well," answered the master;
"if you can grow three bags full I will give one to the little boy.&qu=
ot;
So the Black Sheep began to grow wool, and tri=
ed
in every way to grow the finest and heaviest fleece in all the flock. She
always lay in the sunniest part of the pastures, and drank from the clearest
part of the brook, and ate only the young and juicy shoots of grass and the=
tenderest
of the sheep-sorrel. And each day the little boy came to the bars and looke=
d at
the sheep and enquired how the wool was growing.
"I am getting along finely," the Bla=
ck
Sheep would answer, "for not one sheep in the pasture has so much wool=
as
I have grown already."
"Can I do anything to help you?" ask=
ed
the little boy.
"Not that I think of," replied the
sheep, "unless you could get me a little salt. I believe salt helps the
wool to grow."
So the boy ran to the house and begged his mot=
her
for a handful of salt, and then he came back to the bars, where the Black S=
heep
licked it out of his hand.
Day by day the wool on the sheep grew longer a=
nd
longer, and even the old ram noticed it and said, "You are foolish to =
grow
so much wool, for the farmer will cut it all off, and it will do you no goo=
d.
Now I am growing just as little as possible, for since he steals what I hav=
e I
am determined he shall get very little wool from my back."
The Black Sheep did not reply to this, for she
thought the old ram very ill-tempered and selfish, and believed he was doing
wrong not to grow more wool. Finally the time came to shear the sheep again,
and the farmer and his man came into the pasture to look at them, and were =
surprised
to see what a fine, big fleece the Black Sheep had grown.
"There will be three bagsful at the
least," said the master, "and I will keep my promise and give one=
to
the little boy in the lane. But, my goodness! how scraggly and poor the old=
ram
looks. There is scarcely any wool on him at all. I think I must sell him to=
the
butcher!"
And, in truth, although the ram kicked and
struggled and bleated with rage, they tied his legs and put him into the ca=
rt
and carried him away to the butcher. And that was the last the sheep ever s=
aw
of him.
But the Black Sheep ran up to the bars by the =
lane
and waited with a glad heart till the little boy came. When he saw the sheep
waiting for him he asked,
"Black Sheep, Black Sheep, have you any
wool?"
And the sheep replied,
"Yes my little master, three bags full!&q=
uot;
"That is fine!" said the boy; "=
but
who are the three bags for?"
"One for my master, one for his dame, And=
one
for the little boy that lives in the lane."
"Thank you, Black Sheep," said the
little boy; "you are very kind, and I shall always think of you when I
wear my new coat."
The next day the sheep were all sheared, and t=
he
Black Sheep's fleece made three big bagsful. The farmer kept his promise and
carried one bag to the little boy that lived in the lane, and the wool was =
so
soft and so heavy that there was enough not only for the new coat, but to m=
ake
his mother a warm dress as well.
The Black Sheep was very proud and happy when =
the
mother and her little boy came down to the bars and showed the new clothes =
that
had been made from the wool.
"This pays me for all my trouble," s=
aid
the Black Sheep, and the little boy reached his hand through the bars and
patted her gently upon the head.
&=
nbsp;
Old King Cole
&=
nbsp;
Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old s=
oul
was he; He =
called
for his pipe and he called for his bowl And he called for=
his
fiddlers three.
Old King Cole was not always a king, nor was he
born a member of any royal family. It was only chance--"hard luck"=
; he
used to call it--that made him a king at all.
He had always been a poor man, being the son o=
f an
apple peddler, who died and left him nothing but a donkey and a fiddle. But
that was enough for Cole, who never bothered his head about the world's goo=
ds, but
took things as they came and refused to worry about anything.
So, when the house he lived in, and the furnit=
ure,
and even the applecart were sold to pay his father's debts, and he found
himself left with the old fiddle that nobody wanted and the old donkey that=
no one
would have--it being both vicious and unruly--he uttered no word of complai=
nt.
He simply straddled the donkey and took the fiddle under his arm and rode o=
ut
into the world to seek his fortune.
When he came to a village he played a merry tu=
ne
upon the fiddle and sang a merry song with it, and the people gave him food
most willingly. There was no trouble about a place to sleep, for if he was =
denied
a bed he lay down with the donkey in a barn, or even on the village green, =
and
making a pillow of the donkey's neck he slept as soundly as anyone could in=
a
bed of down.
And so he continued riding along and playing u=
pon
his fiddle for many years, until his head grew bald and his face was wrinkl=
ed
and his bushy eyebrows became as white as snow. But his eyes never lost the=
ir merry
twinkle, and he was just as fat and hearty as in his younger days, while, if
you heard him singing his songs and scraping upon the old fiddle, you would
know at once his heart was as young as ever.
He never guided the donkey, but let the beast =
go
where it would, and so it happened that at last they came to Whatland, and
entered one day the city where resided the King of that great country.
Now, even as Cole rode in upon his donkey the =
King
of Whatland lay dying in his palace, surrounded by all the luxury of the co=
urt.
And as he left no heir, and was the last of the royal line, the councilors =
and
wise men of Whatland were in a great quandary as to who should succeed him.=
But
finally they bethought themselves of the laws of the land, and upon looking=
up
the records they found in an old book a law that provided for just such a c=
ase
as this.
"If the King dies," so read the law,
"and there be no one to succeed to the throne, the prime minister shal=
l be
blinded and led from the palace into the main street of the city. And he sh=
all
stretch out his arms and walk about, and the first person he touches shall =
be
crowned as King of the land."
The councilors were greatly pleased when they
found this law, for it enabled them to solve the problem that confronted th=
em.
So when the King had breathed his last they blindfolded the prime minister =
and
led him forth from the palace, and he began walking about with outstretched
arms seeking someone to touch.
Of course the people knew nothing of this law,=
nor
even that the old King was dead, and seeing the prime minister groping about
blindfolded they kept out of his way, fearing they might be punished if he =
stumbled
against them. But Cole was then riding along on the donkey, and did not even
know it was the prime minister who was feeling about in such a funny way. S=
o he
began to laugh, and the minister, who had by this time grown tired of the g=
ame,
heard the laugh and came toward the stranger and touched him, and immediate=
ly
all the wise men and the councilors fell down before him and hailed him as =
King
of Whatland!
Thus did the wandering fiddler become King Col=
e,
and you may be sure he laughed more merrily than ever when they explained to
him his good fortune.
They carried him within the palace and dressed=
him
in purple and fine linen, and placed a crown of gold upon his bald head and=
a
jeweled scepter in his wrinkled hand, and all this amused old King Cole ver=
y much.
When he had been led to the great throne room and placed upon the throne of
gold (where the silken cushions felt very soft and pleasant after his long =
ride
upon the donkey's sharp back) the courtiers all knelt before him and asked =
what
commands he wished to give, since everyone in the kingdom must now obey his
slightest word.
"Oh well," said the new King, "I
think the first thing I would like is my old pipe. You 'll find it in the
pocket of the ragged coat I took off."
One of the officers of the court at once ran f=
or
the pipe, and when it was brought King Cole filled it with tobacco from his
greasy pouch and lighted it, and you can imagine what a queer sight it was =
to
see the fat King sitting upon the rich throne, dressed in silk, and satins =
and a
golden crown, and smoking at the same time an old black pipe!
The councilors looked at each other in dismay,=
and
the ladies of the court sneezed and coughed and seemed greatly shocked, and=
all
this pleased old King Cole so much that he lay back in his throne and roared
with laughter. Then the prime minister came forward very gravely, and bowing
low he said,
"May it please your Majesty, it is not the
custom of Kings to smoke a pipe while seated upon the throne."
"But it is my custom," answered Cole=
.
"It is impolite, and unkingly!" vent=
ured
the minister.
"Now, see here, old fellow," replied=
his
Majesty, "I did n't ask to be King of this country; it 's all your own
doing. All my life I have smoked whenever I wished, and if I can't do as I
please here, why, I won't be king--so there!"
"But you must be the King, your Majesty,
whether you want to or not. The law says so."
"If that 's the case," returned the
King, "I can do as I please in other things. So you just run and get m=
e a
bowl of punch, there 's a good fellow."
The aged minister did not like to be addressed
thus, but the King's commands must be obeyed; so, although the court was
greatly horrified, he brought the bowl of punch, and the King pushed his cr=
own
onto the back of his head and drank heartily, and smacked his lips afterwar=
ds.
"That 's fine!" he said; "but
say--what do you people do to amuse yourselves?"
"Whatever your Majesty commands,"
answered one of the councilors.
"What! must I amuse you as well as
myself? Methinks it is no eas=
y task
to be a King if so many things are required of me. But I suppose it is usel=
ess
to fret, since the law obliges me to reign in this great country against my
will. Therefore will I make the best of my misfortune, and propose we have a
dance, and forget our cares. Send at once for some fiddlers, and clear the =
room
for our merrymaking, and for once in our lives we shall have a jolly good
time!"
So one of the officers of the court went out a=
nd
soon returned with three fiddlers, and when at the King's command they stru=
ck
up a tune, the monarch was delighted, for every fiddler had a very fine fid=
dle and
knew well how to use it.
Now, Old King Cole was a merry old soul, so he
soon set all the ladies and gentlemen of the court to dancing, and he himse=
lf
took off his crown and his ermine robe and laid them upon the throne, while=
he danced
with the prettiest lady present till he was all out of breath.
Then he dismissed them, and they were all very
well pleased with the new King, for they saw that, in spite of his odd ways=
, he
had a kind heart, and would try to make everyone about him as merry as he w=
as himself.
The next morning the King was informed that
several of his subjects craved audience with him, as there were matters of
dispute between them that must be settled. King Cole at first refused to see
them, declaring he knew nothing of the quarrels of his subjects and they mu=
st
manage their own affairs; but when the prime minister told him it was one of
his duties as king, and the law required it, he could not do otherwise than
submit. So he put on his crown and his ermine robe and sat upon the throne,
although he grumbled a good deal at the necessity; for never having had any
business of his own to attend to he thought it doubly hard that in his old =
age
he must attend to the business of others.
The first case of dispute was between two men =
who
each claimed to own a fine cow, and after hearing the evidence, the King
ordered the cow to be killed and roasted and given to the poor, since that =
was
the easiest way to decide the matter. Then followed a quarrel between two s=
ubjects
over ten pieces of gold, one claiming the other owed him that sum. The King,
thinking them both rascals, ordered the gold to be paid, and then he took it
and scattered it amongst the beggars outside the palace.
By this time King Cole decided he had transact=
ed
enough business for one day, so he sent word to those outside that if anyone
had a quarrel that was not just he should be severely punished; and, indeed,
when the subjects learned the manner in which the King settled disputes, th=
ey
were afraid to come to him, as both sides were sure to be losers by the
decision. And that saved King Cole a lot of trouble thereafter, for the peo=
ple
thought best to settle their own differences.
The King, now seeing he was free to do as he
pleased, retired to his private chamber, where he called for the three fidd=
lers
and made them play for him while he smoked his pipe and drank a bowl of pun=
ch.
Every evening he had a dance in the palace; and
every day there were picnics and merrymakings of all kinds, and before long
King Cole had the reputation of having the merriest court in all the world.=
He loved to feast and to smoke and to drink his
punch, and he was never so merry as when others were merry with him, so that
the three fiddlers were almost always by his side, and at any hour of the d=
ay you
could hear sweet strains of music echoing through the palace.
Old King Cole did not forget the donkey that h=
ad
been his constant companion for so long. He had a golden saddle made for hi=
m,
with a saddle-cloth broidered in gold and silver, and the bridle was studde=
d with
diamonds and precious stones, all taken from the King's treasury.
And when he rode out, the old fat King always
bestrode the donkey, while his courtiers rode on either side of him upon th=
eir
prancing chargers.
Old King Cole reigned for many years, and was
generally beloved by his subjects; for he always gave liberally to all who
asked, and was always as merry and happy as the day was long.
When he died the new King was found to be of a
very different temper, and ruled the country with great severity; but this =
only
served to make the memory of Old King Cole more tenderly cherished by his p=
eople,
and they often sighed when they recalled his merry pranks, and the good tim=
es
they enjoyed under his rule.
&=
nbsp;
Mistress Mary
&=
nbsp;
Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your gar=
den
grow? With =
dingle
bells and cockle shells And cowslips, all=
in a
row.
High upon a cliff that overlooked the sea was a
little white cottage, in which dwelt a sailor and his wife, with their two
strong sons and a little girl. The sons were also sailors, and had made sev=
eral
voyages with their father in a pretty ship called the "Skylark."
Their names were Hobart and Robart. The little girl's name was Mary, and she
was very happy indeed when her father and her brothers were at home, for th=
ey
petted her and played games with her and loved her very dearly But when the
"Skylark" went to sea, and her mother and herself were left alone=
in
the little white cottage, the hours were very dull and tedious, and Mary
counted the days until the sailors came home again.
One spring, just as the grasses began to grow
green upon the cliff and the trees were dressing their stiff, barren branch=
es
in robes of delicate foliage, the father and brothers bade good-bye to Mary=
and
her mother, for they were starting upon a voyage to the Black Sea.
"And how long will you be gone, papa?&quo=
t;
asked Mary, who was perched upon her father's knee, where she could nestle =
her
soft cheek against his bushy whiskers.
"How long?" he repeated, stroking her
curls tenderly as he spoke; "well, well, my darling, it will be a long
time indeed! Do you know the cowslips that grow in the pastures, Mary?"=
;
"Oh, yes; I watch for them every
spring," she answered.
"And do you know the dingle-bells that gr=
ow
near the edge of the wood?" he asked again.
"I know them well, papa," replied Ma=
ry,
"for often I gather their blue blossoms and put them in a vase upon the
table."
"And how about the cockle-shells?"
"Them also I know," said Mary eagerl=
y,
for she was glad her father should find her so well acquainted with the fie=
ld
flowers; "there is nothing prettier than the big white flowers of the
cockle-shells. But tell me, papa, what have the flowers to do with your com=
ing
home?"
"Why, just this, sweetheart," return=
ed
the sailor gravely; "all the time that it takes the cowslips and
dingle-bells and cockle-shells to sprout from the ground, and grow big and
strong, and blossom into flower, and, yes--to wither and die away again--all
that time shall your brothers and I sail the seas. But when the cold winds
begin to blow, and the flowers are gone, then, God willing, we shall come b=
ack to
you; and by that time you may have grown wiser and bigger, and I am sure you
will have grown older. So one more kiss, sweetheart, and then we must go, f=
or
our time is up."
The next morning, when Mary and her mother had
dried their eyes, which had been wet with grief at the departure of their l=
oved
ones, the little girl asked earnestly,
"Mamma, may I make a flower-garden?"=
"A flower-garden!" repeated her moth=
er
in surprise; "why do you wish a flower-garden, Mary?"
"I want to plant in it the cockle-shells =
and
the cowslips and the dingle-bells," she answered.
And her mother, who had heard what the sailor =
had
said to his little girl, knew at once what Mary meant; so she kissed her
daughter and replied,
"Yes, Mary, you may have the flower-garde=
n,
if you wish. We will dig a ni=
ce
little bed just at the side of the house, and you shall plant your flowers =
and
care for them yourself."
"I think I 'd rather have the flowers at =
the
front of the house," said Mary.
"But why?" enquired her mother;
"they will be better sheltered at the side."
"I want them in front," persisted Ma=
ry,
"for the sun shines stronger there."
"Very well," answered her mother,
"make your garden at the front, if you will, and I will help you to di=
g up
the ground."
"But I do n't want you to help," said
Mary, "for this is to be my own little flower-garden, and I want to do=
all
the work myself."
Now I must tell you that this little girl,
although very sweet in many ways, had one serious fault. She was inclined t=
o be
a bit contrary, and put her own opinions and ideas before those of her elde=
rs.
Perhaps Mary meant no wrong in this; she often thought knew better how to d=
o a thing
than others did; and in such a case she was not only contrary, but anxious =
to
have her own way.
And so her mother, who did not like her little
daughter to be unhappy, often gave way to her in small things, and now she
permitted Mary to make her own garden, and plant it as she would.
So Mary made a long, narrow bed at the front of
the house, and then she prepared to plant her flowers.
"If you scatter the seeds," said her
mother, "the flower-bed will look very pretty."
Now this was what Mary was about to do; but si=
nce
her mother advised it, she tried to think of another way, for, as I said, s=
he
was contrary at times. And in the end she planted the dingle-bells all in o=
ne
straight row, and the cockle-shells in another straight row the length of t=
he
bed, and she finished by planting the cowslips in another long row at the b=
ack.
Her mother smiled, but said nothing; and now, =
as
the days passed by, Mary watered and tended her garden with great care; and
when the flowers began to sprout she plucked all the weeds that grew among =
them,
and so in the mild spring weather the plants grew finely.
"When they have grown up big and
strong," said Mary one morning, as she weeded the bed, "and when =
they
have budded and blossomed and faded away again, then papa and my brothers w=
ill
come home. And I shall call the cockle-shells papa, for they are the biggest
and strongest; and the dingle-bells shall be brother Hobart, and the cowsli=
ps
brother Robart. And now I feel as if the flowers were really my dear ones, =
and I
must be very careful that they come to no harm!"
She was filled with joy when one morning she r=
an
out to her flower-garden after breakfast and found the dingle-bells and
cowslips were actually blossoming, while even the cockle-shells were showin=
g their
white buds. They looked rather comical, all standing in stiff, straight row=
s,
one after the other; but Mary did not mind that.
While she was working she heard the tramp of a
horse's hoofs, and looking up saw the big bluff Squire riding toward her. T=
he
big Squire was very fond of children, and whenever he rode near the little
white cottage he stopped to have a word with Mary. He was old and bald-head=
ed,
and he had side-whiskers that were very red in color and very short and stu=
bby;
but there was ever a merry twinkle in his blue eyes, and Mary well knew him=
for
her friend.
Now, when she looked up and saw him coming tow=
ard
her flower-garden, she nodded and smiled to him, and the big bluff Squire r=
ode
up to her side, and looked down with a smile at her flowers.
Then he said to her in rhyme (for it was a way=
of
speaking the jolly Squire had),
"Mistress Mary, so
contrary, H=
ow
does your garden grow? With dingle-bells=
and
cockle-shells And
cowslips all in a row!"
And Mary, being a sharp little girl, and knowi=
ng
the Squire's queer ways, replied to him likewise in rhyme, saying,
&=
nbsp;
"I thank you, Squire, that you enquire How well the flow=
ers
are growing; The
dingle-bells and cockle-shells And cowslips all =
are
blowing!"
The Squire laughed at this reply, and patted h=
er
upon her head, and then he continued,
&=
nbsp;
"'T is aptly said. But
prithee, maid, Why thus your gar=
den
fill When e=
v'ry
field the same flowers yield To pluck them as =
you
will?"
"That is a long story, Squire," said
Mary; "but this much I may tell you,
&=
nbsp;
"The cockle-shell is father's flower, The cowslip here =
is
Robart, The
dingle-bell, I now must tell, I 've named for B=
rother
Hobart
&=
nbsp;
"And when the flowers have lived their lives In sunshine and in
rain, And t=
hen do
fade, why, papa said He 'd sure come h=
ome
again."
"Oh, that 's the idea, is it?" asked=
the
big bluff Squire, forgetting his poetry. "Well, it 's a pretty thought=
, my
child, and I think because the flowers are strong and hearty that you may k=
now
your father and brothers are the same; and I 'm sure I hope they 'll come b=
ack
from their voyage safe and sound. I shall come and see you again, little on=
e,
and watch the garden grow." And then he said "gee-up" to his
gray mare, and rode away.
The very next day, to Mary's great surprise and
grief; she found the leaves of the dingle-bells curling and beginning to
wither.
"Oh, mamma," she called, "come
quick! Something is surely the
matter with brother Hobart!"
"The dingle-bells are dying," said h=
er
mother, after looking carefully at the flowers; "but the reason is that
the cold winds from the sea swept right over your garden last night, and
dingle-bells are delicate flowers and grow best where they are sheltered by=
the
woods. If you had planted them at the side of the house, as I wished you to,
the wind would not have killed them."
Mary did not reply to this, but sat down and b=
egan
to weep, feeling at the same time that her mother was right and it was her =
own
fault for being so contrary.
While she sat thus the Squire rode up, and cal=
led
to her
&=
nbsp;
"Fie, Mary, fie! =
Why do
you cry; And blind your eyes to knowin=
g How dingle-bells =
and
cockle-shells And
cowslips all are growing?"
&=
nbsp;
"Oh, Squire!" sobbed Mary, "I am in great trouble
"Nonsense!" said the Squire;
"because you named the flowers after your brother Hobart is no reason =
he
should be affected by the fading of the dingle-bells. I very much suspect t=
he
real reason they are dying is because the cold sea wind caught them last ni=
ght.
Dingle-bells are delicate. If you had scattered the cockle-shells and cowsl=
ips
all about them, the stronger plants would have protected the weaker; but you
see, my girl, you planted the dingle-bells all in a row, and so the wind ca=
ught
them nicely."
Again Mary reproached herself for having been
contrary and refusing to listen to her mother's advice; but the Squire's wo=
rds
comforted her, nevertheless, and made her feel that brother Hobart and the
flowers had really nothing to do with each other.
The weather now began to change, and the cold =
sea
winds blew each night over Mary's garden. She did not know this, for she was
always lying snugly tucked up in her bed, and the warm morning sun usually =
drove
away the winds; but her mother knew it, and feared Mary's garden would suff=
er.
One day Mary came into the house where her mot=
her
was at work and said, gleefully,
"Papa and my brothers will soon be home
now."
"Why do you think so?" asked her mot=
her.
"Because the cockle-shells and cowslips a=
re
both fading away and dying, just as the dingle-bells did, and papa said when
they faded and withered he and the boys would come back to us."
Mary's mother knew that the harsh winds had ki=
lled
the flowers before their time, but she did not like to disappoint her darli=
ng,
so she only said, with a sigh,
"I hope you are right, Mary, for we both
shall be glad to welcome our dear ones home again."
But soon afterward the big bluff Squire came
riding up, as was his wont, to where Mary stood by her garden, and he at on=
ce
asked,
=
"Pray tell me, de=
ar,
though much I fear The answer sad I =
know, How grow the stur=
dy
cockle-shells And
cowslips, all in a row?"
And Mary looked up at him with her bright smile
and answered,
&=
nbsp;
"Dingle-bells and cockle-shells And cowslips are =
all
dead, And n=
ow my
papa's coming home, For so he surely
said."
"Ah," said the Squire, looking at her
curiously, "I 'm afraid you are getting way ahead of time. See here, M=
ary,
how would you like a little ride with me on my nag?"
"I would like it very much, sir,"
replied Mary.
"Then reach up your hand. Now!--there you are, little one!&q=
uot;
and Mary found herself seated safely in front of the Squire, who clasped he=
r with
one strong arm so that she could not slip off.
"Now, then," he said "we 'll ta= ke a little ride down the hill and by the path that runs beside the wood."<= o:p>
So he gave the rein to his mare and they rode
along, chatting merrily together, till they came to the wood. Then said the
Squire,
&=
nbsp;
"Take a look within that nook And tell me what =
is
there."
And Mary exclaimed,
"A dingle-bell, and truth to tell In full bloom, I
declare!"
The Squire now clucked to his nag, and as they
rode away he said,
&=
nbsp;
"Now come with me and you shall see A field with cows=
lips
bright And =
not a
garden in the land Can show so fair a
sight."
And so it was, for as they rode through the
pastures the cowslips bloomed on every hand, and Mary's eyes grew bigger and
bigger as she thought of her poor garden with its dead flowers.
And then the Squire took her toward the little
brook that wandered through the meadows, flowing over the pebbles with a so=
ft,
gurgling sound that was very nearly as sweet as music; and when they reache=
d it
the big Squire said,
&=
nbsp;
"If you will look beside the brook You 'll see, I kn=
ow
quite well, That
hidden in each mossy nook Is many a
cockle-shell."
This was indeed true, and as Mary saw them she
suddenly dropped her head and began to weep.
"What 's the matter, little one?" as=
ked
the Squire in his kind, bluff voice. And Mary answered,
&=
nbsp;
"Although the flowers I much admire, You know papa did=
say He won't be home =
again,
Squire, Til=
l all
have passed away."
"You must be patient, my child," rep=
lied
her friend; "and surely you would not have been thus disappointed had =
you
not tried to make the field flowers grow where they do not belong. Gardens =
are
all well enough for fancy flowers to grow in, but the posies that God gave =
to all
the world, and made to grow wild in the great garden of Nature, will never
thrive in other places. Your father meant you to watch the flowers in the
field; and if you will come and visit them each day, you will find the time
waiting very short indeed."
Mary dried her eyes and thanked the kindly old=
Squire,
and after that she visited the fields each day and watched the flowers grow=
.
And it was not so very long, as the Squire said
before the blossoms began to wither and fall away; and finally one day Mary
looked out over the sea and saw a little speck upon the waters that looked =
like
a sail. And when it came nearer and had grown larger, both she and her moth=
er
saw that it was the "Skylark" come home again, and you can imagine
how pleased and happy the sight of the pretty little ship made them.
And soon after, when Mary had been hugged by h=
er
two sunburned brothers and was clasped in her father's strong arms, she
whispered,
"I knew you were coming soon, papa."=
"And how did you know, sweetheart?" =
he
asked, giving her an extra kiss.
"Because I watched the flowers; and the
dingle-bells and cowslips and cockle-shells are all withered and faded away.
And did you not say that, God willing, when this happened you would come ba=
ck
to us?"
"To be sure I did," answered her fat=
her,
with a happy laugh; "and I must have spoken truly, sweetheart, for God=
in
His goodness was willing, and here I am!"
=
The
Wond'rous Wise Man
&=
nbsp;
The Wond'rous Wise Man
&=
nbsp;
There was a man in our town And he was wond'r=
ous
wise; He ju=
mped
into a bramble bush And scratched out=
both
his eyes. A=
nd
when he saw his eyes were out, With all his migh=
t and
main He jum=
ped
into another bush And scratched the=
m in
again!
Our town is a quiet little town, and lies nest=
ling
in a little valley surrounded by pretty green hills. I do not think you wou=
ld
ever have heard our town mentioned had not the man lived there who was so w=
ise that
everyone marvelled at his great knowledge.
He was not always a wise man; he was a wise boy
before he grew to manhood, and even when a child he was so remarkable for h=
is
wisdom that people shook their heads gravely and said, "when he grows =
up there
will be no need of books, for he will know everything!"
His father thought he had a wond'rous wise look
when he was born, and so he named him Solomon, thinking that if indeed he
turned out to be wise the name would fit him nicely, whereas, should he be
mistaken, and the boy grow up stupid, his name could be easily changed to
Simon.
But the father was not mistaken, and the boy's
name remained Solomon.
When he was still a child Solomon confounded t=
he
schoolmaster by asking, one day,
"Can you tell me, sir, why a cow drinks w=
ater
from a brook?"
"Well really," replied the abashed
schoolmaster, "I have never given the subject serious thought. But I w=
ill
sleep upon the question, and try to give you an answer to-morrow."
"But the schoolmaster could not sleep; he
remained awake all the night trying to think why a cow drinks water from a
brook, and in the morning he was no nearer the answer than before. So he was
obliged to appear before the wise child and acknowledge that he could not s=
olve
the problem.
"I have looked at the subject from every
side," said he, "and given it careful thought, and yet I cannot t=
ell
why a cow drinks water from a brook."
"Sir," replied the wise child, "=
;it
is because the cow is thirsty."
The shock of this answer was so great that the
schoolmaster fainted away, and when they had brought him to he made a proph=
ecy
that Solomon would grow up to be a wond'rous wise man.
It was the same way with the village doctor. Solomon came to him one day and as=
ked,
"Tell me, sir, why has a man two eyes?&qu=
ot;
"Bless me!" exclaimed the doctor,
"I must think I a bit before I answer, for I have never yet had my
attention called to this subject."
So he thought for a long time, and then he sai=
d,
"I must really give it up. I cannot tell, for the life of me, why a man
has two eyes. Do you know?"
"Yes, sir," answered the boy.
"Then," said the doctor, after takin=
g a
dose of quinine to brace up his nerves, for he remembered the fate of the
schoolmaster, "then please tell me why a man as two eyes.
"A man has two eyes, sir," returned
Solomon, solemnly, "because he was born that way."
And the doctor marvelled greatly at so much wi=
sdom
in a little child, and made a note of it in his note-book.
Solomon was so full of wisdom that it flowed f=
rom
his mouth in a perfect stream, and every day he gave new evidence to his
friends that he could scarcely hold all the wise thoughts that came to him.=
For
instance, one day he said to his father,
"I perceive our dog has six legs."
"Oh, no!" replied his father, "=
our
dog has only four legs."
"You are surely mistaken, sir," said
Solomon, with the gravity that comes from great wisdom, "these are our
dog's fore legs, are they not?" pointing to the front legs of the dog.=
"Yes," answered his father.
"Well," continued Solomon, "the=
dog
has two other legs, besides, and two and four are six; therefore the dog has
six legs."
"But that is very old," exclaimed his
father.
"True," replied Solomon, "but t=
his
is a young dog."
Then his father bowed his head in shame that h=
is
own child should teach him wisdom.
Of course Solomon wore glasses upon his eyes--=
all
wise people wear them,--and his face was ever grave and solemn, while he wa=
lked
slowly and stiffly so that people might know he was the celebrated wise man=
, and
do him reverence.
And when he had grown to manhood the fame of h=
is
wisdom spread all over the world, so that all the other wise men were jealo=
us,
and tried in many ways to confound him; but Solomon always came out ahead a=
nd maintained
his reputation for wisdom.
Finally a very wise man came from Cumberland, =
to
meet Solomon and see which of them was the wisest. He was a very big man, a=
nd
Solomon was a very little man, and so the people all shook their heads sadly
and feared Solomon had met his match, for if the Cumberland man was as full=
of
wisdom as Solomon, he had much the advantage in size.
They formed a circle around the two wise men, =
and
then began the trial to see which was the wisest.
"Tell me," said Solomon, looking
straight up into the big man's face with an air of confidence that reassured
his friends, "how many sisters has a boy who has one father, one mothe=
r,
and seven brothers?"
The big wise man got very red in the face, and
scowled and coughed and stammered, but he could not tell.
"I do not know," he acknowledged;
"nor do you know, either, for there is no rule to go by."
"Oh, yes, I know," replied Solomon;
"he has two sisters. I k=
now
this is the true answer, because I know the boy and his father and his moth=
er
and his brothers and his sisters, so that I cannot be mistaken."
Now all the people applauded at this, for they
were sure Solomon had got the best of the man from Cumberland.
But it was now the big man's turn to try Solom=
on,
so he said,
&=
nbsp;
"Fingers five are on my hand; All of them uprig=
ht do
stand. One =
a dog
is, chasing kittens; One a cat is, wea=
ring
mittens; On=
e a
rat is, eating cheese; One a wolf is, fu=
ll of
fleas; One =
a fly
is, in a cup How
many fingers do I hold up?"
"Four," replied Solomon, promptly,
"for one of them is a thumb!"
The wise man from Cumberland was so angry at b=
eing
outwitted that he sprang at Solomon and would no doubt have injured him had=
not
our wise man turned and run away as fast as he could go. The man from Cumbe=
rland
at once ran after him, and chased him through the streets and down the lanes
and up the side of the hill where the bramble-bushes grow.
Solomon ran very fast, but the man from Cumber=
land
was bigger, and he was just about to grab our wise man by his coat-tails wh=
en
Solomon gave a great jump, and jumped right into the middle of a big brambl=
e-bush!
The people were all coming up behind, and as t=
he
big man did not dare to follow Solomon into the bramble-bush, he turned away
and ran home to Cumberland.
All the men and women of our town were horrifi=
ed
when they came up and found their wise man in the middle of the bramble-bus=
h,
and held fast by the brambles, which scratched and pricked him on every sid=
e.
"Solomon! are you hurt?" they cried.=
"I should say I am hurt!" replied
Solomon, with a groan; "my eyes are scratched out!"
"How do you know they are?" asked the
village doctor.
"I can see they are scratched out!"
replied Solomon; and the people all wept with grief at this, and Solomon ho=
wled
louder than any of them.
Now the fact was that when Solomon jumped into=
the
bramble-bush he was wearing his spectacles, and the brambles pushed the gla=
sses
so close against his eyes that he could not open them; and so, as every oth=
er part
of him was scratched and bleeding, and he could not open his eyes, he made =
sure
they were scratched out.
"How am I to get out of here?" he as=
ked
at last.
"You must jump out," replied the doc=
tor,
"since you have jumped in."
So Solomon made a great jump, and although the
brambles tore him cruelly, he sprang entirely out of the bush and fell plump
into another one. This last bush, however, by good luck, was not a bramble-=
bush,
but one of elderberry, and when he jumped into it his spectacles fell off, =
and
to his surprise he opened his eyes and found that he could see again.
"Where are you now?" called out the
doctor.
"I 'm in the elderberry bush, and I 've
scratched my eyes in again!" answered Solomon.
When the people heard this they marvelled grea=
tly
at the wisdom of a man who knew how to scratch his eyes in after they were
scratched out; and they lifted Solomon from the bush and carried him home,
where they bound up the scratches and nursed him carefully until he was wel=
l again.
And after that no one ever questioned the
wond'rous wisdom of our wise man, and when he finally died, at a good old a=
ge,
they built a great monument over his grave, and on one side of it were the
words,
"Solomon; the Man who was Wond'rous
Wise."
and on the other side was a picture of a
bramble-bush.
&=
nbsp;
What Jack Horner Did
&=
nbsp;
Little Jack Horner sat in a corner, Eating a Christma=
s pie;
He put in h=
is
thumb and pulled out a plum And said, "W=
hat a
good boy am I!"
Little Jack Horner lived in an old, tumble-down
house at the edge of a big wood; and there many generations of Horners had
lived before him, and had earned their living by chopping wood. Jack's fath=
er
and mother were both dead, and he lived with his grandfather and grandmothe=
r,
who took great pains to teach him all that a boy should know.
They lived very comfortably and happily togeth=
er
until one day a great tree fell upon Grandpa Horner and crushed his legs; a=
nd
from that time on he could not work at all, but had to be nursed and tended
very carefully.
This calamity was a great affliction to the
Horners. Grandma Horner had a
little money saved up in an old broken teapot that she kept in the cupboard,
but that would not last them a great time, and when it was gone they would =
have
nothing with which to buy food.
"I 'm sure I do n't know what is to becom=
e of
us," she said to Jack, "for I am too old to work, and you are too
young." She always told her troubles to Jack now; small though he was,=
he
was the only one she could talk freely with, since it would only bother the=
poor
crippled grandfather to tell him how low the money was getting in the teapo=
t.
"It is true," replied Jack, "th= at you are too old to work, for your rheumatism will barely allow you to care = for the house and cook our meals; and there is grandpa to be tended. But I am n= ot too young to work, grandma, and I shall take my little hatchet and go into = the wood. I cannot cut the big trees, but I can the smaller ones, and I am sure I sha= ll be able to pile up enough wood to secure the money we need for food."<= o:p>
"You are a good boy, dear," said gra=
ndma
Horner, patting his head lovingly, "but you are too young for the task=
. We
must think of some other way to keep the wolf from the door."
But Jack was not shaken in his resolve, althou=
gh
he saw it was useless to argue further with his grandmother. So the next
morning he rose very early and took his little axe and went into the wood to
begin his work. There were a good many branches scattered about, and these =
he was
able to cut with ease; and then he piled them up nicely to be sold when the
wood-carter next came around. When dinner-time came he stopped long enough =
to
eat some of the bread and cheese he had brought with him, and then he resum=
ed
his work.
But scarcely had he chopped one branch when a
faint cry from the wood arrested his attention. It seemed as if some one was
shouting for help. Jack listened a moment, and again heard the cry.
Without hesitation he seized his axe and ran
toward the place from whence the cry had proceeded. The underbrush was very
thick and the thorns caught in his clothing and held him back, but with the=
aid
of his sharp little axe he overcame all difficulties and presently reached a
place where the wood was more open.
He paused here, for often he had been told by
Grandpa Horner that there were treacherous bogs in this part of the wood, w=
hich
were so covered with mosses and ferns that the ground seemed solid enough t=
o walk
upon. But woe to the unlucky traveler who stepped unawares upon their surfa=
ce;
for instantly he found himself caught by the clinging moist clay, to sink
farther and farther into the bog until, swallowed up in the mire, he would =
meet
a horrible death beneath its slimy surface. His grandfather had told him ne=
ver
to go near these terrible bogs, and Jack, who was an obedient boy, had alwa=
ys
kept away from this part of the wood. But as he paused, again that despairi=
ng
cry came to his ears, very near to him now, it seemed:
"Help!"
Forgetful of all save a desire to assist this
unknown sufferer, Jack sprang forward with an answering cry, and only halted
when he found himself upon the edge of a vast bog.
"Where are you?" he then shouted.
"Here!" answered a voice, and, looki=
ng
down, Jack saw, a few feet away, the head and shoulders of a man. He had wa=
lked
into the bog and sunk into its treacherous depths nearly to his waist, and,
although he struggled bravely, his efforts only seemed to draw him farther =
down
toward a frightful death.
For a moment, filled with horror and dismay, J=
ack
stood looking at the man. Then he remembered a story he had once heard of h=
ow a
man had been saved from the bog.
"Be quiet, sir!" he called to the
unfortunate stranger; "save all your strength, and I may yet be able to
rescue you."
He then ran to a tall sapling that stood near =
and
began chopping away with his axe. The keen blade speedily cut through the y=
oung
but tough wood, and, then Jack dragged it to the edge of the bog, and, exer=
ting
all his strength, pushed it out until the sapling was within reach of the
sinking man.
"Grab it, sir!" he called out, "=
;and
hold on tightly. It will keep=
you from
sinking farther into the mire, and when you have gained more strength you m=
ay
be able to pull yourself out."
"You are a brave boy," replied the
stranger, "and I shall do as you tell me."
It was a long and tedious struggle, and often =
Jack
thought the stranger would despair and be unable to drag his body from the =
firm
clutch of the bog; but little by little the man succeeded in drawing himsel=
f up
by the sapling, and at last he was saved, and sank down exhausted upon the =
firm
ground by Jack's side.
The boy then ran for some water that stood in a
slough near by, and with this he bathed the stranger's face and cooled his
parched lips. Then he gave him the remains of his bread and cheese, and soon
the gentleman became strong enough to walk with Jack's help to the cottage =
at
the edge of the wood.
Grandma Horner was greatly surprised to see the
strange man approaching, supported by her sturdy little grandson; but she r=
an
to help him, and afterward gave him some old clothing of Grandpa Horner's, =
to
replace his own muddy garments. When the man had fully rested, she brewed h=
im
her last bit of tea, and by that time the stranger declared he felt as good=
as
new.
"Is this your son, ma'am?" he asked,
pointing to Jack.
"He is my grandson, sir," answered t=
he
woman.
"He is a good boy," declared the
stranger, "and a brave boy as well, for he has saved my life. I live f=
ar
away in a big city, and have plenty of money. If you will give Jack to me I
will take him home and educate him, and make a great man of him when he gro=
ws
up."
Grandma Horner hesitated, for the boy was very
dear to her and the pride of her old age; but Jack spoke up for himself.
"I 'll not go," he said, stoutly;
"you are very kind, and mean well by me, but grandma and grandpa have =
only
me to care for them now, and I must stay with them and cut the wood, and so
keep them supplied with food."
The stranger said nothing more, but he patted
Jack's head kindly, and soon after left them and took the road to the city.=
The next morning Jack went to the wood again, =
and
began chopping as bravely as before. And by hard work he cut a great deal of
wood, which the wood-carter carried away and sold for him. The pay was not =
very
much, to be sure, but Jack was glad that he was able to earn something to h=
elp
his grandparents.
And so the days passed rapidly away until it w=
as
nearly Christmas time, and now, in spite of Jack's earnings, the money was =
very
low indeed in the broken teapot.
One day, just before Christmas, a great wagon
drove up to the door of the little cottage, and in it was the stranger Jack=
had
rescued from the bog. The wagon was loaded with a store of good things which
would add to the comfort of the aged pair and their grandson, including med=
icines
for grandpa and rare teas for grandma, and a fine suit of clothes for Jack,=
who
was just then away at work in the wood.
When the stranger had brought all these things
into the house, he asked to see the old teapot. Trembling with the exciteme=
nt
of their good fortune, Grandma Horner brought out the teapot, and the gentl=
eman
drew a bag from beneath his coat and filled the pot to the brim with shining
gold pieces.
"If ever you need more," he said,
"send to me, and you shall have all you wish to make you
comfortable."
Then he told her his name, and where he lived,=
so
that she might find him if need be, and then he drove away in the empty wag=
on
before Grandma Horner had half finished thanking him.
You can imagine how astonished and happy little
Jack was when he returned from his work and found all the good things his k=
ind benefactor
had brought. Grandma Horner was herself so delighted that she caught the bo=
y in
her arms, and hugged and kissed him, declaring that his brave rescue of the
gentleman had brought them all this happiness in their hour of need.
"To-morrow is Christmas," she said,
"and we shall have an abundance with which to celebrate the good day. =
So I
shall make you a Christmas pie, Jack dear, and stuff it full of plums, for =
you
must have your share of our unexpected prosperity."
And Grandma Horner was as good as her word, and
made a very delicious pie indeed for her darling grandson.
And that is was how it came that
&=
nbsp;
"Little Jack Horner sat in a corner Eating a Christma=
s pie;
He put in h=
is
thumb and pulled out a plum And said, "W=
hat a
good boy am I!
And he was--a very good boy. Do n't you think so?
&=
nbsp;
The Man in the Moon
&=
nbsp;
The Man in the Moon came tumbling down, And enquired the =
way to
What!
Have you never heard the story of the Man in the Moon? Then I must surely tell it, for it=
is
very amusing, and there is not a word of truth in it.
The Man in the Moon was rather lonesome, and o=
ften
he peeked over the edge of the moon and looked down upon the earth and envi=
ed
all the people who lived together, for he thought it must be vastly more pl=
easant
to have companions to talk to than to be shut up in a big planet all by
himself, where he had to whistle to keep himself company.
One day he looked down and saw an alderman sai=
ling
up through the air towards him. This alderman was being translated (instead=
of
being transported, owing to a misprint in the law) and as he came near the =
Man
in the Moon called to him and said,
"How is everything down on the earth?&quo=
t;
"Everything is lovely," replied the
alderman, "and I would n't leave it if I was not obliged to."
"What 's a good place to visit down
there?" enquired the Man in the Moon.
"Oh,
The words of the alderman made him more anxious
than ever to visit the earth, and so he walked thoughtfully home, and put a=
few
lumps of ice in the stove to keep him warm, and sat down to think how he sh=
ould
manage the trip.
You see, everything went by contraries in the
Moon, and when the Man wished to keep warm he knocked off a few chunks of i=
ce
and put them in his stove; and he cooled his drinking water by throwing red=
-hot
coals of fire into the pitcher. Likewise, when he became chilly he took off=
his
hat and coat, and even his shoes, and so became warm; and in the hot days of
summer he put on his overcoat to cool off.
All of which seems very queer to you, no doubt;
but it was n't at all queer to the Man in the Moon, for he was accustomed to
it.
Well, he sat by his ice-cool fire and thought
about his journey to the earth, and finally he decided the only way he could
get there was to slide down a moonbeam.
So he left the house and locked the door and p=
ut
the key in his pocket, for he was uncertain how long he should be gone; and
then he went to the edge of the moon and began to search for a good strong =
moonbeam.
At last he found one that seemed rather
substantial and reached right down to a pleasant-looking spot on the earth;=
and
so he swung himself over the edge of the moon, and put both arms tight arou=
nd
the moonbeam and started to slide down. But he found it rather slippery, an=
d in
spite of all his efforts to hold on he found himself going faster and faste=
r,
so that just before he reached the earth he lost his hold and came tumbling
down head over heels and fell plump into a river.
The cool water nearly scalded him before he co=
uld
swim out, but fortunately he was near the bank and he quickly scrambled upon
the land and sat down to catch his breath.
By that time it was morning, and as the sun ro=
se
its hot rays cooled him off somewhat, so that he began looking about curiou=
sly
at all the strange sights and wondering where on earth he was.
By and by a farmer came along the road by the
river with a team of horses drawing a load of hay, and the horses looked so=
odd
to the Man in the Moon that at first he was greatly frightened, never befor=
e having
seen horses except from his home in the moon, from whence they looked a good
deal smaller. But he plucked up courage and said to the farmer,
"Can you tell me the way to Norwich,
sir?"
"Norwich?" repeated the farmer musin=
gly;
"I do n't know exactly where it be, sir, but it 's somewhere away to t=
he
south."
"Thank you," said the Man in the
Moon.--But stop! I must not c=
all
him the Man in the Moon any longer, for of course he was now out of the moo=
n;
so I 'll simply call him the Man, and you 'll know by that which man I mean=
.
Well, the Man in the--I mean the Man (but I ne=
arly
forgot what I have just said)--the Man turned to the south and began walking
briskly along the road, for he had made up his mind to do as the alderman h=
ad advised
and travel to Norwich, that he might eat some of the famous pease porridge =
that
was made there. And finally, after a long and tiresome journey, he reached =
the
town and stopped at one of the first houses he came to, for by this time he=
was
very hungry indeed.
A good-looking woman answered his knock at the
door, and he asked politely,
"Is this the town of
"Surely this is the town of
"I came here to see if I could get some p=
ease
porridge," continued the Man, "for I hear you make I the nicest
porridge in the world in this town."
"That we do, sir," answered the woma=
n,
"and if you 'll step inside I 'll give you a bowl, for I have plenty in
the house that is newly made."
So he thanked her and entered the house, and s=
he
asked,
"Will you have it hot or cold, sir?"=
"Oh, cold, by all means," replied the
Man, "for I detest anything hot to eat."
She soon brought him a bowl of cold pease
porridge, and the Man was so hungry that he took a big spoonful at once.
But no sooner had he put it into his mouth tha=
n he
uttered a great yell, and began dancing frantically about the room, for of
course the porridge that was cold to earth folk was hot to him, and the big=
spoonful
of cold pease porridge had burned his mouth to a blister!
"What 's the matter?" asked the woma=
n.
"Matter!" screamed the Man; "wh=
y,
your porridge is so hot it has burned me."
"Fiddlesticks!" she replied, "t=
he
porridge is quite cold."
"Try it yourself!" he cried. So she tried it and found it very =
cold and
pleasant. But the Man was so astonished to see her eat the porridge that had
blistered his own mouth that he became frightened and ran out of the house =
and
down the street as fast as he could go.
The policeman on the first corner saw him runn=
ing,
and promptly arrested him, and he was marched off to the magistrate for tri=
al.
"What is your name?" asked the
magistrate.
"I have n't any," replied the Man; f=
or
of course as he was the only Man in the Moon it was n't necessary he should
have a name.
"Come, come, no nonsense!" said the
magistrate, "you must have some name. Who are you?"
"Why, I 'm the Man in the Moon."
"That 's rubbish!" said the magistra=
te,
eyeing the prisoner severely, "you may be a man, but you 're not in the
moon-you 're in
"That is true," answered the Man, who
was quite bewildered by this idea.
"And of course you must be called
something," continued the magistrate.
"Well, then," said the prisoner,
"if I 'm not the Man in the Moon I must be the Man out of the Moon; so
call me that."
"Very good," replied the judge;
"now, then, where did you come from?"
"The moon."
"Oh, you did, eh? How did you get here?"
"I slid down a moonbeam."
"Indeed!=
Well, what were you running for?"
"A woman gave me some cold pease porridge,
and it burned my mouth."
The magistrate looked at him a moment in surpr=
ise,
and then he said,
"This person is evidently crazy; so take =
him
to the lunatic asylum and keep him there."
This would surely have been the fate of the Man
had there not been present an old astronomer who had often looked at the mo=
on
through his telescope, and so had discovered that what was hot on earth was
cold in the moon, and what was cold here was hot there; so he began to think
the Man had told the truth. Therefore he begged the magistrate to wait a few
minutes while he looked through his telescope to see if the Man in the Moon=
was
there. So, as it was now night, he fetched his telescope and looked at the
Moon,--and found there was no man in it at all!
"It seems to be true," said the
astronomer, "that the Man has got out of the Moon somehow or other. Le=
t me
look at your mouth, sir, and see if it is really burned."
Then the Man opened his mouth, and everyone saw
plainly it was burned to a blister! Thereupon the magistrate begged his par=
don
for doubting his word, and asked him what he would like to do next.
"I 'd like to get back to the Moon,"
said the Man, "for I do n't like this earth of yours at all. The nights
are too hot."
"Why, it 's quite cool this evening!"
said the magistrate.
"I 'll tell you what we can do,"
remarked the astronomer; "there 's a big balloon in town which belongs=
to
the circus that came here last summer, and was pawned for a board bill. We =
can
inflate this balloon and send the Man out of the Moon home in it."
"That 's a good idea," replied the
judge. So the balloon was bro=
ught and
inflated, and the Man got into the basket and gave the word to let go, and =
then
the balloon mounted up into the sky in the direction of the moon.
The good people of Norwich stood on the earth =
and
tipped back their heads, and watched the balloon go higher and higher, until
finally the Man reached out and caught hold of the edge of the moon, and
behold! the next minute he was the Man in the Moon again!
After this adventure he was well contented to =
stay
at home; and I 've no doubt if you look through a telescope you will see him
there to this day.
&=
nbsp;
The Jolly Miller
&=
nbsp;
There was a jolly miller Lived on the rive=
r Dee;
He sang and
worked from morn till night, No lark so blithe=
as
he. And thi=
s the
burden of his song Forever seemed to=
be: I care for nobody=
, no!
not I, Since
nobody cares for me.
"Cree-e-eekety-cruck-crick!
cree-e-eekety-cruck-crick!" sang out the big wheel of the mill upon the
river Dee, for it was old and ricketty and had worked many years grinding c=
orn
for the miller; so from morning till night it creaked and growled and
complained as if rebelling against the work it must do. And the country peo=
ple,
at work in the fields far away, would raise their heads when the soft summe=
r breezes
wafted the sound of the wheel to their ears and say,
"The jolly miller is grinding his
corn." And again, at the=
times
when the mill was shut down and no sound of the wheel reached them, they sa=
id
to one another,
"The jolly miller has no corn to grind
to-day," or, "The miller is oiling the great wheel." But they
would miss the creaking, monotonous noise, and feel more content when the m=
ill
started again and made music for them as they worked.
But no one came to the mill unless they brought
corn to grind, for the miller was a queer man, and liked to be alone. When
people passed by the mill and saw the miller at his work, they only nodded
their heads, for they knew he would not reply if they spoke to him.
He was not an old man, nor a sour man, nor a b=
ad
man; on the contrary he could be heard singing at his work most of the time.
But the words of his song would alone have kept people away from him, for t=
hey
were always these:
&=
nbsp;
"I care for nobody, no! not I, Since nobody care=
s for
me."
He lived all alone in the mill-house, cooking =
his
own meals and making his own bed, and neither asking nor receiving help from
anyone. It is very certain that if the jolly miller had cared to have frien=
ds
many would have visited him, since the country people were sociable enough =
in
their way; but it was the miller himself who refused to make friends, and o=
ld
Farmer Dobson used to say,
"The reason nobody cares for the miller is
because he won't let them. It is the fault of the man himself, not the faul=
t of
the people!"
However this may have been, it is true the mil=
ler
had no friends, and equally sure that he cared to have none, for it did not
make him a bit unhappy.
Sometimes, indeed, as he sat at evening in the
doorway of the mill and watched the moon rise in the sky, he grew a bit lon=
ely
and thoughtful, and found himself longing for some one to love and cherish,=
for
this is the nature of all good men. But when he realized how his thoughts w=
ere
straying he began to sing again, and he drove away all such hopeless longin=
gs.
At last a change came over the miller's life.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> He was standing one evening beside=
the
river, watching the moonbeams play upon the water, when something came floa=
ting
down the stream that attracted his attention. For a long time he could not =
tell
what it was, but it looked to him like a big black box; so he got a long po=
le
and reached it out towards the box and managed to draw it within reach just
above the big wheel. It was fortunate he saved it when he did for in anothe=
r moment
it would have gone over the wheel and been dashed to pieces far below.
When the miller had pulled the floating object
upon the bank he found it really was a box, the lid being fastened tight wi=
th a
strong cord. So he lifted it carefully and carried it into the mill-house, =
and
then he placed it upon the floor while he lighted a candle. Then he cut the=
cord
and opened the box and behold! a little babe lay within it, sweetly sleeping
upon a pillow of down.
The miller was so surprised that he stopped
singing and gazed with big eyes at the beautiful face of the little strange=
r.
And while he gazed its eyes opened--two beautiful, pleading blue eyes,--and=
the
little one smiled and stretched out her arms toward him.
"Well, well!" said the miller,
"where on earth did you come from?"
The baby did not reply, but she tried to, and =
made
some soft little noises that sounded like the cooing of a pigeon.
The tiny arms were still stretched upwards, and
the miller bent down and tenderly lifted the child from the box and placed =
her
upon his knee, and then he began to stroke the soft, silken ringlets that c=
lustered
around her head, and to look upon her wonderingly.
The baby leaned against his breast and fell as=
leep
again, and the miller became greatly troubled, for he was unused to babies =
and
did not know how to handle them or care for them. But he sat very still unt=
il
the little one awoke, and then, thinking it must be hungry, he brought some
sweet milk and fed her with a spoon. The baby smiled at him and ate the mil=
k as
if it liked it, and then one little dimpled hand caught hold of the miller's
whiskers and pulled sturdily, while the baby jumped its little body up and =
down
and cooed its delight.
Do you think the miller was angry? Not a bit of it! He smiled back into the laughing f=
ace
and let her pull his whiskers as much as she liked. For his whole heart had
gone out to this little waif that he rescued from the river, and at last the
solitary man had found something to love.
The baby slept that night in the miller's own =
bed,
snugly tucked in beside the miller himself; and in the morning he fed her m=
ilk
again, and then went out to work singing more merrily than ever.
Every few minutes he would put his head into t=
he
room where he had left the child, to see if it wanted anything, and if it c=
ried
even the least bit he would run in and take it in his arms and soothe the l=
ittle
girl until she smiled again.
That first day the miller was fearful some one
would come and claim the child, but when evening came without the arrival of
any stranger he decided the baby had been cast adrift and now belonged to
nobody but him.
"I shall keep her as long as I live,"=
; he
thought, "and never will we be separated for even a day. For now that I
have found some one to love I could not bear to let her go again."
He cared for the waif very tenderly; and as the
child was strong and healthy she was not much trouble to him, and to his
delight grew bigger day by day.
The country people were filled with surprise w=
hen
they saw a child in the mill-house, and wondered where it came from; but the
miller would answer no questions, and as year after year passed away they
forgot to enquire how the child came there and looked upon her as the mille=
r's own
daughter.
She grew to be a sweet and pretty child, and w=
as
the miller's constant companion. She called him "papa," and he ca=
lled
her Nathalie, because he had found her upon the water, and the country peop=
le
called her the Maid of the Mill.
The miller worked harder than ever before, for=
now
he had to feed and clothe the little girl; and he sang from morn till night=
, so
joyous was he, and still his song was:
&=
nbsp;
"I care for nobody, no! not I, Since nobody care=
s for
me."
One day, while he was singing this, he heard a=
sob
beside him, and looked down to see Nathalie weeping.
"What is it, my pet?" he asked,
anxiously.
"Oh, papa," she answered, "why =
do
you sing that nobody cares for you, when you know I love you so dearly?&quo=
t;
The miller was surprised, for he had sung the =
song
so long he had forgotten what the words meant.
"Do you indeed love me, Nathalie?" he
asked.
"Indeed, indeed! You know I do!" she
replied.
"Then," said the miller, with a happy
laugh, as he bent down and kissed the tear-stained face, "I shall chan=
ge
my song."
And after that he sang:
&=
nbsp;
"I love sweet Nathalie, that I do. For Nathalie she =
loves
me."
The years passed by and the miller was very
happy. Nathalie grew to be a =
sweet
and lovely maiden, and she learned to cook the meals and tend the house, and
that made it easier for the miller, for now he was growing old.
One day the young Squire, who lived at the gre=
at
house on the hill, came past the mill and saw Nathalie sitting in the doorw=
ay,
her pretty form framed in the flowers that climbed around and over the door=
.
And the Squire loved her after that first glan=
ce,
for he saw that she was as good and innocent as she was beautiful. The mill=
er,
hearing the sound of voices, came out and saw them together, and at once he
became very angry, for he knew that trouble was in store for him, and he mu=
st guard
his treasure very carefully if he wished to keep her with him. The young Sq=
uire
begged very hard to be allowed to pay court to the Maid of the Mill, but the
miller ordered him away, and he was forced to go. Then the miller saw there
were tears in Nathalie's eyes, and that made him still more anxious, for he
feared the mischief was already done.
Indeed, in spite of the miller's watchfulness,=
the
Squire and Nathalie often met and walked together in the shady lanes or upon
the green banks of the river. It was not long before they learned to love o=
ne another
very dearly, and one day they went hand in hand to the miller and asked his
consent that they should wed.
"What will become of me?" asked the
miller, with a sad heart.
"You shall live in the great house with
us," replied the Squire, "and never again need you labor for
bread."
But the old man shook his head.
"A miller I have lived," quoth he,
"and a miller will I die. But
tell me, Nathalie, are you willing to leave me?"
The girl cast down her eyes and blushed sweetl=
y.
"I love him," she whispered, "a=
nd
if you separate us I shall die."
"Then," said the miller, kissing her
with a heavy heart, "go; and may God bless you."
So Nathalie and the Squire were wed, and lived=
in
the great house, and the very day after the wedding she came walking down to
the mill in her pretty new gown to see the miller.
But as she drew near she heard him singing, as=
was
his wont; and the song he sung she had not heard since she was a little gir=
l,
for this was it:
&=
nbsp;
"I care for nobody, no! not I, Since nobody care=
s for
me."
She came up softly behind him, and put her arms
around his neck.
"Papa," said she, "you must not
sing that song. Nathalie love=
s you yet,
and always will while she lives; for my new love is complete in itself, and=
has
not robbed you of one bit of the love that has always been your very own.&q=
uot;
The miller turned and looked into her blue eye=
s,
and knew that she spoke truly.
"Then I must learn a new song again,"=
; he
said, "for it is lonely at the mill, and singing makes the heart light=
er.
But I will promise that never again, till you forget me, will I sing that
nobody cares for me."
And the miller did learn a new song, and sang =
it
right merrily for many years; for each day Nathalie came down to the mill to
show that she had not forgotten him.
&=
nbsp;
The Little Man and His Little Gun
&=
nbsp;
There was a little man and he had a little gun, And the bullets w=
ere
made of lead, lead, lead. He went to the br=
ook
and shot a little duck, And the bullet we=
nt
right through its head, head, head.
There was once a little man named Jimson, who =
had
stopped growing when he was a boy, and never started again. So, although he=
was
old enough to be a man he was hardly big enough, and had he not owned a bald
head and gray whiskers you would certainly have taken him for a boy whenever
you saw him.
This little man was very sorry he was not bigg=
er,
and if you wanted to make him angry you had but to call attention to his si=
ze.
He dressed just as big men do, and wore a silk hat and a long-tailed coat w=
hen
he went to church, and a cap and top-boots when he rode horseback. He walked
with a little cane and had a little umbrella made to carry when it rained. =
In
fact, whatever other men did this little man was anxious to do also, and so=
it
happened that when the hunting season came around, and all the men began to=
get
their guns ready to hunt for snipe and duck, Mr. Jimson also had a little g=
un
made, and determined to use it as well as any of them.
When he brought it home and showed it to his w=
ife,
who was a very big woman, she said,
"Jimson, you 'd better use bullets made of
bread, and then you won't hurt anything."
"Nonsense, Joan," replied the little
man, "I shall have bullets made of lead, just as other men do, and eve=
ry
duck I see I shall shoot and bring home to you."
"I 'm afraid you won't kill many," s=
aid
Joan.
But the little man believed he could shoot with
the best of them, so the next morning he got up early and took his little g=
un
and started down to the brook to hunt for duck.
It was scarcely daybreak when he arrived at the
brook, and the sun had not yet peeped over the eastern hill-tops, but no du=
ck
appeared anywhere in sight, although Mr. Jimson knew this was the right tim=
e of
day for shooting them. So he sat down beside the brook and begun watching, =
and
before he knew it he had fallen fast asleep.
By and by he was awakened by a peculiar noise.=
"Quack, quack, quack!" sounded in his
ears; and looking up he saw a pretty little duck swimming in the brook and
popping its head under the water in search of something to eat. The duck
belonged to Johnny Sprigg, who lived a little way down the brook, but the
little man did not know this. He thought it was a wild duck, so he stood up=
and
carefully took aim.
"I 'm afraid I can't hit it from here,&qu=
ot;
he thought, "so I 'll just step upon that big stone in the brook, and
shoot from there."
So he stepped out upon the stone, and took aim=
at
the duck again, and fired the gun.
The next minute the little man had tumbled head
over heels into the water, and he nearly drowned before he could scramble o=
ut
again; for, not being used to shooting, the gun had kicked, or recoiled, and
had knocked him off the round stone where he had been standing.
When he had succeeded in reaching the bank he =
was
overjoyed to see that he had shot the duck, which lay dead upon the water a
short distance away. The little man got a long stick, and, reaching it out,=
drew
the dead duck to the bank. Then he started joyfully homeward to show the pr=
ize
to his wife.
"There, Joan," he said, as he entered
the house, "is a nice little duck for our dinner. Do you now think your
husband cannot shoot?"
"But there 's only one duck," remark=
ed
his wife, "and it 's very small. Can't you go and shoot another? Then =
we
shall have enough for dinner."
"Yes, of course I can shoot another,"
said the little man, proudly; "you make a fire and get the pot boiling,
and I 'll go for another duck."
"You 'd better shoot a drake this time,&q=
uot;
said Joan, "for drakes are bigger."
She started to make the fire, and the little m=
an
took his gun and went to the brook; but not a duck did he see, nor drake
neither, and so he was forced to come home without any game.
"There 's no use cooking one duck," =
said
his wife, "so we 'll have pork and beans for dinner and I 'll hang the
little duck in the shed. Perhaps you 'll be able to shoot a drake to-morrow,
and then we 'll cook them both together."
So they had pork and beans, to the great
disappointment of Mr. Jimson, who had expected to eat duck instead; and aft=
er
dinner the little man lay down to take a nap while his wife went out to tell
the neighbors what a great hunter he was.
The news spread rapidly through the town, and =
when
the evening paper came out the little man was very angry to see this verse
printed in it:
&=
nbsp;
There was a little man and he had a little gun, And the bullets w=
ere
made of lead, lead, lead. He went to the br=
ook
and shot a little duck, And the bullet we=
nt
right through its head, head, head.
&=
nbsp;
He carried it home to his good wife Joan, And bade her a fi=
re to
make, make, make, While he went to =
the
brook where he shot the little duck, And tried for to =
shoot
the drake, drake, drake.
"There 's no use putting it into the
paper," exclaimed the little man, much provoked, "and Mr. Brayer,=
the
editor, is probably jealous because he himself cannot shoot a gun. Perhaps
people think I cannot shoot a drake, but I 'll show them to-morrow that I
can!"
So the next morning he got up early again, and
took his gun, and loaded it with bullets made of lead. Then he said to his
wife,
"What does a drake look like, my love?&qu=
ot;
"Why," she replied, "it 's much
like a duck, only it has a curl on its tail and red on its wing."
"All right," he answered, "I 'll
bring you home a drake in a short time, and to-day we shall have something
better for dinner than pork and beans."
When he got to the brook there was nothing in
sight, so he sat down on the bank to watch, and again fell fast asleep.
Now Johnny Sprigg had missed his little duck, =
and
knew some one had shot it; so he thought this morning he would go the brook=
and
watch for the man who had killed the duck, and make him pay a good price fo=
r it.
Johnny was a big man, whose head was very bald; therefore he wore a red cur=
ly
wig to cover his baldness and make him look younger.
When he got to the brook he saw no one about, =
and
so he hid in a clump of bushes. After a time the little man woke up, and in
looking around for the drake he saw Johnny's red wig sticking out of the to=
p of
the bushes.
"That is surely the drake," he thoug=
ht,
"for I can see a curl and something red;" and the next minute
"bang!" went the gun, and Johnny Sprigg gave a great yell and jum=
ped
out of the bushes. As for his beautiful wig, it was shot right off his head,
and fell into the water of the brook a good ten yards away!
"What are you trying to do?" he crie=
d,
shaking his fist at the little man.
"Why, I was only shooting at the drake,&q=
uot;
replied Jimson; "and I hit it, too, for there it is in the water.
"That 's my wig, sir!" said Johnny
Sprigg, "and you shall pay for it, or I 'll have the law on you. Are y=
ou
the man who shot the duck here yesterday morning?"
"I am, sir," answered the little man,
proud that he had shot something besides a wig.
"Well, you shall pay for that also,"
said Mr. Sprigg; "for it belonged to me, and I 'll have the money or I=
'll
put you in jail!"
The little man did not want to go to jail, so =
with
a heavy heart he paid for the wig and the duck, and then took his way
sorrowfully homeward.
He did not tell Joan of his meeting with Mr.
Sprigg; he only said he could not find a drake. But she knew all about it w=
hen
the paper came out, for this is what it said on the front page:
&=
nbsp;
There was a little man and he had a little gun, And the bullets w=
ere
made of lead, lead, lead. He shot Johnny Sp=
rigg
through the middle of his wig, And knocked it ri=
ght
off from his head, head, head.
The little man was so angry at this, and at the
laughter of all the men he met, that he traded his gun off for a lawn-mower,
and resolved never to go hunting again.
He had the little duck he had shot made into a
pie, and he and Joan ate it; but he did not enjoy it very much.
"This duck cost me twelve dollars," =
he
said to his loving wife, "for that is the sum Johnny Sprigg made me pa=
y;
and it 's a very high price for one little duck--do n't you think so,
Joan?"
&=
nbsp;
&=
nbsp;
Within the hollow wall of an old brick mansion,
away up near the roof, there lived a family of mice. It was a snug little h=
ome,
pleasant and quiet, and as dark as any mouse could desire. Mamma Mouse like=
d it
because, as she said, the draught that came through the rafters made it coo=
l in
summer, and they were near enough to the chimney to keep warm in wintertime=
.
Besides the Mamma Mouse there were three child=
ren,
named
Mamma Mouse had to bear her bitter sorrow all
alone, for the children were too young at that time to appreciate their los=
s.
She felt that people were cruel to kill a poor mouse for wishing to get food
for himself and his family. There is nothing else for a mouse to do but take
what he can find, for mice can not earn money, as people do, and they must =
live
in some way.
But Mamma Mouse was a brave mouse, and knew th=
at
it was now her duty to find food for her little ones; so she dried her eyes=
and
went bravely to work gnawing through the baseboard that separated the pantry
from the wall. It took her some time to do this, for she could only work at
night. Mice like to sleep during the day and work at night, when there are =
no
people around to interrupt them, and even the cat is fast asleep. Some mice=
run
about in the daytime, but they are not very wise mice who do this.
At last Mamma Mouse gnawed a hole through the
baseboard large enough for her to get through into the pantry, and then her
disappointment was great to find the bread jar covered over with a tin pan.=
"How thoughtless people are to put things
where a hungry mouse cannot get at them," said Mamma Mouse to herself,
with a sigh. But just then she espied a barrel of flour standing upon the
floor; and that gave her new courage, for she knew she could easily gnaw
through that, and the flour would do to eat just as well as the bread.
It was now nearly daylight, so she decided to
leave the attack upon the flour barrel until the next night; and gathering =
up
for the children a few crumbs that were scattered about, she ran back into =
the wall
and scrambled up to her nest.
"Be good children," said Mamma Mouse=
the
next evening, as she prepared for her journey to the pantry, "and do n=
't
stir out of your nest till I come back. I am in hopes that after tonight we
shall not be hungry for a long time, as I shall gnaw a hole at the back of =
the
flour barrel, where it will not be discovered."
She kissed each one of them good-bye and ran d=
own
the wall on her errand.
When they were left alone Hickory wanted to go=
to
sleep again, but little Dock was wide awake, and tumbled around so in the n=
est
that his brothers were unable to sleep.
"I wish I could go with mother some
night," said Dock, "it 's no fun to stay here all the time."=
"She will take us when we are big
enough," replied Dickory.
"We are big enough now," declared Do=
ck,
"and if I knew my way I would go out into the world and see what it lo=
oks
like."
"I know a way out," said Hickory,
"but mamma wouldn 't like it if we should go without her permission.&q=
uot;
"She need n't know anything about it,&quo= t; declared the naughty Dock, "for she will be busy at the flour-barrel a= ll the night. Take us out for a little walk, Hick, if you know the way."<= o:p>
"Yes, do," urged Dickory.
"Well," said Hickory, "I 'd lik=
e a
little stroll myself; so if you 'll promise to be very careful, and not get
into any mischief, I 'll take you through the hole that I have
discovered."
So the three little mice started off, with Hic=
kory
showing the way, and soon came to a crack in the wall. Hickory stuck his he=
ad
through, and finding everything quiet, for the family of people that lived =
in the
house were fast asleep, he squeezed through the crack, followed by his two
brothers. Their little hearts beat very fast, for they knew if they were
discovered they would have to run for their lives; but the house was so sti=
ll
they gained courage, and crept along over a thick carpet until they came to=
a
stairway.
"What shall we do now?" whispered
Hickory to his brothers.
"Let 's go down," replied Dock.
So, very carefully, they descended the stairs =
and
reached the hallway of the house, and here they were much surprised by all =
they
saw.
There was a big rack for hats and coats, and an
umbrella stand, and two quaintly carved chairs, and, most wonderful of all,=
a
tall clock that stood upon the floor and ticked out the minutes in a grave =
and solemn
voice.
When the little mice first heard the ticking of
the clock they were inclined to be frightened, and huddled close together u=
pon
the bottom stair.
"What is it?" asked Dickory, in an a=
wed
whisper. "I do n't know,=
"
replied Hickory, who was himself rather afraid.
"Is it alive?" asked Dock.
"I do n't know," again answered Hick=
ory.
Then, seeing that the clock paid no attention =
to
them, but kept ticking steadily away and seemed to mind its own business, t=
hey plucked
up courage and began running about.
Presently Dickory uttered a delighted squeal t=
hat
brought his brothers to his side. There in a corner lay nearly the half of a
bun which little May had dropped when nurse carried her upstairs to bed. It=
was
a great discovery for the three mice, and they ate heartily until the last
crumb had disappeared.
"This is better than a cupboard or a
pantry," said Dock, when they had finished their supper, "and I
should n't be surprised if there were plenty more good things around if we =
only
hunt for them."
But they could find nothing more, for all the
doors leading into the hall were closed, and at last Dock came to the clock=
and
looked at it curiously.
"It does n't seem to be alive," he
thought, "although it does make so much noise. I 'm going behind it to=
see
what I can find."
He found nothing except a hole that led to ins=
ide
of the clock, and into this he stuck his head. He could hear the ticking
plainer than ever now, but looking way up to the top of the clock he saw
something shining brightly, and thought it must good to eat if he could only
get at it. Without saying anything to his brothers, Dock ran up the sides of
the clock until he came to the works, and he was just about to nibble at a
glistening wheel, to see what it tasted like, when suddenly "Bang!&quo=
t;
went the clock.
It was one o'clock, and the clock had only str=
uck
the hour; but the great gong was just beside Dock's ear and the noise nearly
deafened the poor little mouse. He gave a scream of terror and ran down the=
clock
as fast as he could go. When he reached the hall he heard his brothers
scampering up the stairs, and after them he ran with all his might.
It was only when they were safe in their nest
again that they stopped to breathe, and their little hearts beat fast for an
hour afterward, so great had been their terror.
When Mamma Mouse came back in the morning,
bringing a quantity of nice flour with her for breakfast, they told her of
their adventure. She thought they had been punished enough already for their
disobedience, so she did not scold them, but only said,
"You see, my dears, your mother knew best
when she told you not to stir from the nest. Children sometimes think they =
know
more than their parents, but this adventure should teach you always to obey
your mother. The next time you run away you may fare worse than you did last
night; remember your poor father's fate."
But Hickory and Dickory and Dock did not run a=
way
again.
On the beautiful, undulating hills of
They lived in a small cottage nestled at the f=
oot
of one of the hills, and each morning the mother took her crook and started=
out
with her sheep, that they might feed upon the tender, juicy grasses with wh=
ich the
hills abounded. The little girl usually accompanied her mother and sat by h=
er
side upon the grassy mounds and watched her care for the ewes and lambs, so
that in time she herself grew to be a very proficient shepherdess.
So when the mother became too old and feeble to
leave her cottage, Little Bo-Peep (as she was called) decided that she was
fully able to manage the flocks herself. She was a little mite of a child, =
with
flowing nut-brown locks and big gray eyes that charmed all who gazed into t=
heir
innocent depths. She wore a light gray frock, fastened about the waist with=
a
pretty pink sash, and there were white ruffles around her neck and pink rib=
bons
in her hair.
All the shepherds and shepherdesses upon the
hills, both young and old, soon came to know Little Bo-Peep very well indee=
d,
and there were many willing hands to aid her if (which was not often) she
needed their assistance.
Bo-Peep usually took her sheep to the side of a
high hill above the cottage, and allowed them to eat the rich grass while s=
he
herself sat upon a mound and, laying aside her crook and her broad straw hat
with its pink ribbons, devoted her time to sewing and mending stockings for=
her
aged mother.
One day, while thus occupied, she heard a voice
beside her say:
"Good morning, Little Bo-Peep!" and
looking up the girl saw a woman standing near her and leaning upon a short
stick. She was bent nearly double by weight of many years, her hair was whi=
te
as snow and her eyes as black as coals. Deep wrinkles seamed her face and
hands, while her nose and chin were so pointed that they nearly met. She was
not pleasant to look upon, but Bo-Peep had learned to be polite to the aged=
, so
she answered, sweetly,
"Good morning, mother. Can I do anything for you?"
"No, dearie," returned the woman, in=
a
cracked voice, "but I will sit by your side and rest for a time."=
The girl made room on the mound beside her, and
the stranger sat down and watched in silence the busy fingers sew up the se=
ams
of the new frock she was making.
By and by the woman asked,
"Why do you come out here to sew?"
"Because I am a shepherdess," replied
the girl.
"But where is your crook?"
"On the grass beside me."
"And where are your sheep?"
Bo-Peep looked up and could not see them.
"They must have strayed over the top of t=
he
hill," she said, "and I will go and seek them."
"Do not be in a hurry," croaked the =
old
woman; "they will return presently without your troubling to find
them."
"Do you think so?" asked Bo-Peep.
"Of course; do not the sheep know you?&qu=
ot;
"Oh, yes; they know me every one."
"And do not you know the sheep?"
"I can call every one by name," said
Bo-Peep, confidently; "for though I am so young a shepherdess I am fon=
d of
my sheep and know all about them."
The old woman chuckled softly, as if the answer
amused her, and replied,
"No one knows all about anything, my
dear."
"But I know all about my sheep,"
protested Little Bo-Peep.
"Do you, indeed? Then you are wiser that most
people. And if you know all a=
bout
them, you also know they will come home of their own accord, and I have no
doubt they will all be wagging their tails behind them, as usual."
"Oh," said Little Bo-Peep, in surpri=
se,
"do they wag their tails? I never
noticed that!"
"Indeed!" exclaimed the old woman,
"then you are not very observing for one who knows all about sheep.
Perhaps you have never noticed their tails at all."
"No," answered Bo-Peep, thoughtfully,
"I do n't know that I ever have."
The woman laughed so hard at this reply that s=
he
began to cough, and this made the girl remember that her flock had strayed
away.
"I really must go and find my sheep,"
she said, rising to her feet, "and then I shall be sure to notice their
tails, and see if they wag them."
"Sit still, my child," said the old
woman, "I am going over the hill-top myself, and I will send the sheep
back to you."
So she got upon her feet and began climbing the
hill, and the girl heard her saying, as she walked away,
"Little Bo-Peep has lost=
her
sheep, And =
does
n't know where to find 'em. But leave 'em alo=
ne,
and they 'll come home, All wagging their=
tails
behind 'em."
Little Bo-Peep sat still and watched the old w=
oman
toil slowly up the hill-side and disappear over the top. By and by she thou=
ght,
"very soon I shall see the sheep coming back;" but time passed aw=
ay
and still the errant flock failed to make its appearance.
Soon the head of the little shepherdess began =
to
nod, and presently, still thinking of her sheep,
&=
nbsp;
Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep, And dreamt she he=
ard
them bleating; But when she awok=
e she
found it a joke, For still they we=
re
a-fleeting.
The girl now became quite anxious, and wondered
why the old woman had not driven her flock over the hill. But as it was now
time for luncheon she opened her little basket and ate of the bread and che=
ese and
cookies she had brought with her. After she had finished her meal and taken=
a
drink of cool water from a spring near by, she decided she would not wait a=
ny
longer.
&=
nbsp;
So up she took her little crook, Determined for to=
find
them,
and began climbing the hill.
When she got to the top there was never a sigh=
t of
sheep about--only a green valley and another hill beyond.
Now really alarmed for the safety of her charg=
e,
Bo-Peep hurried into the valley and up the farther hill-side. Panting and t=
ired
she reached the summit, and, pausing breathlessly, gazed below her.
Quietly feeding upon the rich grass was her tr=
uant
flock, looking as peaceful and innocent as if it had never strayed away from
its gentle shepherdess.
Bo-Peep uttered a cry of joy and hurried toward
them; but when she came near she stopped in amazement and held up her little
hands with a pretty expression of dismay. She had
&=
nbsp;
Found them, indeed, but it made her heart bleed, For they 'd left =
their
tails behind them!
Nothing was left to each sheep but a wee little
stump where a tail should be, and Little Bo-Peep was so heart-broken that s=
he
sat down beside them and sobbed bitterly.
But after awhile the tiny maid realized that a=
ll
her tears would not bring back the tails to her lambkins; so she plucked up
courage and dried her eyes and arose from the ground just as the old woman
hobbled up to her.
"So you have found your sheep, dearie,&qu=
ot;
she said, in her cracked voice.
"Yes," replied Little Bo-Peep, with
difficulty repressing a sob; "but look, mother! They 've all left their
tails behind them!"
"Why, so they have!" exclaimed the o=
ld
woman; and then she began to laugh as if something pleased her.
"What do you suppose has become of their
tails?" asked the girl.
"Oh, some one has probably cut them off.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> They make nice tippets in winter-t=
ime,
you know;" and then she patted the child upon her head and walked away
down the valley.
Bo-Peep was much grieved over the loss that had
befallen her dear sheep, and so, driving them before her, she wandered arou=
nd
to see if by any chance she could find the lost tails.
But soon the sun began to sink over the hill-t=
ops,
and she knew she must take her sheep home before night overtook them.
She did not tell her mother of her misfortune,=
for
she feared the old shepherdess would scold her, and Bo-Peep had fully decid=
ed
to seek for the tails and find them before she related the story of their l=
oss
to anyone.
Each day for many days after that Little Bo-Pe=
ep
wandered about the hills seeking the tails of her sheep, and those who met =
her
wondered what had happened to make the sweet little maid so anxious. But th=
ere is
an end to all troubles, no matter how severe they may seem to be, and
&=
nbsp;
It happened one day, as Bo-Peep did stray Unto a meadow har=
d by, There she espied =
their
tails side by side. All hung on a tre=
e to
dry!
The little shepherdess was overjoyed at this
discovery, and, reaching up her crook, she knocked the row of pretty white
tails off the tree and gathered them up in her frock. But how to fasten them
onto her sheep again was the question, and after pondering the matter for a=
time
she became discouraged, and, thinking she was no better off than before the
tails were found, she began to weep and to bewail her misfortune.
But amidst her tears she bethought herself of =
her
needle and thread.
"Why," she exclaimed, smiling again,
"I can sew them on, of course!"&=
nbsp;
Then
&=
nbsp;
She heaved a sigh and wiped her eye And ran o'er hill=
and
dale, oh. A=
nd
tried what she could As a shepherdess
should, To =
tack
to each sheep its tail, oh.
But the very first sheep she came to refused to
allow her to sew on the tail, and ran away from her, and the others did the
same, so that finally she was utterly discouraged.
She was beginning to cry again, when the same =
old
woman she had before met came hobbling to her side and asked,
"What are you doing with my cat tails?&qu=
ot;
"Your cat tails!" replied Bo-Peep, i=
n surprise;
"what do you mean?"
"Why, these tails are all cut from white
pussycats, and I put them on the tree to dry. What are you doing with
them?"
"I thought they belonged to my sheep,&quo=
t;
answered Bo-Peep, sorrowfully; "but if they are really your pussy-cat =
tails,
I must hunt until I find those that belong to my sheep."
"My dear," said the old woman, "=
;I
have been deceiving you; you said you knew all about your sheep, and I want=
ed
to teach you a lesson. For, however wise we may be, no one in this world kn=
ows
all about anything. Sheep do not have long tails--there is only a little st=
ump to
answer for a tail. Neither do rabbits have tails, nor bears, nor many other
animals. And if you had been observing you would have known all this when I
said the sheep would be wagging their tails behind them, and then you would=
not
have passed all those days in searching for what is not to be found. So now,
little one, run away home, and try to be more thoughtful in the future. Your
sheep will never miss the tails, for they have never had them."
And now
&=
nbsp;
Little Bo-Peep no more did weep; My tale of tails =
ends
here. Each =
cat
has one, But
sheep have none; Which, after all,=
is
queer!
&=
nbsp;
The Story of Tommy Tucker
&=
nbsp;
Little Tommy Tucker sang for his supper. What did he sing =
for?
white bread and butter. How could he cut =
it,
without any knife? How could he marr=
y,
without any wife?
Little Tommy Tucker was a waif of the
streets. He never remembered =
having
a father or mother or anyone to care for him, and so he learned to care for
himself. He ate whatever he could get, and slept wherever night overtook
him--in an old barrel, a cellar, or, when fortune favored him, he paid a pe=
nny
for a cot in some rude lodging-house.
His life about the streets taught him early ho=
w to
earn a living by doing odd jobs, and he learned to be sharp in his speech a=
nd
wise beyond his years.
One morning Tommy crawled out from a box in wh=
ich
he had slept over night, and found that he was hungry. His last meal had
consisted of a crust of bread, and he was a growing boy with an appetite.
He had been unable to earn any money for sever=
al
days, and this morning life looked very gloomy to him. He started out to se=
ek
for work or to beg a breakfast; but luck was against him, and he was unsucc=
essful.
By noon he had grown more hungry than before, and stood before a bake-shop =
for
a long time, looking wistfully at the good things behind the window-panes, =
and
wishing with all his heart he had a ha'penny to buy a bun.
And yet it was no new thing for Little Tommy
Tucker to be hungry, and he never thought of despairing. He sat down upon a
curb-stone, and thought what was best to be done. Then he remembered he had
frequently begged a meal at one of the cottages that stood upon the outskir=
ts
of the city, and so he turned his steps in that direction.
"I have had neither breakfast nor
dinner," he said to himself, "and I must surely find a supper
somewhere, or I shall not sleep much to-night. It is no fun to be hungry.&q=
uot;
So he walked on until he came to a dwelling-ho=
use
where a goodly company sat upon a lawn and beneath a veranda. It was a pret=
ty
place, and was the home of a fat alderman who had been married that very da=
y.
The alderman was in a merry mood, and seeing T=
ommy
standing without the gate he cried to him,
"Come here, my lad, and sing us a song.&q=
uot;
Tommy at once entered the grounds, and came to
where the fat alderman was sitting beside his blushing bride.
"Can you sing?" enquired the alderma=
n.
"No," answered Tommy, earnestly, &qu=
ot;but
I can eat."
"Ho, ho!" laughed the alderman,
"that is a very ordinary accomplishment. Anyone can eat."
"If it please you, sir, you are wrong,&qu=
ot;
replied Tommy, "for I have been unable to eat all day."
"And why is that?" asked the alderma=
n.
"Because I have had nothing to put to my
mouth. But now that I have me=
t so
kind a gentleman, I am sure that I shall have a good supper."
The alderman laughed again at this shrewd answ=
er,
and said, "you shall have supper, no doubt; but you must sing a song f=
or
the company first, and so earn your food."
Tommy shook his head sadly.
"I do not know any song, sir," he sa=
id.
The alderman called a servant and whispered
something in his ear. The ser=
vant
hastened away, and soon returned bearing upon a tray a huge slice of white =
bread
and butter. White bread was a rare treat in those days, as nearly all the
people ate black bread baked from rye or barley flour.
"Now," said the alderman, placing the
tray beside him, "you shall have this slice of white bread and butter =
when
you have sung us a song, and complied with one condition."
"And what is that condition?" asked
Tommy.
"I will tell you when we have heard the
song," replied the fat alderman, who had decided to have some amusemen=
t at
the boy's expense.
Tommy hesitated, but when he glanced at the wh=
ite
bread and butter his mouth watered in spite of himself, and he resolved to
compose a song, since he did not know how to sing any other.
So he took off his cap, and standing before the
company he sang as follows:
&=
nbsp;
A bumble-bee lit on a hollyhock flower That was wet with=
the
rain of a morning shower. While the honey he
sipped His =
left
foot slipped, And
he could n't fly again for half an hour!
"Good!" cried the alderman, after the
company had kindly applauded Tommy. "I can't say much for the air, nor=
yet
for the words; but it was not so bad as it might have been. Give us another
verse."
So Tommy pondered a moment, and then sang agai=
n:
&=
nbsp;
"A spider threw its web so high It caught on a mo=
on in
a cloudy sky. The
moon whirled round, And down to the g=
round Fell the web, and
captured a big blue fly!"
"Why, that is fine!" roared the fat
alderman. "You improve a=
s you
go on, so give us another verse."
"I don't know any more," said Tommy,
"and I am very hungry."
"One more verse," persisted the man,
"and then you shall have the bread and butter upon the condition."=
;
So Tommy sang the following verse:
&=
nbsp;
"A big frog lived in a slimy bog, And caught a cold=
in an
awful fog. =
The
cold got worse, The frog got hoar=
se, Till croaking he =
scared
a polliwog!"
"You are quite a poet," declared the
alderman; "and now you shall have the white bread upon one
condition."
"What is it?" said Tommy, anxiously.=
"That you cut the slice into four
parts."
"But I have no knife!" remonstrated =
the
boy.
"But that is the condition," insisted
the alderman. "If you wa=
nt the
bread you must cut it."
"Surely you do not expect me to cut the b=
read
without any knife!" said Tommy.
"Why not?" asked the alderman, winki=
ng
his eye at the company.
"Because it cannot be done. How, let me ask you, sir, could yo=
u have
married without any wife?"
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the jolly
alderman; and he was so pleased with Tommy's apt reply that he gave him the
bread at once, and a knife to cut it with.
"Thank you, sir," said Tommy; "=
now
that I have the knife it is easy enough to cut the bread, and I shall now b=
e as
happy as you are with your beautiful wife."
The alderman's wife blushed at this, and whisp=
ered
to her husband. The alderman nodded in reply, and watched Tommy carefully a=
s he
ate his supper. When the boy had finished his bread--which he did very quic=
kly,
you may be sure,--the man said,
"How would you like to live with me and b=
e my
servant?"
Little Tommy Tucker had often longed for just =
such
a place, where he could have three meals each day to eat and a good bed to
sleep in at night, so he answered,
"I should like it very much, sir."
So the alderman took Tommy for his servant, and
dressed him in a smart livery; and soon the boy showed by his bright ways a=
nd
obedience that he was worthy any kindness bestowed upon him.
He often carried the alderman's wig when his
master attended the town meetings, and the mayor of the city, who was a good
man, was much taken with his intelligent face. So one day he said to the
alderman,
"I have long wanted to adopt a son, for I
have no children of my own; but I have not yet been able to find a boy to s=
uit
me. That lad of yours looks bright and intelligent, and he seems a well-beh=
aved
boy into the bargain."
"He is all that you say," returned t=
he
alderman, "and would be a credit to you should you adopt him."
"But before I adopt a son," continued
the mayor, "I intend to satisfy myself that he is both wise and shrewd
enough to make good use of my money when I am gone. No fool will serve my
purpose; therefore I shall test the boy's wit before I decide."
"That is fair enough," answered the
alderman; "but in what way will you test his wit?"
"Bring him to my house to-morrow, and you
shall see," said the mayor.
So the next day the alderman, followed by Tommy
and a little terrier dog that was a great pet of his master, went to the gr=
and
dwelling of the mayor. The mayor also had a little terrier dog, which was v=
ery fond
of him and followed him wherever he went.
When Tommy and the alderman reached the mayor's
house the mayor met them at the door and said:
"Tommy, I am going up the street, and the
alderman is going in the opposite direction. I want you to keep our dogs fr=
om
following us; but you must not do it by holding them."
"Very well, sir," replied Tommy; and=
as
the mayor started one way and the alderman the other, he took out his
handkerchief and tied the tails of the two dogs together. Of course each dog
started to follow its master; but as they were about the same size and
strength, and each pulled in a different direction, the result was that the=
y remained
in one place, and could not move either one way or the other.
"That was well done," said the mayor,
coming I back again; "but tell me, can you put my cart before my horse=
and
take me to ride?"
"Certainly, sir," replied Tommy; and
going to the mayor's stable he put the harness on the nag and then led him
head-first into the shafts, instead of backing him into them, as is the usu=
al
way. After fastening the shafts to the horse, he mounted upon the animal's
back, and away they started, pushing the cart before the horse.
"That was easy," said Tommy. "If your honor will get into =
the
cart I 'll take you to ride." But the mayor did not ride, although he =
was pleased
at Tommy's readiness in solving a difficulty.
After a moment's thought he bade Tommy follow =
him
into the house, where he gave him a cupful of water, saying,
"Let me see you drink up this cup of
water."
Tommy hesitated a moment, for he knew the mayor
was trying to catch him; then, going to a corner of the room, he set down t=
he
cup and stood upon his head in the corner. He now carefully raised the cup =
to his
lips and slowly drank the water until the cup was empty. After this he rega=
ined
his feet, and, bowing politely to the mayor, he said,
"The water is drunk up, your honor."=
"But why did you stand on your head to do
it?" enquired the alderman, who had watched the act in astonishment.
"Because otherwise I would have drunk the
water down, and not up," replied Tommy.
The mayor was now satisfied that Tommy was shr=
ewd
enough to do him honor, so he immediately took him to live in the great hou=
se
as his adopted son, and he was educated by the best masters the city afford=
ed.
And Tommy Tucker became in after years not onl=
y a
great, but a good man, and before he died was himself mayor of the city, and
was known by the name of Sir Thomas Tucker.
&=
nbsp;
Pussy-cat Mew
&=
nbsp;
"Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, where do you go?" "To
&=
nbsp;
Pussy-cat Mew set off =
on her
way, Steppi=
ng
quite softly and feeling quite gay. Smooth was the ro=
ad, so
she traveled at ease, Warmed by the sun=
shine
and fanned by the breeze.
&=
nbsp;
Over the hills to the valleys below, Through the deep =
woods
where the soft mosses grow, Skirting the fiel=
ds,
with buttercups dotted, Swiftly our ventu=
resome
Pussy-cat trotted.
&=
nbsp;
Sharp watch she kept when a village she neared, For boys and their
mischief our Pussy-cat feared! Often she crept t=
hrough
the grasses so deep To pass by a dog =
that
was lying asleep.
&=
nbsp;
Once, as she walked through a sweet-clover field, Something beside =
her
affrightedly squealed, And swift from he=
r path
there darted away A tiny field-mous=
e,
with a coat of soft gray.
&=
nbsp;
"Nowhere," thought our Pussy, "is chance for a dinner=
; The one that runs
fastest must surely be winner!" So quickly she st=
arted
the mouse to give chase, And over the clover the=
y ran
a great race.
&=
nbsp;
But just when it seemed that Pussy would win, The mouse spied a=
hole
and quickly popped in; And so he escaped=
, for
the hole was so small That Pussy-cat co=
uld
n't squeeze in it at all.
&=
nbsp;
So, softly she crouched, and with eyes big and round Quite steadily wa=
tched
that small hole in the ground "This mouse =
really
thinks he 's escaped me," she said, "But I 'll c=
atch
him sure if he sticks out his head!"
&=
nbsp;
But while she was watching the poor mouse's plight, A deep growl behi=
nd
made her jump with affright; She gave a great =
cry,
and then started to run As swift as a bul=
let
that 's shot from a gun!
&=
nbsp;
"Meow! Oh, meow "our poor Puss did say; "Bow-wow!&qu=
ot;
cried the dog, who was not far away. O'er meadows and
ditches they scampered apace, O'er fences and h=
edges
they kept up the race!
&=
nbsp;
Then Pussy-cat Mew saw before her a tree, And knew that a s=
afe
place of refuge 't would be; So far up the tre=
e with
a bound she did go, And left the big =
dog to
growl down below.
&=
nbsp;
But now, by good fortune, a man came that way, And called to the=
dog,
who was forced to obey; But Puss did not =
come
down the tree till she knew That the man and =
the
dog were far out of view.
&=
nbsp;
Pursuing her way, at nightfall she came To London, a town=
you
know well by name; And wandering 'ro=
und in
byway and street, A strange Pussy-c=
at she
happened to meet.
&=
nbsp;
"Good evening," said Pussy-cat Mew. "Can you tell In which of these
houses the Queen may now dwell? I 'm a stranger in
town, and I 'm anxious to see What sort of a pe=
rson a
real Queen may be."
&=
nbsp;
"My friend," said the other, "you really must know It is n't permitt=
ed
that strangers should go Inside of the pal=
ace,
unless they 're invited, And stray Pussy-c=
ats
are apt to be slighted.
&=
nbsp;
"By good luck, however, I 'm quite well aware Of a way to the p=
alace
by means of a stair That never is gua=
rded;
so just come with me, And a glimpse of =
the
Queen you shall certainly see."
&=
nbsp;
Puss thanked her new friend, and together they stole To the back of the
palace, and crept through a hole In the fence, and
quietly came to the stair Which the stranger
Pussy-cat promised was there.
&=
nbsp;
"Now here I must leave you," the strange Pussy said, "So do n't be
'fraid-cat, but go straight ahead, And do n't be ala=
rmed
if by chance you are seen, For people will t=
hink
you belong to the Queen."
&=
nbsp;
So Pussy-cat Mew did as she had been told, And walked through the palace=
with
manner so bold She soon reached =
the
room where the Queen sat in state, Surrounded by lor=
ds and
by ladies so great.
&=
nbsp;
And there in the corner our Pussy sat down, And gazed at the
scepter and blinked at the crown, And eyed the Quee=
n's
dress, all purple and gold; Which was surely a
beautiful sight to behold.
&=
nbsp;
But all of a sudden she started, for there Was a little gray
mouse, right under the chair Where her Majesty=
sat,
and Pussy well knew She 'd scream with alar=
m if
the mouse met her view.
&=
nbsp;
So up toward the chair our Pussy-cat stole, But the mouse saw=
her
coming and ran for its hole; But Pussy ran aft=
er,
and during the race A wonderful, terr=
ible
panic took place!
&=
nbsp;
The ladies all jumped on their chairs in alarm, The lords drew th=
eir
swords to protect them from harm, And the Queen gav=
e a
scream and fainted away-- A very undignifie=
d act,
I must say.
&=
nbsp;
And some one cried "Burglars!" and some one cried
"Treason!" And some one cried
"Murder!" but none knew the reason; And some one cried
"Fire! they are burning the house!" And some one cried
"Silence! it 's only a mouse!"
&=
nbsp;
But Pussy-cat Mew was so awfully scared By the shouting a=
nd
screaming, no longer she dared To stay in the ro=
om; so
without more delay She rushed from t=
he
palace and scampered away!
&=
nbsp;
So bristling her fur, and with heart beating fast, She came to the r=
oad
leading homeward at last. "What
business," she thought, "has a poor country cat To visit a city of
madmen like that?
&=
nbsp;
"Straight homeward I 'll go, where I am well fed, Where mistress is=
kind,
and soft is my bed; Let other cats tr=
avel,
if they wish to roam, But as for myself=
, I
shall now stay at home."
&=
nbsp;
And now over hills and valleys she ran, And journeyed as =
fast
as a Pussy-cat can; Till just as the =
dawn
of the day did begin She, safely at ho=
me,
stole quietly in.
&=
nbsp;
And there was the fire, with the pot boiling on it, And there was the=
maid,
in the blue checkered bonnet And there was the
corner where Pussy oft basked, And there was the
mistress, who eagerly asked:
&=
nbsp;
"Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, where have you been?" "I 've been =
to
London, to visit the Queen." "Pussy-cat,
Pussy-cat, what did you there?" "I frightene=
d a
little mouse under her chair!"
&=
nbsp;
How the Beggars Came to Town
&=
nbsp;
Hark, hark, the dogs do bark, The beggars are c=
oming
to town: So=
me in
rags, and some in tags, And some in velvet
gown.
Very fair and sweet was little Prince Lilimond,
and few could resist his soft, pleading voice and gentle blue eyes. And as =
he
stood in the presence of the King, his father, and bent his knee gracefully
before His Majesty, the act was so courteous and dignified it would have ho=
nored
the oldest noble man of the court.
The King was delighted, and for a time sat
silently regarding his son and noting every detail of his appearance, from =
the
dark velvet suit with its dainty ruffles and collar to the diamond buckles =
on
the little shoes, and back again to the flowing curls that clustered thick =
about
the bright, childish face.
Well might any father be proud of so manly and
beautiful a child, and the King's heart swelled within him as he gazed upon=
his
heir.
"Borland," he said to the tutor, who
stood modestly behind the Prince, "you may retire. I wish to sneak
privately with his royal highness."
The tutor bowed low and disappeared within the
ante-room, and the King continued, kindly,
"Come here, Lilimond, and sit beside me.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Methinks you seem over-grave this
morning."
"It is my birthday, Your Majesty,"
replied the Prince, as he slowly obeyed his father and sat beside him upon =
the
rich broidered cushions of the throne. "I am twelve years of age."=
;
"So old!" said the King, smiling into
the little face that was raised to his. "And is it the weight of years
that makes you sad?"
"No, Your Majesty; I long for the years to
pass, that I may become a man, and take my part in the world's affairs. It =
is
the sad condition of my country which troubles me."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the King, castin=
g a
keen glance at his son. "=
;Are you
becoming interested in politics, then; or is there some grievous breach of
court etiquette which has attracted your attention?"
"I know little of politics and less of the
court, sire," replied Lilimond; "it is the distress of the people
that worries me."
"The people? Of a surety, Prince, you are
better posted than am I, since of the people and their affairs I know nothi=
ng
at all. I have appointed officers to look after their interests, and theref=
ore
I have no cause to come into contact with them myself. But what is amiss?&q=
uot;
"They are starving," said the Prince,
looking at his father very seriously; "the country is filled with begg=
ars,
who appeal for charity, since they are unable otherwise to procure food.&qu=
ot;
"Starving!" repeated the King;
"surely you are misinformed.
My Lord Chamberlain told me but this morning the people were loyal a=
nd contented,
and my Lord of the Treasury reports that all taxes and tithes have been pai=
d,
and my coffers are running over."
"Your Lord Chamberlain is wrong, sire,&qu=
ot;
returned the Prince; "my tutor, Borland, and I have talked with many of
these beggars the past few days, and we find the tithes and taxes which have
enriched you have taken the bread from their wives and children."
"So!" exclaimed the King. "We must examine into this
matter." He touched a be=
ll
beside him, and when a retainer appeared directed his Chamberlain and his
Treasurer to wait upon him at once.
The Prince rested his head upon his hand and
waited patiently, but the King was very impatient indeed till the high offi=
cers
of the court stood before him. Then said the King, addressing his Chamberla=
in,
"Sir, I am informed my people are murmuri=
ng
at my injustice. Is it true?&=
quot;
The officer cast an enquiring glance at the
Prince, who met his eyes gravely, before he replied,
"The people always murmur, Your Majesty.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> They are many, and not all can be
content, even when ruled by so wise and just a King. In every land and in e=
very
age there are those who rebel against the laws, and the protests of the few=
are
ever heard above the contentment of the many."
"I am told," continued the King,
severely, "that my country is overrun with beggars, who suffer for lac=
k of
the bread we have taken from them by our taxations. Is this true?"
"There are always beggars, Your Majesty, =
in
every country," replied the Chamberlain, "and it is their custom =
to
blame others for their own misfortunes."
The King thought deeply for a moment; then he
turned to the Lord of the Treasury.
"Do we tax the poor?" he demanded.
"All are taxed, sire," returned the
Treasurer, who was pale from anxiety, for never before had the King so
questioned him, "but from the rich we take much, from the poor very
little."
"But a little from the poor man may distr=
ess
him, while the rich subject would never feel the loss. Why do we tax the po=
or
at all?"
"Because, Your Majesty, should we declare=
the
poor free from taxation all your subjects would at once claim to be poor, a=
nd
the royal treasury would remain empty. And as none are so rich but there ar=
e those
richer, how should we, in justice, determine which are the rich and which a=
re
the poor?"
Again the King was silent while he pondered up=
on
the words of the Royal Treasurer. Then, with a wave of his hand, he dismiss=
ed
them, and turned to the Prince, saying,
"You have heard the wise words of my
councilors, Prince. What have=
you
to say in reply?"
"If you will pardon me, Your Majesty, I t=
hink
you are wrong to leave the affairs of the people to others to direct. If you
knew them as well as I do, you would distrust the words of your councilors,=
who
naturally fear your anger more than they do that of your subjects."
"If they fear my anger they will be caref=
ul
to do no injustice to my people. Surely you cannot expect me to attend to
levying the taxes myself," continued the King, with growing annoyance.
"What are my officers for, but to serve me?"
"They should serve you, it is true,"
replied the Prince, thoughtfully, "but they should serve the people as
well."
"Nonsense!" answered the King; "=
;you
are too young as yet to properly understand such matters. And it is a way y=
outh
has to imagine it is wiser than age and experience combined. Still, I will
investigate the subject further, and see that justice is done the poor.&quo=
t;
"In the meantime," said the Prince,
"many will starve to death.
Can you not assist these poor beggars at once?"
"In what way?" demanded the King.
"By giving them money from your full
coffers."
"Nonsense!" again cried the King, th=
is
time with real anger; "you have heard what the Chamberlain said: we al=
ways
have beggars, and none, as yet, have starved to death. Besides, I must use =
the
money for the grand ball and tourney next month, as I have promised the lad=
ies
of the court a carnival of unusual magnificence."
The Prince did not reply to this, but remained=
in
silent thought, wondering what he might do to ease the suffering he feared
existed on every hand amongst the poor of the kingdom. He had hoped to pers=
uade
the King to assist these beggars, but since the interview with the officers=
of
the court he had lost heart and despaired of influencing his royal father in
any way.
Suddenly the King spoke.
"Let us dismiss this subject, Lilimond, f=
or
it only serves to distress us both, and no good can come of it. You have ne=
arly
made me forget it is your birthday. Now listen, my son: I am much pleased w=
ith
you, and thank God that he has given me such a successor for my crown, for =
I perceive
your mind is as beautiful as your person, and that you will in time be fitt=
ed
to rule the land with wisdom and justice. Therefore I promise, in honor of =
your
birthday, to grant any desire you may express, provided it lies within my
power. Nor will I make any further condition, since I rely upon your judgme=
nt
to select some gift I may be glad to bestow."
As the King spoke, Lilimond suddenly became
impressed with an idea through which he might succor the poor, and therefor=
e he
answered,
"Call in the ladies and gentlemen of the
court, my father, and before them all will I claim your promise."
"Good!" exclaimed the King, who look=
ed
for some amusement in his son's request; and at once he ordered the court to
assemble.
The ladies and gentlemen, as they filed into t=
he
audience chamber, were astonished to see the Prince seated upon the throne
beside his sire, but being too well bred to betray their surprise they only=
wondered
what amusement His Majesty had in store for them.
When all were assembled, the Prince rose to his
feet and addressed them.
"His Majesty the King, whose kindness of
heart and royal condescension is well known to you all, hath but now promis=
ed
me, seeing that it is my birthday, to grant any one request that I may pref=
er.
Is it not true, Your Majesty?"
"It is true," answered the King, smi=
ling
upon his son, and pleased to see him addressing the court so gravely and wi=
th
so manly an air; "whatsoever the Prince may ask, that will I freely
grant."
"Then, oh sire," said the Prince,
kneeling before the throne, "I ask that for the period of one day I may
reign as King in your stead, having at my command all kingly power and the
obedience of all who owe allegiance to the crown!"
"For a time there was perfect silence in =
the
court, the King growing red with dismay and embarrassment and the courtiers
waiting curiously his reply. Lilimond still remained kneeling before the
throne, and, as the King looked upon him he realized it would be impossible=
to
break his royal word. And the affair promised him amusement after all, so h=
e quickly
decided in what manner to reply.
"Rise, oh Prince," he said, cheerful=
ly,
"your request is granted. Upon what day will it please you to reign?&q=
uot;
Lilimond arose to his feet.
"Upon the seventh day from this," he
answered.
"So be it," returned the King. Then, turning to the royal herald =
he added,
"Make proclamation throughout the kingdom that on the seventh day from
this Prince Lilimond will reign as King from sunrise till sunset. And whoev=
er
dares to disobey his commands will be guilty of treason and shall be punish=
ed
with death!"
The court was then dismissed, all wondering at
this marvellous decree, and the Prince returned to his own apartment where =
his
tutor, Borland, anxiously awaited him.
Now this Borland was a man of good heart and m= uch intelligence, but wholly unused to the ways of the world. He had lately not= ed, with much grief, the number of beggars who solicited alms as he walked out = with the Prince, and he had given freely until his purse was empty. Then he talk= ed long and earnestly with the Prince concerning this shocking condition in the kingdom, never dreaming that his own generosity had attracted all the begga= rs of the city toward him and encouraged them to become more bold than usual.<= o:p>
Thus was the young and tender-hearted Prince
brought to a knowledge of all these beggars, and therefore it was that their
condition filled him with sadness and induced him to speak so boldly to the
King, his father.
When he returned to Borland with the tidings t=
hat
the King had granted him permission to rule for a day the kingdom, the tutor
was overjoyed, and at once they began to plan ways for relieving all the po=
or
of the country in that one day.
For one thing, they dispatched private messeng=
ers
to every part of the kingdom, bidding them tell each beggar they met to com=
e to
the Prince on that one day he should be King and he would relieve their wan=
ts, giving
a broad gold piece to every poor man or woman who asked.
For the Prince had determined to devote to this
purpose the gold that filled the royal coffers; and as for the great ball a=
nd
tourney the King had planned, why, that could go begging much better than t=
he starving
people.
On the night before the day the Prince was to
reign there was a great confusion of noise within the city, for beggars from
all parts of the kingdom began to arrive, each one filled with joy at the
prospect of receiving a piece of gold.
There was a continual tramp, tramp of feet, an=
d a
great barking of dogs, as all dogs in those days were trained to bark at ev=
ery
beggar they saw, and now it was difficult to restrain them.
And the beggars came to town singly and by twos
and threes, until hundreds were there to await the morrow. Some few were ve=
ry
pitiful to behold, being feeble and infirm from age and disease, dressed in
rags and tags, and presenting an appearance of great distress. But there we=
re
many more who were seemingly hearty and vigorous; and these were the lazy o=
nes,
who, not being willing to work, begged for a livelihood.
And some there were dressed in silken hose and
velvet gowns, who, forgetting all shame, and, eager for gold, had been led =
by
the Prince's offer to represent themselves as beggars, that they might add =
to
their wealth without trouble or cost to themselves.
The next morning, when the sun arose upon the
eventful day, it found the Prince sitting upon the throne of his father,
dressed in a robe of ermine and purple, a crown upon his flowing locks and =
the
King's scepter clasped tightly in his little hand. He was somewhat frighten=
ed at
the clamor of the crowd without the palace, but Borland, who stood behind h=
im,
whispered,
"The more you can succor the greater will=
be
your glory, and you will live in the hearts of your people as the kind Prin=
ce
who relieved their sufferings. Be of good cheer, Your Majesty, for all is
well."
Then did the Prince command the Treasurer to b=
ring
before him the royal coffers, and to stand ready to present to each beggar a
piece of gold. The Treasurer was very unwilling to do this, but he was unde=
r penalty
of death if he refused, and so the coffers were brought forth.
"Your Majesty," said the Treasurer,
"if each of those who clamor without is to receive a piece of gold, th=
ere
will not be enough within these coffers to go around. Some will receive and
others be denied, since no further store of gold is to be had."
At this news the Prince was both puzzled and
alarmed.
"What are we to do?" he asked of the
tutor; but Borland was unable to suggest a remedy.
Then said the aged Chamberlain, coming forward,
and bowing low before the little King,
"Your Majesty, I think I can assist you in
your difficulty. You did but
promise a piece of gold to those who are really suffering and in need, but =
so
great is the greed of mankind that many without are in no necessity whateve=
r,
but only seek to enrich themselves at your expense. Therefore I propose you
examine carefully each case that presents itself, and unless the beggar is =
in
need of alms turn him away empty-handed, as being a fraud and a
charlatan."
"Your counsel is wise, oh Chamberlain,&qu=
ot;
replied the Prince, after a moment's thought; "and by turning away the
impostors we shall have gold enough for the needy. Therefore bid the guards=
to
admit the beggars one by one."
When the first beggar came before him the Prin=
ce
asked,
"Are you in need?"
"I am starving, Your Majesty," repli=
ed
the man, in a whining tone. H=
e was
poorly dressed, but seemed strong and well, and the Prince examined him
carefully for a moment. Then he answered the fellow, saying,
"Since you are starving, go and sell the =
gold
ring I see you are wearing upon your finger. I can assist only those who are
unable to help themselves."
At this the man turned away muttering angrily,=
and
the courtiers murmured their approval of the Prince's wisdom.
The next beggar was dressed in velvet, and the
Prince sent him away with a sharp rebuke. But the third was a woman, old and
feeble, and she blessed the Prince as she hobbled joyfully away with a broa=
d gold-piece
clasped tightly within her withered hand.
The next told so pitiful a story that he also
received a gold-piece; but as he turned away the Prince saw that beneath his
robe his shoes were fastened with silver buckles, and so he commanded the
guards to take away the gold and to punish the man for attempting to deceive
his King.
And so many came to him that were found to be
unworthy that he finally bade the guards proclaim to all who waited that any
who should be found undeserving would be beaten with stripes.
That edict so frightened the imposters that th=
ey
quickly fled, and only those few who were actually in want dared to present
themselves before the King.
And lo! The task that had seemed too great for= one day was performed in a few hours, and when all the needy had been provided = for but one of the royal coffers had been opened, and that was scarcely empty!<= o:p>
"What think you, Borland?" asked the
Prince, anxiously, "have we done aright?"
"I have learned, Your Majesty," answ=
ered
the tutor, "that there is a great difference between those who beg and
those who suffer for lack of bread. For, while all who needed aid were in t=
ruth
beggars, not all the beggars needed aid; and hereafter I shall only give al=
ms
to those I know to be honestly in want."
"It is wisely said, my friend," retu=
rned
the Prince, "and I feel I was wrong to doubt the wisdom of my father's
councilors. Go, Borland, and ask the King if he will graciously attend me
here."
The King arrived and bowed smilingly before the
Prince whom he had set to reign in his own place, and at once the boy arose=
and
presented his sire with the scepter and crown, saying,
"Forgive me, oh my King, that I presumed =
to
doubt the wisdom of your rule. For, though the sun has not yet set, I feel =
that
I am all unworthy to sit in your place, and so I willingly resign my power =
to your
more skillful hands. And the coffers which I, in my ignorance, had determin=
ed
to empty for the benefit of those unworthy, are still nearly full, and more
than enough remains for the expenses of the carnival. Therefore forgive me,=
my
father, and let me learn wisdom in the future from the justness of your
rule."
Thus ended the reign of Prince Lilimond as Kin=
g,
and not till many years later did he again ascend the throne upon the death=
of
his father.
And really there was not much suffering in the
kingdom at any time, as it was a prosperous country and well governed; for,=
if
you look for beggars in any land you will find many, but if you look only f=
or
the deserving poor there are less, and these all the more worthy of succor.=
I wish all those in power were as kind-hearted=
as
little Prince Lilimond, and as ready to help the needy, for then there woul=
d be
more light hearts in the world, since it is "better to give than to re=
ceive."
=
Tom,
the Piper's Son
&=
nbsp;
Tom, the Piper's Son
&=
nbsp;
Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Stole a pig and a=
way he
run; The pi=
g was
eat and Tom was beat And Tom ran cryin=
g down
the street.
There was not a worse vagabond in Shrewsbury t=
han
old Barney the piper. He never did any work except to play the pipes, and he
played so badly that few pennies ever found their way into his pouch. It wa=
s whispered
around that old Barney was not very honest, but he was so sly and cautious =
that
no one had ever caught him in the act of stealing, although a good many thi=
ngs
had been missed after they had fallen into the old man's way.
Barney had one son, named Tom; and they lived =
all
alone in a little hut away at the end of the village street, for Tom's moth=
er
had died when he was a baby. You may not suppose that Tom was a very good b=
oy, since
he had such a queer father; but neither was he very bad, and the worst faul=
t he
had was in obeying his father's wishes when Barney wanted him to steal a
chicken for their supper or a pot of potatoes for their breakfast. Tom did =
not
like to steal, but he had no one to teach him to be honest, and so, under h=
is
father's guidance, he fell into bad ways.
One morning
&=
nbsp;
Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Was hungry when t=
he day
begun; He w=
anted
a bun and asked for one, But soon found ou=
t that
there were none.
"What shall we do?" he asked his fat=
her
"Go hungry," replied Barney,
"unless you want to take my pipes and play in the village. Perhaps they
will give you a penny."
"No," answered Tom, shaking his head;
"no one will give me a penny for playing; but Farmer Bowser might give=
me
a penny to stop playing, if I went to his house. He did last week, you
know."
"You 'd better try it," said his fat=
her;
"it 's mighty uncomfortable to be hungry."
So Tom took his father's pipes and walked over=
the
hill to Farmer Bowser's house; for you must know that
&=
nbsp;
Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Learned to play w=
hen he
was young; =
But
the only tune that he could play Was "Over the
hills and far away."
And he played this one tune as badly as his fa=
ther
himself played, so that the people were annoyed when they heard him, and of=
ten
begged him to stop.
When he came to Farmer Bowser's house, Tom sta=
rted
up the pipes and began to play with all his might. The farmer was in his
woodshed, sawing wood, so he did not hear the pipes; and the farmer's wife =
was deaf,
and could not hear them. But a little pig that had strayed around in front =
of
the house heard the noise, and ran away in great fear to the pigsty.
Then, as Tom saw the playing did no good, he
thought he would sing also, and therefore he began bawling, at the top of h=
is
voice,
&=
nbsp;
"Over the hills, not a great ways off, The woodchuck die=
d with
the whooping-cough!"
The farmer had stopped sawing to rest, just th=
en;
and when he heard the singing he rushed out of the shed, and chased Tom away
with a big stick of wood. The boy went back to his father, and said, sorrow=
fully,
for he was more hungry than before,
"The farmer gave me nothing but a scoldin=
g;
but there was a very nice pig running around the yard."
"How big was it?" asked Barney.
"Oh, just about big enough to make a nice
dinner for you and me."
&=
nbsp;
The piper slowly shook his head; "'T is long =
since
I on pig have fed, And though I feel=
it 's
wrong to steal, Roast pig is very
nice," he said.
Tom knew very well what he meant by that, so he
laid down the pipes, and went back to the farmer's house.
When he came near he heard the farmer again sa=
wing
wood in the woodshed, and so he went softly up to the pig-sty and reached o=
ver
and grabbed the little pig by the ears. The pig squealed, of course, but the
farmer was making so much noise himself that he did not hear it, and in a
minute Tom had the pig tucked under his arm and was running back home with =
it.
The piper was very glad to see the pig, and sa=
id
to Tom,
"You are a good son, and the pig is very =
nice
and fat. We shall have a dinn=
er fit
for a king."
It was not long before the piper had the pig
killed and cut into pieces and boiling in the pot. Only the tail was left o=
ut,
for Tom wanted to make a whistle of it, and as there was plenty to eat besi=
des the
tail his father let him have it.
The piper and his son had a fine dinner that d=
ay,
and so great was their hunger that the little pig was all eaten up at one m=
eal!
Then Barney lay down to sleep, and Tom sat on a
bench outside the door and began to make a whistle out of the pig's tail wi=
th
his pocket-knife.
Now Farmer Bowser, when he had finished sawing=
the
wood, found it was time to feed the pig, so he took a pail of meal and went=
to
the pigsty. But when he came to the sty there was no pig to be seen, and he
searched all round the place for a good hour without finding it.
"Piggy, piggy, piggy!" he called, bu=
t no
piggy came, and then he knew his pig had been stolen. He was very angry,
indeed, for the pig was a great pet, and he had wanted to keep it till it g=
rew
very big.
So he put on his coat and buckled a strap arou=
nd
his waist, and went down to the village to see if he could find out who had
stolen his pig.
Up and down the street he went, and in and out=
the
lanes, but no traces of the pig could he find anywhere. And that was no gre=
at wonder,
for the pig was eaten by that time and its bones picked clean.
Finally the farmer came to the end of the stre=
et
where the piper lived in his little hut, and there he saw Tom sitting on a
bench and blowing on a whistle made from a pig's tail.
"Where did you get that tail?" asked=
the
farmer.
"I found it," said naughty Tom,
beginning to be frightened.
"Let me see it," demanded the farmer;
and when he had looked at it carefully he cried out,
"This tail belonged to my little pig, for=
I
know very well the curl at the end of it! Tell me, you rascal, where is the
pig?"
Then Tom fell in a tremble, for he knew his
wickedness was discovered.
"The pig is eat, your honor," he
answered.
The farmer said never a word, but his face grew
black with anger, and, unbuckling the strap that was about his waist, he wa=
ved
it around his head, and whack! came the strap over Tom's back.
"Ow, ow!" cried the boy, and started=
to
run down the street.
Whack! whack! fell the strap over his shoulder,
for the farmer followed at his heels half-way down the street, nor did he s=
pare
the strap until he had give Tom a good beating. And Tom was so scared that =
he
never stopped running until he came to the end of the village, and he bawled
lustily the whole way and cried out at every step as if the farmer was stil=
l a his
back.
It was dark before he came back to his home, a=
nd
his father was still asleep; so Tom crept into the hut and went to bed. But=
he
had received a good lesson and never after that could the old piper induce =
him
to steal.
When Tom showed by his actions his intention of
being honest he soon got a job of work to do, and before long he was able to
earn a living more easily, and a great deal more honestly, than when he sto=
le
the pig to get a dinner and suffered a severe beating as a punishment.
&=
nbsp;
Tom, Tom, the piper's son Now with stealing=
pigs
was done, H=
e 'd
work all day instead of play, And dined on tart=
and
currant bun.
&=
nbsp;
Humpty Dumpty
&=
nbsp;
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had=
a
great fall. All
the King's horses And all the King'=
s men Cannot put Humpty
together again.
At the very top of the hay-mow in the barn, the
Speckled Hen had made her nest, and each day for twelve days she had laid i=
n it
a pretty white egg. The Speckled Hen had made her nest in this out-of-the-w=
ay place
so that no one would come to disturb her, as it was her intention to sit up=
on
the eggs until they were hatched into chickens.
Each day, as she laid her eggs, she would cack=
le
to herself; saying, "This will in time be a beautiful chick, with soft,
fluffy down all over its body and bright little eyes that will look at the
world in amazement. It will be one of my children, and I shall love it
dearly."
She named each egg, as she laid it, by the name
she should call it when a chick, the first one being
"Cluckety-Cluck," and the next "Cadaw-Cut," and so on; =
and
when she came to the twelfth egg she called it "Humpty Dumpty."
This twelfth egg was remarkably big and white =
and
of a very pretty shape, and as the nest was now so full she laid it quite n=
ear
the edge. And then the Speckled Hen, after looking proudly at her work, went
off to the barnyard, clucking joyfully, in search of something to eat.
When she had gone, Cluckety-Cluck, who was in =
the
middle of the nest and the oldest egg of all, called out, angrily,
"It 's getting crowded in this nest; move=
up
there, some of you fellows!" And then he gave CadawCut, who was above =
him,
a kick.
"I can't move unless the others do; they =
're
crowding me down!" said Cadaw-Cut; and he kicked the egg next above hi=
m.
And so they continued kicking one another and rolling around in the nest un=
til
one kicked Humpty Dumpty, and as he lay on the edge of the nest he was kick=
ed
out and rolled down the hay-mow until he came to a stop near the very botto=
m.
Humpty did not like this very well, but he was=
a
bright egg for one so young, and after he had recovered from his shaking up=
he
began to look about to see where he was. The barn door was open, and he cau=
ght
a glimpse of trees and hedges, and green grass with a silvery brook running
through it. And he saw the waving grain and the tasselled maize and the
sunshine flooding it all.
The scene was very enticing to the young egg, =
and
Humpty at once resolved to see something of this great world before going b=
ack
to the nest.
He began to make his way carefully through the
hay, and was getting along fairly well when he heard a voice say,
"Where are you going?"
Humpty looked around and found he was beside a
pretty little nest in which was one brown egg.
"Did you speak?" he asked.
"Yes," replied the brown egg; "I
asked where you were going."
"Who are you?" enquired Humpty; &quo=
t;do
you belong in our nest?"
"Oh, no!" answered the brown egg;
"my name is Coutchie-Coulou, and the Black Bantam laid me about an hour
ago."
"Oh," said Humpty proudly; "I
belong to the Speckled Hen myself."
"Do you, indeed!" returned Coutchie-Coulou. "I saw = her go by a little while ago, and she 's much bigger than the Black Bantam."<= o:p>
"Yes, and I 'm much bigger than you,"
replied Humpty. "But I 'm
going out to see the world, and if you like to go with me I 'll take good c=
are
of you."
"Is n't it dangerous for eggs to go about=
all
by themselves?" asked Coutchie, timidly.
"Perhaps so," answered Humpty; "=
;but
it 's dangerous in the nest, too; my brothers might have smashed me with th=
eir
kicking. However, if we are careful we can't come to much harm; so come alo=
ng,
little one, and I 'll look after you."
Coutchie-Coulou gave him her hand while he hel=
ped
her out of the nest, and together they crept over the hay until they came to
the barn floor. They made for the door at once, holding each other by the h=
and,
and soon came to the threshold, which appeared very high to them.
"We must jump," said Humpty.
"I 'm afraid!" cried
Coutchie-Coulou. "And I
declare! there 's my mother's voice clucking, she 's coming this way."=
"Then hurry!" said Humpty. "And do not tremble so or you=
will
get yourself all mixed up; it does n't improve eggs to shake them. We will =
jump
but take care not to bump against me or you may break my shell. Now,--one,-=
-two,--three!"
They held each other's hand and jumped, alight=
ing
safely in the roadway. Then, fearing their mothers would see them, Humpty r=
an
as fast as he could go until he and Coutchie were concealed beneath a roseb=
ush
in the garden.
"I 'm afraid we 're bad eggs," gasped
Coutchie, who was somewhat out of breath.
"Oh, not at all," replied Humpty;
"we were laid only this morning, so we are quite fresh. But now, since=
we
are in the world, we must start out in search of adventure. Here is a roadw=
ay
beside us which will lead us somewhere or other; so come along,
Coutchie-Coulou, and do not be afraid."
The brown egg meekly gave him her hand, and
together they trotted along the roadway until they came to a high stone wal=
l,
which had sharp spikes upon its top. It seemed to extend for a great distan=
ce, and
the eggs stopped and looked at it curiously.
"I 'd like to see what is behind that
wall," said Humpty, "but I do n't think we shall be able to climb
over it."
"No, indeed," answered the brown egg,
"but just before us I see a little hole in the wall, near the ground;
perhaps we can crawl through that."
They ran to the hole and found it was just lar=
ge
enough to admit them. So they squeezed through very carefully, in order not=
to
break themselves, and soon came to the other side.
They were now in a most beautiful garden, with
trees and bright-hued flowers in abundance and pretty fountains that shot t=
heir
merry sprays far into the air. In the center of the garden was a great pala=
ce,
with bright golden turrets and domes, and many windows that glistened in the
sunshine like the sparkle of diamonds.
Richly dressed courtiers and charming ladies
strolled through the walks, and before the palace door were a dozen prancing
horses, gaily caparisoned, awaiting their riders.
It was a scene brilliant enough to fascinate
anyone, and the two eggs stood spellbound while their eyes feasted upon the
unusual sight.
"See!" whispered Coutchie-Coulou,
"there are some birds swimming in the water yonder. Let us go and look=
at
them, for we also may be birds someday."
"True," answered Humpty, "but we
are just as likely to be omelets or angel's-food. Still, we will have a loo=
k at
the birds."
So they started to cross the drive on their wa=
y to
the pond, never noticing that the King and his courtiers had issued from the
palace and were now coming down the drive riding upon their prancing steeds=
. Just
as the eggs were in the middle of the drive the horses dashed by, and Humpt=
y,
greatly alarmed, ran as fast as he could for the grass.
Then he stopped and looked around, and
behold! There was poor Coutch=
ie-Coulou
crushed into a shapeless mass by the hoof of one of the horses, and her gol=
den
heart was spreading itself slowly over the white gravel of the driveway!
Humpty sat down upon the grass and wept
grievously, for the death of his companion was a great blow to him. And whi=
le
he sobbed, a voice said to him,
"What is the matter, little egg?"
Humpty looked up, and saw a beautiful girl ben=
ding
over him.
"One of the horses has stepped upon Coutc=
hie-Coulou,"
he said; "and now she is dead, and I have no friend in all the
world."
The girl laughed.
"Do not grieve," she said, "for
eggs are but short-lived creatures at best, and Coutchie-Coulou has at least
died an honorable death and saved herself from being fried in a pan or boil=
ed
in her own shell. So cheer up, little egg, and I will be your friend--at le=
ast
so long as you remain fresh. A stale egg I never could abide."
"I was laid only this morning," said
Humpty, drying his tears, "so you need have no fear. But do not call me
'little egg,' for I am quite large, as eggs go, and I have a name of my
own."
"What is your name?" asked the Princ=
ess.
"It is Humpty Dumpty," he answered,
proudly. "And now, if yo=
u will
really be my friend, pray show me about the grounds, and through the palace;
and take care I am not crushed."
So the Princess took Humpty in her arms and wa=
lked
with him all through the grounds, letting him see the fountains and the gol=
den
fish that swam in their waters, the beds of lilies and roses, and the pools=
where
the swans floated. Then she took him into the palace, and showed him all the
gorgeous rooms, including the King's own bed-chamber and the room where sto=
od
the great ivory throne.
Humpty sighed with pleasure.
"After this," he said, "I am
content to accept any fate that may befall me, for surely no egg before me =
ever
saw so many beautiful sights."
"That is true," answered the Princes=
s;
"but now I have one more sight to show you which will be grander than =
all
the others; for the King will be riding home shortly with all his horses and
men at his back, and I will take you to the gates and let you see them pass
by."
"Thank you," said Humpty.
So she carried him to the gates, and while they
awaited the coming of the King the egg said,
"Put me upon the wall, Princess, for then=
I
be able to see much better than in your arms."
"That is a good idea," she answered;
"but you must be careful not to fall."
Then she sat the egg gently upon the top of the
stone wall, where there was a little hollow; and Humpty was delighted, for =
from
his elevated perch he could see much better than the Princess herself.
"Here they come!" he cried; and, sure
enough, the King came riding along the road with many courtiers and soldiers
and vassals following in his wake, all mounted upon the finest horses the
kingdom could afford.
As they came to the gate and entered at a brisk
trot, Humpty, forgetting his dangerous position, leaned eagerly over to loo=
k at
them. The next instant the Princess heard a sharp crash at her side, and,
looking downward, perceived poor Humpty Dumpty, who lay crushed and mangled
among the sharp stones where he had fallen.
The Princess sighed, for she had taken quite a
fancy to the egg; but she knew it was impossible to gather it up again or m=
end
the matter in any way, and therefore she returned thoughtfully to the palac=
e.
Now it happened that upon this evening several
young men of the kingdom, who were all of high rank, had determined to ask =
the
King for the hand of the Princess; so they assembled in the throne room and=
demanded
that the King choose which of them was most worthy to marry his daughter.
The King was in a quandary, for all the suitors
were wealthy and powerful, and he feared that all but the one chosen would
become his enemies. Therefore he thought long upon the matter, and at last
said,
"Where all are worthy it is difficult to
decide which most deserves the hand of the Princess. Therefore I propose to
test your wit. The one who shall ask me a riddle I cannot guess, can marry =
my
daughter."
At this the young men looked thoughtful, and b=
egan
to devise riddles that his Majesty should be unable to guess. But the King =
was
a shrewd monarch, and each one of the riddles presented to him he guessed w=
ith ease.
Now there was one amongst the suitors whom the
Princess herself favored, as was but natural. He was a slender, fair-haired
youth, with dreamy blue eyes and a rosy complexion, and although he loved t=
he Princess
dearly he despaired of finding a riddle that the King could not guess.
But while he stood leaning against the wall the
Princess approached him and whispered in his ear a riddle she had just thou=
ght
of. Instantly his face brightened, and when the King called, "Now, Mas=
ter Gracington,
it is your turn," he advanced boldly to the throne.
"Speak your riddle, sir," said the K=
ing,
gaily; for he thought this youth would also fail, and that he might therefo=
re
keep the Princess by his side for a time longer.
But Master Gracington, with downcast eyes, kne=
lt
before the throne and spoke in this wise:
"This is my riddle, oh King:
&=
nbsp;
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had=
a
great fall =
All
the King's horses And all the King'=
s men Cannot put Humpty
together again!"
"Read me that, sire, an' you will!"<= o:p>
The King thought earnestly for a long time, an=
d he
slapped his head and rubbed his ears and walked the floor in great strides;=
but
guess the riddle he could not.
"You are a humbug, sir!" he cried ou=
t at
last; "there is no answer to such a riddle."
"You are wrong, sire," answered the
young man; "Humpty Dumpty was an egg."
"Why did I not think of that before!"
exclaimed the King; but he gave the Princess to the young man to be his bri=
de,
and they lived happily together.
And thus did Humpty Dumpty, even in his death,
repay the kindness of the fair girl who had shown him such sights as an egg
seldom sees.
=
The
Woman Who Lived in a Shoe
&=
nbsp;
The Woman Who Lived in a Shoe
&=
nbsp;
There was an old woman Who lived in a sh=
oe, She had so many
children Sh=
e did
n't know what to do; She gave them some
broth Witho=
ut any
bread, And
whipped them all soundly And sent them to =
bed.
A long time ago there lived a woman who had fo=
ur
daughters, and these in time grew up and married and went to live in differ=
ent
parts of the country. And the woman, after that, lived all alone, and said =
to herself,
"I have done my duty to the world, and now shall rest quietly for the
balance of my life. When one has raised a family of four children and has
married them all happily, she is surely entitled to pass her remaining days=
in
peace and comfort."
She lived in a peculiar little house, that loo=
ked
something like this picture.
It was not like most of the houses you see, but
the old woman had it built herself, and liked it, and so it did not matter =
to
her how odd it was. It stood upon the top of a little hill, and there was a
garden at the back and a pretty green lawn in front, with white gravel path=
s and
many beds of bright colored flowers.
The old woman was very happy and contented the=
re
until one day she received a letter saying that her daughter Hannah was dead
and had sent her family of five children to their grandmother to be taken c=
are of.
This misfortune ruined all the old woman's dre=
ams
of quiet; but the next day the children arrived--three boys and two girls--=
and
she made the best of it and gave them the beds her own daughters had once o=
ccupied,
and her own cot as well; and she made a bed for herself on the parlor sofa.=
The youngsters were like all other children, a=
nd
got into mischief once in awhile; but the old woman had much experience with
children and managed to keep them in order very well, while they quickly le=
arned
to obey her, and generally did as they were bid.
But scarcely had she succeeded in getting them
settled in their new home when Margaret, another of her daughters, died, and
sent four more children to her mother to be taken care of.
The old woman scarcely knew where to keep this=
new
flock that had come to her fold, for the house was already full; but she
thought the matter over and finally decided she must build an addition to h=
er house.
So she hired a carpenter and built what is cal=
led
a "lean-to" at the right of her cottage, making it just big enoug=
h to
accommodate the four new members of her family. When it was completed her h=
ouse
looked very much as it does in this picture.
She put four little cots in her new part of the
house, and then she sighed contentedly, and said, "Now all the babies =
are
taken care of and will be comfortable until they grow up." Of course it
was much more difficult to manage nine small children than five; and they o=
ften
led each other into mischief, so that the flower beds began to be trampled =
upon
and the green grass to be worn under the constant tread of little feet, and=
the
furniture to show a good many scratches and bruises.
But the old woman continued to look after them=
, as
well as she was able, until Sarah, her third daughter, also died, and three
more children were sent to their grandmother to be brought up.
The old woman was nearly distracted when she h=
eard
of this new addition to her family, but she did not give way to despair. She
sent for the carpenter again, and had him build another addition to her hou=
se,
as the picture shows.
Then she put three new cots in the new part for
the babies to sleep in, and when they arrived they were just as cozy and
comfortable as peas in a pod.
The grandmother was a lively old woman for one=
of
her years, but she found her time now fully occupied in cooking the meals f=
or
her twelve small grandchildren, and mending their clothes, and washing thei=
r faces,
and undressing them at night and dressing them in the morning. There was ju=
st a
dozen of babies now, and when you consider they were about the same age you
will realize what a large family the old woman had, and how fully her time =
was
occupied in caring for them all.
And now, to make the matter worse, her fourth
daughter, who had been named Abigail, suddenly took sick and died, and she =
also
had four small children that must be cared for in some way.
The old woman, having taken the other twelve,
could not well refuse to adopt these little orphans also.
"I may as well have sixteen as a dozen,&q=
uot;
she said, with a sigh; "they will drive me crazy some day, anyhow, so a
few more will not matter at all!"
Once more she sent for the carpenter, and bade=
him
build a third addition to the house; and when it was completed she added fo=
ur
more cots to the dozen that were already in use. The house presented a very=
queer
appearance now, but she did not mind that so long as the babies were comfor=
table.
"I shall not have to build again," s=
he
said; "and that is one satisfaction. I have now no more daughters to d=
ie
and leave me their children, and therefore I must make up my mind to do the
best I can with the sixteen that have already been inflicted upon me in my =
old age."
It was not long before all the grass about the
house was trodden down, and the white gravel of the walks all thrown at the
birds, and the flower beds trampled into shapeless masses by thirty-two lit=
tle
feet that ran about from morn till night. But the old woman did not complai=
n at
this; her time was too much taken up with the babies for her to miss the gr=
ass
and the flowers.
It cost so much money to clothe them that she
decided to dress them all alike, so that they looked like the children of a
regular orphan asylum. And it cost so much to feed them that she was oblige=
d to
give them the plainest food; so there was bread-and-milk for breakfast and =
milk-and-bread
for dinner and bread-and-broth for supper. But it was a good and wholesome =
diet,
and the children thrived and grew fat upon it.
One day a stranger came along the road, and wh=
en
he saw the old woman's house he began to laugh.
"What are you laughing at, sir?" ask=
ed
the grandmother, who was sitting upon her doorsteps engaged in mending sixt=
een
pairs of stockings.
"At your house," the stranger replie=
d;
"it looks for all the world like a big shoe!"
"A shoe!" she said, in surprise.
"Why, yes. The chimneys are shoe-straps, and =
the
steps are the heel, and all those additions make the foot of the shoe."=
;
"Never mind," said the woman; "=
it
may be a shoe, but it is full of babies, and that makes it differ from most
other shoes."
But the Stranger went on to the village and to=
ld
all he met that he had seen an old woman who lived in a shoe; and soon peop=
le
came from all parts of the country to look at the queer house, and they usu=
ally
went away laughing.
The old woman did not mind this at all; she was
too busy to be angry. Some of the children were always getting bumped heads=
or
bruised shins, or falling down and hurting themselves, and these had to be =
comforted.
And some were naughty and had to be whipped; and some were dirty and had to=
be
washed; and some were good and had to be kissed. It was "Gran'ma, do
this!" and "Gran'ma, do that!" from morning to night, so that
the poor grandmother was nearly distracted. The only peace she ever got was
when they were all safely tucked in their little cots and were sound asleep;
for then, at least, she was free from worry and had a chance to gather her
scattered wits.
"There are so many children," she sa=
id
one day to the baker-man, "that I often really do n't know what to
do!"
"If they were mine, ma'am," he repli=
ed,
"I 'd send them to the poor-house, or else they 'd send me to the
madhouse."
Some of the children heard him say this, and t=
hey
resolved to play him a trick in return for his ill-natured speech.
The baker-man came every day to the shoe-house,
and brought two great baskets of bread in his arms for the children to eat =
with
their milk and their broth.
So one day, when the old woman had gone to the
town to buy shoes, the children all painted their faces, to look as Indians=
do
when they are on the warpath; and they caught the roosters and the turkey-c=
ock
and pulled feathers from their tails to stick in their hair. And then the b=
oys
made wooden tomahawks for the girls and bows-and-arrows for their own use, =
and
then all sixteen went out and hid in the bushes near the top of the hill.
By and by the baker-man came slowly up the path
with a basket of bread on either arm; and just as he reached the bushes the=
re
sounded in his ears a most unearthly war-whoop. Then a flight of arrows came
from the bushes, and although they were blunt and could do him no harm they=
rattled
all over his body; and one hit his nose, and another his chin, while several
stuck fast in the loaves of bread.
Altogether, the baker-man was terribly frighte=
ned;
and when all the sixteen small Indians rushed from the bushes and flourished
their tomahawks, he took to his heels and ran down the hill as fast as he c=
ould
go!
When the grandmother returned she asked,
"Where is the bread for your supper?"=
;
The children looked at one another in surprise,
for they had forgotten all about the bread. And then one of them confessed,=
and
told her the whole story of how they had frightened the baker-man for sayin=
g he
would send them to the poor-house.
"You are sixteen very naughty children!&q=
uot;
exclaimed the old woman; "and for punishment you must eat your broth
without any bread, and afterwards each one shall have a sound whipping and =
be
sent to bed."
Then all the children began to cry at once, and
there was such an uproar that their grandmother had to put cotton in her ea=
rs
that she might not lose her hearing.
But she kept her promise, and made them eat th=
eir
broth without any bread; for, indeed, there was no bread to give them.
Then she stood them in a row and undressed the=
m,
and as she put the nightdress on each one she gave it a sound whipping and =
sent
it to bed.
They cried some, of course, but they knew very
well they deserved the punishment, and it was not long before all of them w=
ere
sound asleep.
They took care not to play any more tricks on = the baker-man, and as they grew older they were naturally much better behaved.<= o:p>
Before many years the boys were old enough to =
work
for the neighboring farmers, and that made the woman's family a good deal
smaller. And then the girls grew up and married, and found homes of their o=
wn,
so that all the children were in time well provided for.
But not one of them forgot the kind grandmother
who had taken such good care of them, and often they tell their children of=
the
days when they lived with the old woman in a shoe and frightened the baker-=
man almost
into fits with their wooden tomahawks.
&=
nbsp;
Little Miss Muffet
&=
nbsp;
Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet, =
Eating of curds a=
nd
whey. There=
came
a great spider And sat down besi=
de her
And frighte=
ned
Miss Muffet away.
Little Miss Muffet's father was a big banker i=
n a
big city, and he had so much money that the house he lived in was almost as
beautiful as a king's palace. It was built of granite and marble, and richl=
y furnished
with every luxury that money can buy. There was an army of servants about t=
he
house, and many of them had no other duties than to wait upon Miss Muffet, =
for
the little girl was an only child and therefore a personage of great
importance. She had a maid to dress her hair and a maid to bathe her, a mai=
d to
serve her at a table and a maid to tie her shoe-strings, and several maids
beside And then there was Nurse Holloweg to look after all the maids and see
they did their tasks properly.
The child's father spent his days at his office
and his evenings at his club; her mother was a leader in society, and there=
fore
fully engaged from morning till night and from night till morn; so that Lit=
tle
Miss Muffet seldom saw her parents and scarce knew them when she did see th=
em.
I have never known by what name she was
christened. Perhaps she did n=
ot
know herself, for everyone had called her "Miss Muffet" since she=
could
remember. The servants spoke of her respectfully as Miss Muffet. Mrs. Muffet
would say, at times, "By the way, Nurse, how is Miss Muffet getting
along?" And Mr. Muffet, when he met his little daughter by chance on t=
he
walk or in the hallway, would stop and look at her gravely and say, "So
this is Miss Muffet. Well, how are you feeling, little one?" And then,
without heeding her answer, he would walk away.
Perhaps you think that Miss Muffet, surrounded=
by
every luxury and with a dozen servants to wait upon her, was happy and
contented; but such was not the case. She wanted to run and romp, but they =
told
her it was unladylike; she wished to play with other children, but none were
rich enough to be proper associates for her; she longed to dig in the dirt =
in
the garden, but Nurse Holloweg was shocked at the very thought. So Miss Muf=
fet
became sullen and irritable, and scolded everyone about her, and lived a ve=
ry
unhappy life. And her food was too rich and gave her dyspepsia, so that she
grew thin and pale and did not sleep well at night.
One afternoon her mother, who happened to be at
home for an hour, suddenly thought of her little daughter; so she rang the =
bell
and asked for Nurse Holloweg.
"How is Miss Muffet, Nurse?" enquired
the lady.
"Very badly, ma'am," was the reply.<= o:p>
"Badly!&=
nbsp;
What do you mean? Is s=
he
ill?"
"She 's far from well, ma'am," answe=
red
the Nurse, "and seems to be getting worse every day."
"Well," replied the lady; "you =
must
have the doctor to see her; and do n't forget to let me know what he says. =
That
is all, Nurse."
She turned to her novel again, and the Nurse
walked away and sent a servant for the doctor. That great man, when he came,
shook his head solemnly and said,
"She must have a change. Take her away into the country as =
soon
as possible."
"And very good advice it was, too,"
remarked the Nurse to one of the maids; "for I feel as if I needed a
change myself."
When she reported the matter to Mrs. Muffet the
mother answered,
"Very well; I will see Mr. Muffet and have
him write out a cheque."
And so it was that a week later Little Miss Mu=
ffet
went to the country, or rather to a small town where there was a summer hot=
el
that had been highly recommended to Nurse Holloweg; and with her went the s=
tring
of maids and a wagon-load of boxes and trunks.
The morning after their arrival the little girl
asked to go out upon the lawn.
"Well," replied Nurse Holloweg,
"Sarah can take you out for half an hour. But remember you are not to =
run
and get heated, for that will ruin your complexion; and you must not speak =
to
any of the common children you meet, for your mother would object; and you =
must
not get your shoes dusty nor your dress soiled, nor disobey Sarah in any
way."
Little Miss Muffet went out in a very angry and
sulky mood.
"What 's the use of being in the
country," she thought, "if I must act just as I did in the city? I
hate Nurse Holloweg, and Sarah, and all the rest of them! and if I dared I =
'd
just--just run away."
Indeed, a few minutes later, when Sarah had fa=
llen
asleep upon a bench under a big shade tree, Miss Muffet decided she would
really run away for once in her life, and see how it seemed.
There was a pretty lane near by, running betwe=
en
shady trees far out into the country, and, stealing softly away from Sarah's
side, the little girl ran as fast as she could go, and never stopped until =
she was
all out of breath.
While she rested and wondered what she could do
next, a farmer came along, driving an empty cart.
"I 'll catch on behind," said Miss
Muffet, gleefully, "just as I 've seen the boys do in the city. Won't =
it
be fun!"
So she ran and caught on the end of the cart, = and actually climbed into it, falling all in a heap upon the straw that lay upon the bottom. But it did n't hurt her at all, and the next minute the farmer = whipped up his horses, and they went trotting along the lane, carrying Miss Muffet farther and farther away from hated Nurse Holloweg and the dreadful maids.<= o:p>
She looked around upon the green fields and the
waving grain, and drew in deep breaths of the fresh country air, and was ha=
ppy
for almost the first time in her little life. By and by she lay back upon t=
he
straw and fell asleep; and the farmer, who did not know she was in his cart=
, drove
on for many miles, until at last he stopped at a small wooden farmhouse, and
jumped to the ground.
A woman came to the door to greet him, and he =
said
to her.
"Well, mother, we 're home again, you
see."
"So I see," she answered; "but =
did
you bring my groceries?"
"Yes," he replied, as he began to
unharness the horses; "they are in the cart."
So she came to the cart and looked within, and=
saw
Miss Muffet, who was still asleep.
"Where did you get the little girl?"
asked the farmer's wife, in surprise.
"What little girl?" asked he.
"The one in the cart."
He came to the cart and looked in, and was as
surprised as his wife.
"She must have climbed into the cart when=
I
left the town," he said; "but waken her, wife, and we will hear w=
hat
she has to say."
So the farmer's wife shook the girl by the arm,
and Miss Muffet sat up in the cart and rubbed her eyes and wondered where s=
he
was.
"How came you in my cart?" asked the
farmer.
"I caught on behind, and climbed in,"
answered the girl.
"What is your name, and where do you
live?" enquired the farmer's wife.
"My name is Miss Muffet, and I live in a =
big
city,--but where, I do not know."
And that was all she could tell them, so the w=
oman
said at last,
"We must keep her till some one comes to
claim her, and she can earn her living by helping me make the cheeses."=
;
"That will be nice," said Miss Muffe=
t,
with a laugh, "for Nurse Holloweg never lets me do anything, and I sho=
uld
like to help somebody do something."
So they led her into the house, where the farm=
er's
wife wondered at the fine texture of her dress and admired the golden chain
that hung around her neck.
"Some one will surely come for her,"=
the
woman said to her husband, "for she is richly dressed and must belong =
to a
family of some importance."
Nevertheless, when they had eaten dinner, for
which Little Miss Muffet had a wonderful appetite, the woman took her into =
the
dairy and told her how she could assist her in curdling the milk and prepar=
ing
it for the cheese-press.
"Why, it 's really fun to work," said
the girl, at first, "and I should like to live here always. I do hope
Nurse Holloweg will not find me."
After a time, however, she grew weary, and wan=
ted
to rest; but the woman had not yet finished her cheese-making, so she bade =
the
girl keep at her tasks.
"It 's time enough to rest when the work =
is
done," she said, "and if you stay with me you must earn your boar=
d.
No one is allowed to idle in this house."
So Little Miss Muffet, though she felt like cr=
ying
and was very tired, kept at her work until at length all was finished and t=
he
last cheese was in the press.
"Now," said the farmer's wife,
"since you have worked so well I shall give you a dish of curds and wh=
ey
for your supper, and you may go out into the orchard and eat it under the s=
hade
of the trees."
Little Miss Muffet had never eaten curds and w=
hey
before, and did not know how they tasted; but she was very hungry, so she t=
ook
the dish and went into the orchard.
She first looked around for a place to sit dow=
n,
and finally discovered a little grassy mound, which is called a tuffet in t=
he country,
and seated herself upon it. Then she tasted the curds and whey and found th=
em
very good.
But while she was eating she chanced to look d=
own
at her feet, and there was a great black spider coming straight towards her.
The girl had never seen such an enormous and hideous-looking spider before,=
and
she was so frightened that she gave a scream and tipped backward off the
tuffet, spilling the curds and whey all over her dress as she did so. This
frightened her more than ever, and as soon as she could get upon her feet s=
he
scampered away to the farmhouse as fast as she could go, crying bitterly as=
she
ran.
The farmer's wife tried to comfort her, and Mi=
ss
Muffet, between her sobs, said she had seen "the awfulest, biggest,
blackest spider in all the world!"
This made the woman laugh, for she was not afr=
aid
of spiders.
Soon after they heard a sound of wheels upon t=
he
road and a handsome carriage came dashing up to the gate.
"Has anyone seen a little girl who has run
away?" asked Nurse Holloweg, leaning out of the carriage.
"Oh, yes" answered Little Miss Muffe= t; "here I am, Nurse. And s= he ran out and jumped into the carriage, for she was very glad to get back again to those who would care for her and not ask her to work making cheeses."<= o:p>
When they were driving back to the town the Nu=
rse
said,
"You must promise me, Miss Muffet, never =
to
run away again. You have frig=
htened
me nearly into hysterics, and had you been lost your mother would have been
quite disappointed."
The little girl was silent for a time; then she
answered,
"I will promise not to run away if you wi=
ll
let me play as other children do. But if you do not allow me to run and romp
and dig in the ground, I shall keep running away, no matter how many horrid
spiders come to frighten me!"
And Nurse Holloweg, who had really been much
alarmed at so nearly losing her precious charge, thought it wise to agree to
Miss Muffet's terms.
She kept her word, too, and when Little Miss
Muffet went back to her home in the city her cheeks were as red as roses and
her eyes sparkled with health. And she grew, in time, to be a beautiful you=
ng
lady, and as healthy and robust as she was beautiful. Seeing which, the doc=
tor put
an extra large fee in his bill for advising that the little girl be taken to
the country; and Mr. Muffet paid it without a word of protest.
Even after Miss Muffet grew up and was married=
she
never forgot the day that she ran away, nor the curds and whey she ate for =
her
supper, nor the great spider that frightened her away from the tuffet.
&=
nbsp;
Three Wise Men of
&=
nbsp;
Three Wise Men of
There lived in the great city of
When this man passed down the street with his =
stately
tread the people all removed their hats and bowed to him with great reveren=
ce,
saying within themselves,
"He is very wise, this great man; he is a
second Socrates."
And soon this was the only name he was called =
by,
and everyone in
To be sure this man was not really wise. Had they realized the truth, not o=
ne he
met but knew more than Socrates; but his venerable appearance certainly
betokened great wisdom, and no one appeared to remember that things are sel=
dom
what they seem.
Socrates would strut about with bowed head and
arms clasped behind him, and think:
"My! how wise these people take me to
be. Everyone admires my beaut=
iful
beard. When I look into their faces they drop their eyes. I am, in truth, a
wonderful man, and if I say nothing they will believe I am full of wisdom. =
Ah,
here comes the schoolmaster; I shall frown heavily and refuse to notice him,
for then he also will be deceived and think I am pondering upon matters of
great import." Really, the one wise thing about this Socrates was his
ability to keep quiet. For, saying no word, it was impossible he should bet=
ray
his ignorance.
Singularly enough, over by the south gate of <=
st1:place
w:st=3D"on">Gotham there dwelt another wise man, of much the sa=
me
appearance as Socrates. His white beard was a trifle longer and he had lost=
his
left eye, which was covered by a black patch; but in all other ways his per=
son
betokened as much wisdom as that of the other.
He did not walk about, being lazy and preferri=
ng
his ease; but he lived in a little cottage with one room, where the people =
came
to consult him in regard to all their troubles.
They had named him Sophocles, and when anything
went wrong they would say,
"Let us go and consult Sophocles, for he =
is
very wise and will tell us what to do."
Thus one man, who had sued his neighbor in the
courts, became worried over the outcome of the matter and came to consult t=
he
wise man.
"Tell me, O Sophocles!" he said, as =
he
dropped a piece of money upon a plate, "shall I win my lawsuit or
not?"
Sophocles appeared to ponder for a moment, and
then he looked at his questioner with his one eye and replied,
"If it is not decided against you, you wi=
ll
certainly win your suit."
And the man was content, and went away feeling
that his money had been well invested.
At another time the mother of a pair of baby t=
wins
came to him in great trouble.
"O most wise Sophocles!" she said,
"I am in despair! For my
little twin girls are just alike, and I have lost the ribbon that I placed =
on one
that I might be able to tell them apart. Therefore I cannot determine which=
is
Amelia and which is Ophelia, and as the priest has christened them by their
proper names it would be a sin to call them wrongly."
"Cannot the priest tell?" asked the =
wise
man.
"No one can tell," answered the woma=
n; "neither
the priest nor their father nor myself, for they are just alike. And they a=
re
yet too young to remember their own names. Therefore your great wisdom is o=
ur
only resource."
"Bring them to me," commanded Sophoc=
les.
And when they were brought he looked at them
attentively and said,
"This is Ophelia and this Amelia. Now tie a red ribbon about Ophelia=
's
wrist and put a blue ribbon on Amelia, and so long as they wear them you wi=
ll
not be troubled to tell them apart."
Everyone marvelled greatly that Sophocles shou=
ld
know the children better than their own mother, but he said to himself,
"Since no no [both nos in original] one c=
an
prove that I am wrong I am sure to be right;" and thus he maintained h=
is
reputation for wisdom.
In a little side street near the center of Got=
ham
lived an old woman named Deborah Smith. Her home was a wretched little hut,=
for
she was poor, and supported herself and her husband by begging in the stree=
ts. Her
husband was a lazy, short, fat old man, who lay upon a ragged blanket in the
hut all day and refused to work.
"One beggar in the family is enough,"=
; he
used to grumble, when his wife upbraided him, "and I am really too tir=
ed
to work. So let me alone, my Deborah, as I am about to take another nap.&qu=
ot;
Nothing she could say would arouse him to acti=
on,
and she finally allowed him to do as he pleased.
But one day she met Socrates walking in the
street, and after watching him for a time made up her mind he was nothing m=
ore
than a fool. Other people certainly thought him wise, but she was a shrewd =
old
woman, and could see well enough that he merely looked wise. The next day s=
he went
to the south of the city to beg, and there she heard of Sophocles. When the
people repeated his wise sayings she thought:
"Here is another fool, for anyone could t=
ell
as much as this man does."
Still, she went to see Sophocles, and, droppin=
g a
penny upon his plate, she asked,
"Tell me, O wise man, how shall I drive my
husband to work?"
"By starving him," answered Sophocle=
s;
"if you refuse to feed him he must find a way to feed himself."
"That is true," she thought, as she =
went
away; "but any fool could have told me that. This wise man is a fraud;
even my husband is as wise as he."
Then she stopped short and slapped her hand
against her forehead.
"Why," she cried, "I will make a
Wise Man of Perry, my husband, and then he can earn money without
working!"
So she went to her husband and said,
"Get up, Perry Smith, and wash yourself; =
for
I am going to make a Wise Man of you."
"I won't," he replied.
"You will," she declared, "for =
it
is the easiest way to earn money I have ever discovered."
Then she took a stick and beat him so fiercely
that at last he got up, and agreed to do as she said.
She washed his long beard until it was as whit=
e as
snow, and she shaved his head to make him look bald and venerable. Then she
brought him a flowing black robe with a girdle at the middle; and when he w=
as dressed,
he looked fully as wise as either Socrates or Sophocles.
"You must have a new name," she said,
"for no one will ever believe that Perry Smith is a Wise Man. So I sha=
ll
hereafter call you Pericles, the Wisest Man of Gotham!"
She then led him into the streets, and to all =
they
met she declared,
"This is Pericles, the wisest man in the
world."
"What does he know?" they asked.
"Everything, and much else," she
replied.
Then came a carter, and putting a piece of mon=
ey
in the hand of Pericles, he enquired,
"Pray tell me of your wisdom what is wrong
with my mare?"
"How should I know?" asked Pericles.=
"I thought you knew everything," ret=
urned
the carter, in surprise.
"I do," declared Pericles; "but=
you
have not told me what her symptoms are."
"She refuses to eat anything," said =
the
carter.
"Then she is not hungry," returned
Pericles; "for neither man nor beast will refuse to eat when hungry.&q=
uot;
And the people who heard him whispered together
and said,
"Surely this is a wise man, for he has to=
ld
the carter what is wrong with his mare."
After a few days the fame of Pericles' sayings
came to the ears of both Socrates and Sophocles, and they resolved to see h=
im,
for each feared he would prove more wise than they were, knowing themselves=
to be
arrant humbugs. So one morning the three wise men met together outside the =
hut
of Pericles, and they sat themselves down upon stools, facing each other, w=
hile
a great crowd of people gathered around to hear the words of wisdom that
dropped from their lips.
But for a time all three were silent, and rega=
rded
one another anxiously, for each feared he might betray himself.
Finally Sophocles winked his one eye at the ot=
hers
and said, in a grave voice,
"The earth is flat; for, were it round, as
some fools say, all the people would slide off the surface."
Then the people, who had listened eagerly, cla=
pped
their hands together and murmured,
"Sophocles is wisest of all. What he says is truth."
This provoked Socrates greatly, for he felt his
reputation was in danger; so he said with a frown,
"The world is shallow, like a dish; were =
it
flat the water would all run over the edges, and we should have no
oceans."
Then the people applauded more loudly than bef=
ore,
and cried,
"Socrates is right the is wisest of
all."
Pericles, at this, shifted uneasily upon his
stool, for he knew he must dispute the matter boldly or his fame would depa=
rt
from him. Therefore he said, with grave deliberation,
"You are wrong, my friends. The world is hollow, like the shel=
l of a
cocoanut, and we are all inside the shell. The sky above us is the roof, an=
d if
you go out upon the ocean you will come to a place, no matter in which
direction you go, where the sky and the water meet. I know this is true, fo=
r I
have been to sea."
The people cheered loudly at this, and said,
"Long live Pericles, the wisest of the wi=
se
men!"
"I shall hold I am right," protested
Sophocles, "until Pericles and Socrates prove that I am wrong."
"That is fair enough," said the peop=
le.
"And I also shall hold myself to be right
until they prove me wrong," declared Socrates, firmly.
"I know I am right," said Pericles,
"for you cannot prove me wrong."
"We can take a boat and sail over the
sea," remarked Socrates, "and when we come to the edge we will kn=
ow
the truth. Will you go?"
"Yes," answered Sophocles; and Peric=
les,
because he did not dare refuse, said "Yes" also.
Then they went to the shore of the sea, and the
people followed them. There was no boat to be found anywhere, for the fishe=
rs
were all away upon the water; but there was a big wooden bowl lying upon the
shore, which the fishermen used to carry their fish to market in.
"This will do," said Pericles, who,
because he weighed the most, was the greatest fool of the three.
So the wise men all sat within the bowl, with
their feet together, and the people pushed them out into the water.
The tide caught the bowl and floated it out to
sea, and before long the wise men were beyond sight of land.
They were all greatly frightened, for the bowl=
was
old and cracked, and the water leaked slowly through until their feet were
covered. They clung to the edge with their hands and looked at one another =
with
white faces. Said Pericles,
"I was a fool to come to sea in this
bowl."
"Ah," remarked Socrates, "if you
are a fool, as you confess, then you cannot be a wise man."
"No," answered Pericles, "but I=
'll
soon be a dead man."
"I also was a fool," said Sophocles,=
who
was weeping from his one eye and trembling all over, "for if I had sta=
yed
upon land I would not have been drowned."
"Since you both acknowledge it," sig=
hed
Socrates, "I will confess that I also am a fool, and have always been =
one;
but I looked so wise the people insisted I must know everything!"
"Yes, yes," Sophocles groaned, "=
;the
people have murdered us!"
"My only regret," said Pericles,
"is that my wife is not with me.
If only she were here"--
He did not finish what he was saying, for just
then the bowl broke in two. And the people are still waiting for the three =
wise
men to come back to them.
&=
nbsp;
Little Bun Rabbit
&=
nbsp;
"Oh, Little Bun Rabbit, so soft and so shy, Say, what do you =
see
with your big, round eye?" "On Christma=
s we
rabbits," says Bunny so shy, "Keep watch to see Santa go
galloping by."
Little Dorothy had passed all the few years of=
her
life in the country, and being the only child upon the farm she was allowed=
to roam
about the meadows and woods as she pleased. On the bright summer mornings D=
orothy's
mother would tie a sun-bonnet under the girl's chin, and then she romped aw=
ay
to the fields to amuse herself in her own way.
She came to know every flower that grew, and to
call them by name, and she always stepped very carefully to avoid treading =
on
them, for Dorothy was a kind-hearted child and did not like to crush the pr=
etty
flowers that bloomed in her path. And she was also very fond of all the
animals, and learned to know them well, and even to understand their langua=
ge,
which very few people can do. And the animals loved Dorothy in turn, for the
word passed around amongst them that she could be trusted to do them no har=
m.
For the horse, whose soft nose Dorothy often gently stroked, told the cow of
her kindness, and the cow told the dog, and the dog told the cat, and the c=
at
told her black kitten, and the black kitten told the rabbit when one day th=
ey
met in the turnip patch.
Therefore when the rabbit, which is the most t=
imid
of all animals and the most difficult to get acquainted with, looked out of=
a
small bush at the edge of the wood one day and saw Dorothy standing a little
way off, he did not scamper away, as is his custom, but sat very still and =
met
the gaze of her sweet eyes boldly, although perhaps his heart beat a little
faster than usual.
Dorothy herself was afraid she might frighten =
him
away, so she kept very quiet for a time, leaning silently against a tree and
smiling encouragement at her timorous companion until the rabbit became rea=
ssured
and blinked his big eyes at her thoughtfully. For he was as much interested=
in
the little girl as she in him, since it was the first time he had dared to =
meet
a person face to face.
Finally Dorothy ventured to speak, so she aske=
d,
very softly and slowly,
"Oh, Little Bun Rabbit, so soft and so sh=
y, Say,
what do you see with your big, round eye?"
"Many things," answered the rabbit, =
who
was pleased to hear the girl speak in his own language; "in summer-tim=
e I
see the clover-leaves that I love to feed upon and the cabbages at the end =
of
the farmer's garden. I see the cool bushes where I can hide from my enemies,
and I see the dogs and the men long before they can see me, or know that I =
am
near, and therefore I am able to keep out of their way."
"Is that the reason your eyes are so
big?" asked Dorothy.
"I suppose so," returned the rabbit;
"you see we have only our eyes and our ears and our legs to defend
ourselves with. We cannot fight, but we can always run away, and that is a =
much
better way to save our lives than by fighting."
"Where is your home, bunny?" enquired
the girl.
"I live in the ground, far down in a cool,
pleasant hole I have dug in the midst of the forest. At the bottom of the h=
ole
is the nicest little room you can imagine, and there I have made a soft bed=
to
rest in at night. When I meet an enemy I run to my hole and jump in, and th=
ere
I stay until all danger is over."
"You have told me what you see in
summer," continued Dorothy, who was greatly interested in the rabbit's
account of himself, "but what do you see in the winter?"
"In winter we rabbits," said Bunny so
shy, "Keep watch to see Santa go galloping by."
"And do you ever see him?" asked the
girl, eagerly.
"Oh, yes; every winter. I am not afraid of him, nor of his
reindeer. And it is such fun to see him come dashing along, cracking his wh=
ip and
calling out cheerily to his reindeer, who are able to run even swifter than=
we
rabbits. And Santa Claus, when he sees me, always gives me a nod and a smil=
e,
and then I look after him and his big load of toys which he is carrying to =
the
children, until he has galloped away out of sight. I like to see the toys, =
for
they are so bright and pretty, and every year there is something new amongst
them. Once I visited Santa, and saw him make the toys."
"Oh, tell me about it!" pleaded Doro=
thy.
"It was one morning after Christmas,"
said the rabbit, who seemed to enjoy talking, now that he had overcome his =
fear
of Dorothy, "and I was sitting by the road-side when Santa Claus came
riding back in his empty sleigh. He does not come home quite so fast as he
goes, and when he saw me he stopped for a word.
"'You look very pretty this morning, Bun
Rabbit,' he said, in his jolly way; 'I think the babies would love to have =
you
to play with.'
"'I do n't doubt it, your honor,' I answe=
red;
'but they 'd soon kill me with handling, even if they did not scare me to
death; for babies are very rough with their playthings.'
"'That is true,' replied Santa Claus; 'and
yet you are so soft and pretty it is a pity the babies can't have you. Stil=
l,
as they would abuse a live rabbit I think I shall make them some toy rabbit=
s,
which they cannot hurt; so if you will jump into my sleigh with me and ride=
home
to my castle for a few days, I 'll see if I can't make some toy rabbits just
like you."
"Of course I consented, for we all like to
please old Santa, and a minute later I had jumped into the sleigh beside him
and we were dashing away at full speed toward his castle. I enjoyed the ride
very much, but I enjoyed the castle far more; for it was one of the lovelie=
st
places you could imagine. It stood on the top of a high mountain and is bui=
lt
of gold and silver bricks, and the windows are pure diamond crystals. The r=
ooms
are big and high, and there is a soft carpet upon every floor and many stra=
nge
things scattered around to amuse one. Santa Claus lives there all alone, ex=
cept
for old Mother Hubbard, who cooks the meals for him; and her cupboard is ne=
ver
bare now, I can promise you! At the top of the castle there is one big room,
and that is Santa's work-shop, where he makes the toys. On one side is his
work-bench, with plenty of saws and hammers and jack-knives; and on another
side is the paint-bench, with paints of every color and brushes of every si=
ze
and shape. And in other places are great shelves, where the toys are put to=
dry
and keep new and bright until Christmas comes and it is time to load them a=
ll
into his sleigh.
"After Mother Hubbard had given me a good
dinner, and I had eaten some of the most delicious clover I have ever taste=
d,
Santa took me up into his work-room and sat me upon the table.
"'If I can only make rabbits half as nice=
as
you are,' he said, 'the little ones will be delighted.' Then he lit a big p=
ipe
and began to smoke, and soon he took a roll of soft fur from a shelf in a
corner and commenced to cut it out in the shape of a rabbit. He smoked and =
whistled
all the time he was working, and he talked to me in such a jolly way that I=
sat
perfectly still and allowed him to measure my ears and my legs so that he c=
ould
cut the fur into the proper form.
"'Why, I 've got your nose too long, Bunn=
y,'
he said once; and so he snipped a little off the fur he was cutting, so that
the toy rabbit's nose should be like mine. And again he said, 'Good graciou=
s!
the ears are too short entirely!' So he had to get a needle and thread and =
sew on
more fur to the ears, so that they might be the right size. But after a tim=
e it
was all finished, and then he stuffed the fur full of sawdust and sewed it =
up
neatly; after which he put in some glass eyes that made the toy rabbit look
wonderfully life-like. When it was all done he put it on the table beside m=
e,
and at first I did n't know whether I was the live rabbit or the toy rabbit=
, we
were so much alike.
"'It 's a very good job,' said Santa, nod=
ding
his head at us pleasantly; 'and I shall have to make a lot of these rabbits,
for the little children are sure to be greatly pleased with them.'
"So he immediately began to make another,=
and
this time he cut the fur just the right size, so that it was even better th=
an
the first rabbit.
"'I must put a squeak in it,' said Santa.=
"So he took a box of squeaks from a shelf=
and
put one into the rabbit before he sewed it up. When it was all finished he
pressed the toy rabbit with his thumb, and it squeaked so naturally that I
jumped off the table, fearing at first the new rabbit was alive. Old Santa =
laughed
merrily at this, and I soon recovered from my fright and was pleased to thi=
nk
the babies were to have such pretty playthings.
"'After this,' said Santa Claus, 'I can m=
ake
rabbits without having you for a pattern; but if you like you may stay a few
days longer in my castle and amuse yourself."
"I thanked him and decided to stay. So for several days I watched him =
making
all kinds of toys, and I wondered to see how quickly he made them, and how =
many
new things he invented.
"'I almost wish I was a child,' I said to=
him
one day, 'for then I too could have playthings.'
"'Ah, you can run about all day, in summer
and in winter, and enjoy yourself in your own way,' said Santa; 'but the po=
or
little children are obliged to stay in the house in the winter and on rainy
days in the summer, and then they must have toys to amuse them and keep the=
m contented."
"I knew this was true, so I only said,
admiringly, 'You must be the quickest and the best workman in all the world,
Santa.'
"'I suppose I am,' he answered; 'but then,
you see, I have been making toys for hundreds of years, and I make so many =
it
is no wonder I am skillful. And now, if you are ready to go home, I 'll hit=
ch
up the reindeer and take you back again.'
"'Oh, no,' said I, 'I prefer to run by
myself, for I can easily find the way and I want to see the country.'
"'If that is the case,' replied Santa, 'I
must give you a magic collar to wear, so that you will come to no harm.'
"So, after Mother Hubbard had given me a =
good
meal of turnips and sliced cabbage, Santa Claus put the magic collar around=
my
neck and I started for home. I took my time on the journey, for I knew noth=
ing could
harm me, and I saw a good many strange sights before I got back to this pla=
ce
again."
"But what became of the magic collar?&quo=
t;
asked Dorothy, who had listened with breathless interest to the rabbit's st=
ory.
"After I got home," replied the rabb=
it,
"the collar disappeared from around my neck, and I knew Santa had call=
ed
it back to himself again. He did not give it to me, you see; he merely let =
me
take it on my journey to protect me. The next Christmas, when I watched by =
the road-side
to see Santa, I was pleased to notice a great many of the toy rabbits stick=
ing
out of the loaded sleigh. The babies must have liked them, too, for every y=
ear
since I have seen them amongst the toys.
"Santa never forgets me, and every time he
passes he calls out, in his jolly voice,
"'A merry Christmas to you, Bun Rabbit! The babies still love you dearly.'=
"
The Rabbit paused, and Dorothy was just about =
to
ask another question when Bunny raised his head and seemed to hear something
coming.
"What is it?" enquired the girl.
"It 's the farmer's big shepherd dog,&quo=
t;
answered the Rabbit, "and I must be going before he sees me, or I shall
shall [both shalls in original] have to run for my life. So good bye, Dorot=
hy;
I hope we shall meet again, and then I will gladly tell you more of my adve=
ntures."
The next instant he had sprung into the wood, =
and
all that Dorothy could see of him was a gray streak darting in and out amon=
gst
the trees.