Books by Joel Chandler Harris.

NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50; paper, 50 cents.

MINGO, AND OTHER SKETCHES IN BLACK AND WHITE. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.

BALAAM AND HIS MASTER, AND OTHER SKETCHES. 16mo, $1.25.

UNCLE REMUS AND HIS FRIENDS. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.

LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER AND HIS QUEER COUNTRY. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $2.00.

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.

Boston and New York.

BROTHER LION WATCHED ME. Page [158]

MR. RABBIT AT HOME

A SEQUEL TO

Little Mr. Thimblefinger and his Queer Country

BY

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

AUTHOR OF “UNCLE REMUS,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY OLIVER HERFORD

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

The Riverside Press, Cambridge

1895

Copyright, 1894 and 1895,

By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.

Copyright, 1895,

By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.

All rights reserved.

The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A.

Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

MR. RABBIT AT HOME.

I.
BUSTER JOHN ALARMS MR. RABBIT.

When Buster John and Sweetest Susan and Drusilla returned home after their first visit to Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer country, a curious thing happened. The children had made a bargain to say nothing about what they had seen and heard, but one day, when there was nobody else to hear what she had to say, Sweetest Susan concluded to tell her mother something about the visit she had made next door to the world. So she began and told about the Grandmother of the Dolls, and about Little Mr. Thimblefinger, and all about her journey under the spring. Her mother paid no attention at first, but after awhile she became interested, and listened intently to everything her little daughter said. Sometimes she looked serious, sometimes she smiled, and sometimes she laughed. Sweetest Susan couldn’t remember everything, but she told enough to astonish her mother.

“Darling, when did you dream such nonsense as that?” the lady asked.

“Oh, it wasn’t a dream, mamma,” cried Sweetest Susan. “I thought it was a dream at first, but it turned out to be no dream at all. Now, please don’t ask brother about it, and please don’t ask Drusilla, for we promised one another to say nothing about it. I didn’t intend to tell you, but I forgot and began to tell you before I thought.”

A little while afterward Sweetest Susan’s mother was telling her husband about the wonderful imagination of their little daughter, and then the neighbors got hold of it, and some of the old ladies put their heads together over their teacups and said it was a sign that Sweetest Susan was too smart to stay in this world very long.

One day, while Drusilla was helping about the house, Sweetest Susan’s mother took occasion to ask her where she and the children went the day they failed to come to dinner.

“We wuz off gettin’ plums, I speck,” replied Drusilla.

“Why, there were no plums to get,” said the lady.

“Well, ’m, ef ’t wa’n’t plums, hit must ’a’ been hick’y nuts,” explained Drusilla.

“Hickory nuts were not ripe, stupid.”

“Maybe dey wa’n’t,” said Drusilla stolidly; “but dat don’t hinder we chilluns from huntin’ ’em.”

“You know you didn’t go after hickory nuts, Drusilla,” the lady insisted. “Now I want you to tell me where you and the children went. I’ll not be angry if you tell me, but if you don’t”—

Drusilla could infer a good deal from the tone of the lady’s voice, but she shook her head.

“Well, ’m,” she said, “we went down dar by de spring, an’ down dar by de spring branch, an’ all roun’ down dar. Ef we warn’t huntin’ plums ner hick’y nuts, I done fergot what we wuz huntin’.”

Drusilla seemed so much in earnest that the lady didn’t push the inquiry, but when she went into another room for a moment, the negro girl looked after her and remarked to herself:—

“I done crossed my heart dat I wouldn’t tell, an’ I ain’t gwine ter. Ef I wuz ter tell, she wouldn’t b’lieve me, an’ so dar ’t is!”

Sweetest Susan was careful to say nothing to Buster John and Drusilla about the slip of the tongue that caused her to tell her mother about their adventures in Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer country; but she didn’t feel very comfortable when Drusilla told how she had been questioned by her mistress.

“Ef somebody ain’t done gone an’ tol’ ’er,” said Drusilla, “she got some mighty quare notions in ’er head.”

Buster John, who had ideas of his own, ignored all this, and said he was going to put an apple in the spring the next day and watch for Mr. Thimblefinger.

“Well, ef you gwine down dar any mo’,” remarked Drusilla, “you kin des count me out, kaze I ain’t gwine ’long wid you. I’m one er deze yer kind er quare folks what know pine blank when dey done got nuff. I been shaky ever since we went down in dat ar place what wa’n’t no place.”

“You will go,” said Buster John.

“Huh! Don’t you fool yo’self, honey! You can’t put no ’pen’ence in a skeer’d nigger.”

“If you don’t go, you’ll wish you had,” said Buster John.

“How come?” asked Drusilla.

“Wait and see,” replied Buster John.

The next morning, bright and early, Buster John put an apple in the spring. He watched it float around for awhile, and then his attention was attracted to something else, and he ran away to see about it. Whatever it was, it interested him so much that he forgot all about the apple in the spring, and everything else likely to remind him of Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer country.

Buster John went away from the spring and left the apple floating there. No sooner had he gone than one of the house servants chanced to come along, and the apple was seized and appropriated. The result was that neither Mr. Thimblefinger nor Mrs. Meadows saw the signal.

Buster John, thinking the apple had remained in the spring for some hours, waited patiently for two or three days for Mr. Thimblefinger, but no Mr. Thimblefinger came. Finally the boy grew impatient, as youngsters sometimes do. He remembered that the bottom of the spring, with the daylight shining through, was the sky of Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer country, and he concluded to give Mrs. Meadows and the rest a signal that they couldn’t fail to see. So, one morning, after water had been carried to the house for the cook, and the washerwoman’s tubs had been filled, Buster John got him some short planks, carrying them to the spring one by one. These he placed across the top of the gum, or curb, close together, so as to shut out the light. Then he perched himself on a stump not far away, and watched to see what the effect would be. He knew he had the sky of Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer country securely roofed in, and he laughed to himself as he thought of the predicament Mr. Rabbit would be in, dropping his pipe and hunting for it in the dark.

Buster John sat there a long time. Mandy, the washerwoman, got through with her task and went toward the house, balancing a big basket of wet clothes on her head and singing as she went. Sweetest Susan and Drusilla had grown tired of playing with the dolls, and were hunting all over the place for Buster John. They saw him presently, and came running toward him, talking and laughing. He shook his head and motioned toward the spring. They became quiet at once, and began to walk on their tiptoes. They seated themselves on the stump by Buster John’s side, and waited for him to explain himself.

Presently Sweetest Susan saw the boards over the spring. “Oh, what have you done?” she cried. “Why, you have shut out the light! They can’t see a wink. I don’t think that’s right; do you, Drusilla?”

“Don’t ax me, honey,” replied Drusilla. “I ain’t gwine ter git in no ’spute. Somebody done gone an’ put planks on de spring. Dar dey is, an’ dar dey may stay, fer what I keer. I hope dey er nailed down.”

“Please take the boards off,” pleaded Sweetest Susan.

“No,” said Buster John. “I put an apple in the spring the other day, and they paid no attention to it. Maybe they’ll pay some attention now.”

Suddenly, before anybody else could say anything, Drusilla screamed and rolled off the stump. Buster John and Sweetest Susan thought a bee had stung her. But it was not a bee. She had no sooner rolled from the stump than she sprang to her feet and cried out, “Dar he is! Look at ’im!”

Buster John and Sweetest Susan turned to look, and there, upon the stump beside them, stood Mr. Thimblefinger with his hat in hand, bowing and smiling as politely as you please.

“I hope you are well,” he said. Then he began to laugh, as he turned to Buster John. “You may think it is a great joke to come to the spring, but it’s no joke to me. I have had a very hard time getting here, but I just had to come. Mrs. Meadows thinks there is a total eclipse going on, and Mr. Rabbit has gone to bed and covered up his head.”

“HOW DID YOU GET HERE?”

“How did you get here?” asked Buster John.

“Through the big poplar yonder,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “It is hollow from top to bottom, but it was so dark I could hardly find my way. The jay birds used to go down through the poplar every Friday until I put up the bars and shut them out. I had almost forgotten the road.”

“Well,” said Buster John, “I covered the spring so that you might know we hadn’t forgotten you. I dropped an apple in the other day, but you paid no attention to it.”

“I saw the apple,” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, “but it didn’t stay in the spring long. It disappeared in a few minutes.”

“Aha! I know!” exclaimed Drusilla. “Dat ar Minervy nigger got it. I seed her comin’ long eatin’ a apple, and I boun’ you she de ve’y nigger what got it.”

“Well, well!” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “It makes no difference now, and if you’ll get ready we’ll go now pretty soon.”

“Why, I thought you couldn’t go down through the spring until nine minutes and nine seconds after twelve,” suggested Buster John.

“The water gets wet or goes dry with the tide,” Mr. Thimblefinger explained. “To-day we shall have to go at nineteen minutes and nineteen seconds after nine. It was nine minutes and nine seconds after twelve before, and now it is nineteen minutes and nineteen seconds after nine. Multiply nineteen by nineteen, add the answer together, and you get nothing but nines. You see we have to go by a system.” Mr. Thimblefinger was very solemn as he said this. “Now, then, come on. We haven’t any time to waste. When the nines get after us, we must be going. There are four of us now, but if we were to be multiplied by nine there would be nine of us, and nine is an odd number.”

“How would we be nine?” asked Buster John.

“It’s very simple,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “Nine times four are thirty-six. Three and six stand for thirty-six, and six and three are nine.”

Buster John laughed as he ran to remove the boards from the spring. In a few moments they were all ready in spite of Drusilla’s protests, and at nineteen minutes and nineteen seconds after nine they walked through the spring gate into Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer country.

II.
WHERE THE THUNDER LIVES.

Mrs. Meadows, Mr. Rabbit, Chickamy Crany Crow, and Tickle-My-Toes were very glad to see the children, especially Mrs. Meadows, who did everything she could to make the youngsters feel that they had conferred a great obligation on her by coming back again.

“I’ll be bound you forgot to bring me the apple I told you about,” said she.

But Sweetest Susan had not forgotten. She had one in her pocket. It was not very large, but the sun had painted it red and yellow, and the south winds that kissed it had left it fragrant with the perfume of summer.

“Now, I declare!” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “To think you should remember an old woman! You are just as good and as nice as you can be!” She thanked Sweetest Susan so heartily that Buster John began to look and feel uncomfortable,—seeing which, Mrs. Meadows placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Never mind,” said she, “boys are not expected to be as thoughtful as girls. The next time you come, you may bring me a hatful, if you can manage to think about it.”

“He might start wid ’em,” remarked Drusilla, “but ’fo’ he got here he’d set down an’ eat ’em all up, ter keep from stumpin’ his toe an’ spillin’ ’em.”

Buster John had a reply ready, but he did not make any, for just at that moment a low, rumbling sound was heard. It seemed to come nearer and grow louder, and then it died away in the distance.

“What is that?” asked Mrs. Meadows, in an impressive whisper.

“Thunder,” answered Mr. Rabbit, who had listened intently. “Thunder, as sure as you’re born.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “I saw a cloud coming up next door, just before we came through the spring gate.”

“I must be getting nervous in my old age,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “I had an idea that it was too late in the season for thunder-storms.”

“That may be so,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, “but it’s never too late for old man Thunder to rush out on his front porch and begin to cut up his capers. But there’s no harm in him.”

“But the Lightning kills people sometimes,” said Buster John.

“The Lightning? Oh, yes, but I was talking about old man Thunder,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “When I was a boy, I once heard of a little girl”—Mr. Thimblefinger suddenly put his hand over his mouth and hung his head, as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

“Why, what in the world is the matter?” asked Mrs. Meadows.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “I simply forgot my manners.”

“I don’t see how,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, frowning.

“Why, I was about to tell a story before I had been asked.”

“Well, you won’t disturb me by telling a story, I’m sure,” said Mr. Rabbit. “I can nod just as well when some one is talking as when everything is still. You won’t pester me at all. Just go ahead.”

“Maybe it isn’t story-telling time,” suggested Mrs. Meadows.

“Oh, don’t say that,” cried Sweetest Susan. “If it is a story, please tell it.”

“Well, it is nothing but a plain, every-day story. After you hear it you’ll lean back in your chair and wonder why somebody didn’t take hold of it and twist it into a real old-fashioned tale. It’s old fashioned enough, the way I heard it, but I always thought that the person who heard it first must have forgotten parts of it.”

“We won’t mind that,” said Sweetest Susan.

Mr. Thimblefinger settled himself comfortably and began:—

“Once upon a time—I don’t know how long ago, but not very long, for the tale was new to me when I first heard it—once upon a time there was a little girl about your age and size who was curious to know something about everything that happened. She wanted to know how a bird could fly, and why the clouds floated, and she was all the time trying to get at the bottom of things.

“Well, one day when the sky was covered with clouds, the Thunder came rolling along, knocking at everybody’s door and running a race with the noise it made; the little girl listened and wondered what the Thunder was and where it went to. It wasn’t long before the Thunder came rumbling along again, making a noise like a four-horse wagon running away on a covered bridge.

“While the little girl was standing there, wondering and listening, an old man with a bundle on his back and a stout staff in his hand came along the road. He bowed and smiled when he saw the little girl, but as she didn’t return the bow or the smile, being too much interested in listening for the Thunder, he paused and asked her what the trouble was.

“‘I hope you are not lost?’ he said.

“‘Oh, no, sir,’ she replied; ‘I was listening for the Thunder and wondering where it goes.’

“‘Well, as you seem to be a very good little girl,’ the old man said, ‘I don’t mind telling you. The Thunder lives on top of yonder mountain. It is not so far away.’

“‘Oh, I should like ever so much to go there!’ exclaimed the little girl.

“‘Why not?’ said the old man. ‘The mountain is on my road, and, if you say the word, we’ll go together.’

“The little girl took the old man’s hand and they journeyed toward the mountain where the Thunder had his home. The way was long, but somehow they seemed to go very fast. The old man took long strides forward, and he was strong enough to lift the little girl at every step, so that when they reached the foot of the mountain she was not very tired.

“But, as the mountain was very steep and high, the two travelers stopped to rest themselves before they began to climb it. Its sides seemed to be rough and dark, but far up on the topmost peak the clouds had gathered, and from these the Lightning flashed incessantly. The little girl saw the flashes and asked what they meant.

“‘Wherever the Thunder lives,’ replied the old man, ‘there the Lightning builds its nest. No doubt the wind has blown the clouds about and torn them apart and scattered them. The Lightning is piling them together again, and fixing a warm, soft place to sleep to-night.’

“When they had rested awhile, the old man said it was time to be going, and then he made the little girl climb on his back. At first she didn’t want the old man to carry her; but he declared that she would do him a great favor by climbing on his back and holding his bundle in place. So she sat upon the bundle, and in this way they went up the high mountain, going almost as rapidly as the little girl could run on level ground. She enjoyed it very much, for, although the old man went swiftly, he went smoothly, and the little girl felt as safe and as comfortable as if she had been sitting in a rocking-chair.

“When they had come nearly to the top of the mountain, the old man stopped and lifted the little girl from his back. ‘I can go no farther,’ he said. ‘The rest of the way you will have to go alone. There is nothing to fear. Up the mountain yonder you can see the gable of the Thunder’s house. Go to the door, knock, and do not be alarmed at any noise you hear. When the time comes for you to go, you will find me awaiting you here.’

“The little girl hesitated, but she had come so far to see where the Thunder lived that she would not turn back now. So she went forward, and soon came to the door of Mr. Thunder’s house. It was a very big door to a very big house. The knocker was so heavy that the little girl could hardly lift it, and when she let it fall against the panel, the noise it made jarred the building and sent a loud echo rolling and tumbling down the mountain. The little girl thought, ‘What have I done? If the Thunder is taking a nap before dinner, he’ll be very angry.’

SHE WAITED A LITTLE WHILE

“She waited a little while, not feeling very comfortable. Presently she heard heavy footsteps coming down the wide hall to the door.

“‘I thought I heard some one knocking,’ said a hoarse, gruff voice. Then the big door flew open, and there, standing before her, the little girl saw a huge figure that towered almost to the top of the high door. It wore heavy boots, a big overcoat, and under its long, thick beard there was a muffler a yard wide. The little girl was very much frightened at first, but she soon remembered that there was nothing for such a little bit of a girl to be afraid of.

“The figure, that seemed to be so terrible at first glance, had nothing threatening about it. ‘Who knocked at the door?’ it cried.

“Its voice sounded so loud that the little girl put her fingers in her ears.

“‘Don’t talk so loud, please,’ she said. ‘I’m not deaf.’

“‘Oh!’ cried the giant at the door. ‘You are there, are you? You are so small I didn’t see you at first. Come in!’

“The little girl started to go in, and then paused. ‘Are you the Thunder?’ she asked.

“‘Why, of course,’ was the reply; ‘who else did you think it was?’

“‘I didn’t know,’ said the little girl. ‘I wanted to be certain about it.’

“‘Come in,’ said the Thunder. ‘It isn’t often I have company from the people below, and I’m glad you found me at home.’

The Thunder led the way down the hall and into a wide sitting-room, where a fire was burning brightly in the biggest fireplace the little girl had ever seen. A two-horse wagon could turn around in it without touching the andirons. A pair of tongs as tall as a man stood in one corner, and in the other corner was a shovel to match. A long pipe lay on the mantel.

“‘There’s no place for you to sit except on the floor,’ said the Thunder.

“‘I can sit on the bed,’ suggested the little girl.

“The Thunder laughed so loudly that the little girl had to close her ears again. ‘Why, that is no bed,’ the Thunder said when it could catch its breath; ‘that’s my footstool.’

“‘Well,’ said the little girl, ‘it’s big enough for a bed. It’s very soft and nice.’

“‘I find it very comfortable,’ said the Thunder, ‘especially when I get home after piloting a tornado through the country. It is tough work, as sure as you are born.’

“The Thunder took the long pipe from the mantel and lit it with a pine splinter, the flame of which flashed through the windows with dazzling brightness.

“‘Folks will say that is heat lightning,’ remarked the little girl.

“‘Yes,’ replied the Thunder; ‘farmers to the north of us will say there is going to be a drought, because of lightning in the south. Farmers to the south of us will say there’s going to be rain, because of lightning in the north. None of them knows that I am smoking my pipe.’

“But somehow, in turning around, the Thunder knocked the big tongs over, and they fell upon the floor with a tremendous crash. The floor appeared to give forth a sound like a drum, only a thousand times louder, and, although the little girl had her fingers in her ears, she could hear the echoes roused under the house by the falling tongs go rattling down the mountain side and out into the valley beyond.

“The Thunder sat in the big armchair smoking, and listening with legs crossed. The little girl appeared to be sorry that she had come.

“‘Now, that is too bad,’ said the Thunder. ‘The Whirlwind in the south will hear that and come flying; the West Wind will hear it and come rushing, and they will drag the clouds after them, thinking that I am ready to take my ride. But it’s all my fault. Instead of turning the winds in the pasture, I ought to have put them in the stable. Here they come now!’

“The little girl listened, and, sure enough, the whirlwinds from the south and the west came rushing around the house of the Thunder. The west wind screamed around the windows, and the whirlwinds from the south whistled through the cracks and keyholes.

“‘I guess I’ll have to go with them,’ said the Thunder, rising from the chair and walking around the room. ‘It’s the only way to quiet them.’

“‘Do you always wear your overcoat?’ the little girl asked.

“‘Always,’ replied the Thunder. ‘There’s no telling what moment I’ll be called. Sometimes I go just for a frolic, and sometimes I am obliged to go. Will you stay until I return?’

“‘Oh, no,’ the little girl replied; ‘the house is too large. I should be afraid to stay here alone.’

“‘I am sorry,’ said the Thunder. ‘Come and see me get in my carriage.’

“They went to the door. The whirlwinds from the south and the winds from the west had drawn the clouds to the steps, and into these the Thunder climbed.

“‘Good-by,’ he cried to the little girl. ‘Stay where you are until we are out of sight.’

“There was a flash of light, a snapping sound, a rattling crash, and the Thunder, with the clouds for his carriage and the winds for his horses, went roaming and rumbling through the sky, over the hills and valleys.”

Mr. Thimblefinger paused and looked at the children. They, expecting him to go on, said nothing.

“How did you like my story?” he asked.

“Is it a story?” inquired Buster John.

“Well, call it a tale,” said Mr. Thimblefinger.

“Hit’s too high up in de elements for ter suit me,” said Drusilla, candidly.

“What became of the little girl?” asked Sweetest Susan.

“When the Thunder rolled away,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “she went back to where the old man was awaiting her, and he, having nothing to do, carried her to the Jumping-Off Place.”

III.
THE JUMPING-OFF PLACE.

The children looked at Mr. Thimblefinger to see whether he was joking about the Jumping-Off Place, but he seemed to be very serious.

“I have heard of the Jumping-Off Place,” remarked Mrs. Meadows, “but I had an idea it was just a saying.”

“Well,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, “where you see a good deal of smoke, there must be some fire. When you hear a great many different people talking about anything, there must be something in it.”

“What did the little girl see when she got to the Jumping-Off Place?” inquired Sweetest Susan.

“It was this way,” said Mr. Thimblefinger: “When the whirlwinds from the south and the winds from the west, working in double harness, carried the thick clouds away, and the Thunder with them, the little girl went back to the place where she had left the old man who had carried her up the mountain.

“She found him waiting. He was sitting at the foot of a tree, sleeping peacefully, but he awoke at once.

“‘You see I am waiting for you,’ he said. ‘How did you enjoy your visit?’

“‘I didn’t enjoy it much,’ replied the little girl. ‘Everything was so large, and the Thunder made so much fuss.’

“‘I hope you didn’t mind that,’ said the old man. ‘The Thunder is a great growler and grumbler, but when that’s said, all’s said. I am sorry, though, you didn’t have a good time. I suppose you think it is my fault, but it isn’t. If you say so, I’ll go to the Jumping-Off Place.’

“‘Where is that?’ asked the little girl.

“‘Just beyond the Well at the End of the World.’

“‘If it isn’t too far, let’s go there,’ said the little girl.

“So the old man lifted her on his back, and they went on their way. They must have gone very swiftly, for it wasn’t long before they came to the Well at the End of the World. An old woman was sitting near the Well, combing her hair. She paid no attention to the travelers, nor they to her. When they had gone beyond the Well a little distance, the little girl noticed that the sky appeared to be very close at hand. It was no longer blue, but dark, and seemed to hang down like a blanket or a curtain.”

“But that couldn’t be, you know,” said Buster John, “for the sky is no sky at all. It is nothing but space.”

“How comes it dey call it sky, ef ’t ain’t no sky?” asked Drusilla, indignantly. “An’ how come’t ain’t no sky, when it’s right up dar, plain ez de han’ fo’ yo’ face? Dat what I’d like ter know.”

“Why, the moon is thousands of miles away,” said Buster John, “and some of the stars are millions and millions of miles farther than the moon.”

“Dat what dey say,” replied Drusilla, “but how dey know? Whar de string what dey medjud ’em wid? Tell me dat!”

“What about our sky?” asked Mrs. Meadows, smiling. “You would never think it was only the bottom of the spring if you didn’t know it; now would you?”

Buster John had nothing to say in reply to this. Whereupon Sweetest Susan begged Mr. Thimblefinger to please go on with his story.

“Well,” said he, “if I am to go on with it, I’ll have to tell it just as I heard it. I’ll have to put the sky just where I was told it was. When the little girl and the old man came close to the Jumping-Off Place, they saw that the sky was hanging close at hand. It may have been far, it may have been near, but to the little girl it seemed to be close enough to touch, and she wished very much for a long pole, so that she could see whether it was made of muslin or ginghams.

PRESENTLY THEY CAME TO A PRECIPICE

“Presently they came to a precipice. There was nothing beyond it and nothing below it. ‘This,’ said the old man to the little girl, ‘is the Jumping-Off Place.’

“‘Does any one jump off here?’ said the little girl.

“‘Not that I know of,’ replied the old man, ‘but if they should take a notion to, the place is all ready for them.’

“‘Where would I fall to, if I jumped off?’ the little girl asked.

“‘To Nowhere,’ answered the old man.

“‘That is very funny,’ said the little girl.

“‘Yes,’ remarked the old man, ‘you can get to the End of the World, but you would have to travel many a long year before you get to Nowhere. Some say it is a big city, some say it is a high mountain, and some say it is a wide plain.’

“The little girl went to the Jumping-Off Place and looked over, the old man holding her hand.

“‘Why, I see the moon shining down there,’ she said. She was glad to see so familiar a face.

“The old man laughed. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘the moon is very fond of shining down there, and it runs away from the sun every chance it gets, and hunts up the darkest places, so that it may shine there undisturbed. To-day it is shining down there where the sun can’t see it, but to-night it will creep up here, when the sun goes away, and shine the whole night through.’

“Turning back, the old man and the little girl came again to the Well at the End of the World. The old woman was sitting there, combing her long white hair. This time she looked hard at the little girl and smiled, singing:—

“‘When the heart is young the well is dry—

Oh, it’s good-by, dearie! good-by!’

“But the old man shook his head. ‘We have not come here for nothing, Sister Jane,’ he said. With that he took a small vial, tied a long string to it, and let it down the well. He fished about until the vial was full of water, drew it to the top, and corked it tightly. The water sparkled in the sun as if it were full of small diamonds. Then he placed it carefully in his pocket, bowed politely to the old woman, who was still combing her long, white hair, and, smiling, lifted the little girl to his back, and returned along the road they had come, past the Thunder’s house and down the mountain side, until they reached the little girl’s home. Then he took the vial of sparkling water from his pocket. ‘Take it,’ he said, ‘and wherever you go keep it with you. Touch a drop of it to your forehead when Friday is the thirteenth day of a month, and you will grow up to be both wise and beautiful. When you are in trouble, turn the vial upside down—so—and hold it in that position while you count twenty-six, and some of your friends will come to your aid.’

“The little girl thanked the old man as politely as she knew how.

“‘Do you know why I have carried you to the Thunder’s house and to the Jumping-Off Place, and why I have given you a vial of this rare water?’ The little girl shook her head. ‘Well, one day, not long ago, you were sitting by the roadside with some of your companions. You were all eating cake. A beggar came along and asked for a piece. You alone gave him any, and you gave him all you had.’

“‘Were you the beggar?’ asked the little girl, smiling and blushing.

“‘That I leave you to guess,’ replied the old man. He kissed the little girl’s hand, and was soon hid from sight by a turn in the road.”

Mr. Thimblefinger stopped short here, and waited to see what the children would say. They had listened attentively, but they manifested no very great interest.

“I reckon they think there is more talk than tale in what you have told,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, leaning back in his chair. “That’s the way it appeared to me.”

“Well, I’ll not say that I have come to the end of my story,” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, with some show of dignity, “but I have come to the part where we can rest awhile, so as to give Mr. Rabbit a chance to see if he can do any better. We’ll allow the little girl to grow some, just as she does in the story.”

IV.
THE BLUE HEN’S CHICKEN.

“I’m not much of a story-teller,” said Mr. Rabbit, “and I never set up for one, but I will say that I like the rough-and-tumble tales a great deal better than I do the kind where some great somebody is always coming in with conjurings and other carryings-on. It’s on account of my raising, I reckon.”

“Well, stories can’t be all alike,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “You might as well expect a fiddle to play one tune.”

“Tell us the kind of story you like best,” said Buster John to Mr. Rabbit.

“No, not now,” responded Mr. Rabbit. “I’ll do that some other time. I happened to think just now of a little circumstance that I used to hear mentioned when I was younger.

“In the country next door there used to be a great many chickens. Some were of the barnyard breed, some were of the kind they call game, some were black, some were white, some were brown, some were speckled, and some had their feathers curled the wrong way. Among all these there was one whose name, as well as I can remember, was Mrs. Blue Hen.”

“Was she really blue?” Sweetest Susan inquired.

“Well, not an indigo blue,” replied Mr. Rabbit, after reflecting a moment, “nor yet a sky blue. She was just a plain, dull, every-day blue. But, such as she was, she was very fine. She belonged to one of the first families and moved in the very best circles. She was trim-looking, so I’ve heard said, and, as she grew older, came to have a very bad temper, so much so that she used to fly at a hawk if he came near her premises. Some of her neighbors used to whisper it around that she tried to crow like a rooster, but this was after she had grown old and hard-headed.

“When Mrs. Blue Hen was growing up, she was very nice and particular. She couldn’t bear to get water on her feet, and she was always shaking the dust from her clothes. Some said she was finicky, and some said she was nervous. Once, when she fanned out little Billy Bantam, who called on her one day, a great many of her acquaintances said she would never settle down and make a good housekeeper.

“But after awhile Mrs. Blue Hen concluded that it was about time for her to have a family of her own, so she went away off from the other chickens and made her a nest in the middle of a thick briar patch. She made her a nest there and laid an egg. It was new and white, and Mrs. Blue Hen was very proud of it. She was so proud, in fact, that, although she had made up her mind to make no fuss over it, she went running and cackling toward the house, just as any common hen would do. She made so much fuss that away down in the branch Mr. Willy Weasel winked at Miss Mimy Mink.

“‘Do you hear that?’ says he.

“‘I never heard anything plainer in my life,’ says she.

“Mrs. Blue Hen was so proud of her new, white egg that she went back after awhile to look at it. There it was, shining white in the grass. She covered it up and hid it as well as she could, and then she went about getting dinner ready.

“The next morning she went to the nest and laid another egg just like the first one. This happened for three mornings; but on the fourth morning, when Mrs. Blue Hen went back, she found four eggs in the nest, and all four appeared to be dingy and muddy looking. She was very much astonished and alarmed, as well she might be, for here right before her eyes she saw four eggs, when she knew in reason that there should be but three; and not only that, they were all dingy and dirty.

“Mrs. Blue Hen was so excited that she took off her bonnet and began to fan herself. Then she wondered whether she had not made a miscount; whether she had not really laid four instead of three eggs. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. She hung her bonnet on a blackberry bush and tried to count off the days on her toes. She began to count,—’One, two, three,’—and she would have stopped there, but she couldn’t. She had four toes on her foot, and she was compelled to count them all. There was a toe on the foot for every egg in the nest.

“This caused Mrs. Blue Hen to feel somewhat more comfortable in mind and body, but she was left in such a hysterical state that she went off cackling nervously, and postponed laying an egg until late in the afternoon. After that there were five in the nest, and she kept on laying until there were ten altogether. Then Mrs. Blue Hen rumpled up her feathers and got mad with herself, and went to setting. I reckon that’s what you call it. I’ve heard some call it ‘setting’ and others ‘sitting.’ Once, when I was courting, I spoke of a sitting hen, but the young lady said I was too prissy for anything.”

“What is prissy?” asked Sweetest Susan.

Mr. Rabbit shut his eyes and scratched his ear. Then he shook his head slowly.

“It’s nothing but a girl’s word,” remarked Mrs. Meadows by way of explanation. “It means that somebody’s trying hard to show off.”

“I reckon that’s so,” said Mr. Rabbit, opening his eyes. He appeared to be much relieved. “Well, Mrs. Blue Hen got mad and went to setting. She was in a snug place and nobody bothered her. It was such a quiet place that she could hear Mr. Willy Weasel and Miss Mimy Mink gossiping in the calamus bushes, and she could hear Mrs. Puddle Duck wading in the branch. One day Mrs. Puddle Duck made so bold as to push her way through the briars and look in upon Mrs. Blue Hen. But her visit was not relished. Mrs. Blue Hen rumpled her feathers up and spread out her tail to such a degree and squalled out such a harsh protest that Mrs. Puddle Duck was glad to waddle off with whole bones. But when she got back to the branch she spluttered about a good deal, crying out:

“‘Aha! aha! quack, quack! Aha! You are there, are you? Aha! you’ll have trouble before you get away. Aha!’

“Now the fact was that Mrs. Puddle Duck was the very one that had caused Mrs. Blue Hen all the trouble,” said Mr. Rabbit, nodding his head solemnly. “While wading in the branch, Mrs. Puddle Duck had seen Mrs. Blue Hen going to her nest for three days, slipping and creeping through the weeds and bushes, and she wanted to know what all the slipping and creeping was about. So, on the third day Mrs. Puddle Duck did some slipping and creeping on her own account. She crept up close enough to see Mrs. Blue Hen on her nest, and she was near enough to see Mrs. Blue Hen when she ran away cackling.

“Then Mrs. Puddle Duck waddled up and peeped in the nest. There she saw three eggs as white and as smooth as ivory, and the sight filled her with jealousy. She began to talk to herself:—

“‘I knew she must be mighty proud, the stuck-up thing! I can see that by the way she steps around here. Quack, quack! and I’ll just show her a thing or two.’

“Then and there Mrs. Puddle Duck, all muddy as she was, got in Mrs. Blue Hen’s nest and sat on her beautiful white eggs and soiled them. And even that was not all. Out of pure spite Mrs. Puddle Duck laid one of her own dingy-looking eggs in Mrs. Blue Hen’s nest, and that was the cause of all the trouble. That was the reason Mrs. Blue Hen found four dingy eggs in her nest when there ought to have been three clean white ones.

“Well, Mrs. Blue Hen went to setting, and after so long a time nine little chickens were hatched. She was very proud of them. She taught them how to talk, and then she wanted to get off her nest and teach them how to scratch about and earn their own living. But there was still one egg to hatch, and so Mrs. Blue Hen continued to set on it. One day she made up her mind to take her chicks off and leave the egg that wouldn’t hatch. The old Speckled Hen happened to be passing and Mrs. Blue Hen asked her advice. But the old Speckled Hen was very much shocked when she heard the particulars.

“‘What! with nine chickens!’ she cried. ‘Why, nine is an odd number. It would never do in the world. Hatch out the other egg.’

ONE OF THEM WAS ENTIRELY DIFFERENT FROM ALL THE REST

“But young people are very impatient, and Mrs. Blue Hen was young. She fretted and worried a good deal, but in a few days the tenth egg hatched. Mrs. Blue Hen felt very much better after this. In fact, she felt so comfortable that she didn’t take the trouble to look at the chicken that hatched from the tenth egg. But when she brought her children off the nest she was very much astonished to find that one of them was entirely different from all the rest. She was not only surprised, but shocked. Nine of her children were as neat-looking as she could wish them to be, but the tenth one was a sight to see. It had weak eyes, a bill as broad as a case-knife, and big, flat feet. Its feet were so big that it waddled when it walked, and all the toes of each foot were joined together.

“Mrs. Blue Hen had very high notions. She wanted everybody to think that she belonged to the quality, but this wabbly chicken with a broad bill and a foot that had no instep to it took her pride down a peg. She kept her children hid as long as she could, but she had to come out in public after a while, and when she did—well, I’ll let you know there was an uproar in the barnyard. The old Speckled Hen was the first to begin it. She cried out:—

“‘Look—look—look! Look at the Blue Hen’s chickens!’

“Then the Guinea hens began to laugh, and the old Turkey Gobbler was so tickled he came near swallowing his snout. Mrs. Blue Hen hung her head with shame, and carried her children away off in the woods.

“But her flat-footed chicken gave rise to a byword in all that country. When any stranger came along looking rough and ragged, it was the common saying that he was the Blue Hen’s chicken.”

“I’ve heard it many a time,” remarked Mrs. Meadows.

“There was no story in that,” Buster John suggested.

“No,” replied Mr. Rabbit. “Just some every-day facts picked up and strung together.”

“Speaking of stories,” said Mrs. Meadows, “I have one in my mind that is a sure enough story—one of the old-fashioned kind.”

“Well, please, ma’am, tell it,” said Buster John, so seriously that they all laughed except Mr. Rabbit.

V.
HOW A KING WAS FOUND.

“What about the little girl who had the vial of sparkling water?” said Sweetest Susan, turning to Mr. Thimblefinger, just as Mrs. Meadows was about to begin her story.

“Oh, she is growing,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger.

Buster John frowned at his sister, as boys will do when they are impatient, and Sweetest Susan said no more.

“Once upon a time,” Mrs. Meadows began, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “there was a country that suddenly found itself without a king. This was a long time ago, before people in some parts of the world began to think it was unfashionable to have kings. I don’t know what the trouble was exactly, whether the king died, or whether he was carried off, or whether he did something to cause the people to take away his crown and put him in the calaboose.

“Anyhow, they suddenly found themselves without a king, and it made them feel very uncomfortable. They were so restless and uneasy that they couldn’t sleep well at night. They were in the habit of having a king to govern them, and they felt very nervous without one.

“Now in that country there were eleven wise men whose trade it was to give advice. Instead of falling out and wrangling with one another and ruining their business, these eleven wise men had formed a copartnership and set up a sort of store, where anybody and everybody could get advice by the wholesale or retail. I don’t know whether they charged anything, because there never has been a time since the world had more than two people in it that advice wasn’t as cheap as dirt.

“The eleven wise men were there, ready to give advice, and so the people went to them and asked them how to select a king. The eleven wise men put their heads together, and after a while they told the people that they must select nine of their best men and send them out on the roads leading to the capital city, and when these nine men found a man sleeping in the shade of a tree, they were to watch him for four hours, and if the shadow of the tree stood still so as to keep the sun from shining on him, he was the one to select for their king. Then the eleven wise men, looking very solemn, bowed the people out, and the people went off and selected nine of their best men to find them a king.

“Now it happened that in a part of the country not far from the capital city there lived a boy with his mother and stepfather. They were not poor and they were not rich, but everybody said the boy was the handsomest and brightest that had ever been seen in that section. He was about sixteen years old, and was very strong and tall.

“One day, when the stepfather was in the village near which they lived, a stranger passed through on his way to the capital city. He had neither wallet nor staff, but he drew a great crowd of idle people around him. He was carrying a red rooster, and although the fowl’s feet were tied together and his head hanging down, he crowed lustily every few minutes. It was this that drew the crowd of idle people. One with more curiosity than the rest asked the stranger why the rooster crowed and continued to crow.

“‘He is a royal bird,’ the stranger replied. ‘There is no king in this country, and whoever eats this bird’s head will reign as king.’

“‘He must be worth a pretty sum,’ said one.

“‘By no means,’ answered the stranger. ‘He is worth no more than a silver piece.’

“But the people only laughed. They thought the stranger was making fun of them. He went on his way, and had soon passed beyond the village. Now it chanced that the stepfather of the bright and handsome boy was in the crowd that gathered around the stranger. He thought it was very queer that a rooster should be crowing so bravely when his legs were tied together and while his head was hanging down. So he said to himself that there might be some truth in what the stranger said. He ran after the man and soon overtook him.

“‘That is a fine fowl,’ said the boy’s stepfather.

“‘It is a royal bird,’ the stranger replied.

“‘What is he worth?’ asked the boy’s stepfather.

“‘I shall be glad to get rid of him,’ said the stranger. ‘Give me a piece of silver and take him.’

“This was soon done, and the stepfather took the rooster under his arm.

“‘Remember this,’ remarked the stranger; ‘if you eat the head of that bird you will reign in this country as king.’

“‘Oh, ho!’ laughed the boy’s stepfather, ‘you are a fine joker.’

“With the fowl under his arm he went toward his home. He had gone but a little way when he turned to look at the stranger, but the man had disappeared. The country was level for a long distance in all directions, but the stranger could not be seen.

“The boy’s stepfather carried the fowl home and said to his wife:—

“‘Cook this bird for supper. Cook the head also.’

“The man was afraid to tell his wife why he wanted the head cooked. He knew she was very fond of her son, and he reasoned to himself that if she knew what the stranger had said she would give the head to the boy. So he only told her to be careful to cook the fowl’s head and save it for him.

“The wife did as she was bid. She cooked the fowl and the fowl’s head, and placed them away in the cupboard until her husband and her son came home. It happened that something kept the husband in the village a little later than usual, and while the woman was waiting for him her son came in and said he was very hungry.

“‘You will find something in the cupboard,’ his mother said. ‘Eat a little now, and when your stepfather returns we will have supper.’

“The boy went to the cupboard. The fowl was on a big dish ready to be carved, and the head was in the saucer by itself. To save time and trouble the boy took the head and ate it, and then felt as if he could wait for supper very comfortably. The husband came, and the woman proceeded to set the table. When she came to look for the fowl’s head it was gone.

“‘Why, I ate it,’ said her son, when he heard her exclamation of surprise. ‘I found it in the saucer, and I ate it rather than cut the fowl.’

“The stepfather was angry enough to tear his hair, but he said nothing. The next day the boy went hunting. He was ready to return about noon, but, being tired, he stretched himself in the shade of a tree and was soon sound asleep.

THEY SAW THE HANDSOME BOY SLEEPING

“While he was sleeping his soundest, the nine men who had been appointed by the people to find them a king chanced to pass that way. They saw the handsome boy sleeping in the shade of the tree, and they stationed themselves around and watched him. For four long hours they watched the boy, but still the shadow of the tree kept the sun from his face. The nine men consulted among themselves, and they came to the conclusion that the shadow of the tree hadn’t moved, and that the boy was a well-favored lad who would look very well when he was dressed up and put on a throne with a crown on his head.

“So they shook the boy and aroused him from his sleep.

“‘What’s your name?’ asked the spokesman.

“‘Telambus,’ replied the boy.

“‘Where do you live?’

“‘Not far from here.’

“‘How would you like to be king?’

“‘I have never tried it. Is it an easy trade to learn?’

“The nine men looked at each other shrewdly and smiled. They each had the same thought.

“They went with the boy to his home and saw his mother, and inquired about his age and his education, and asked a hundred other questions besides. They cautioned the woman as they were leaving to say nothing of their visit except this, that they were going about hunting for a king and had called to make some inquiries.

“When her husband came home he had already heard of the visit of the distinguished company, and so he asked his wife a thousand questions. All the answer he got was that the visitors were hunting for a king.

“‘I’m sure it was for me they were hunting,’ said the man. ‘How unfortunate that I was away.’

“‘Well, don’t worry,’ replied his wife. ‘If they ever intended to make you king, they’ll come back after you.’

“‘You don’t seem to think much about it,’ remarked the man, ‘but some of these days you’ll find out that you narrowly escaped being the king’s wife.’

“The nine citizens were so certain that they had found the right person to rule over their country as king, that they made haste to return to the capital city and tell the news to the eleven wise men who had sent them out. They made their report, and the eleven wise men put their heads together once more. When they had consulted together a long time, they said to the people:—

“‘There is one test by which you may know whether a king has been found. Send a messenger and ask this young man to send us a rope made of sand a hundred feet long.’

“The messenger straightway went to the house of Telambus and told him what the eleven wise men had said. His mother straightway fell to crying. But Telambus laughed at her fears.

“‘Tell the eleven wise men,’ he said to the messenger, ‘that there are various patterns of sand ropes. Let them send me a sample of the kind they want—a piece only a foot long—and I will make them one a hundred feet long.’

“The messenger returned to the eleven wise men and told them what Telambus had said. They put their heads together again and then told the people that the young man was wise enough to be their king. There was great rejoicing then, and the nine wise men who had found him went to fetch him.

“But Telambus shook his head. ‘Kings are not carried about in this way. Where are your banners and your chariots? Where are your drums and your cymbals?’

“So the nine men returned to the eleven wise men and told them what Telambus had said.

“‘He is right,’ said the eleven wise men. ‘He is a king already. Get your horses, your chariots, your banners, and your music, and bring our king in as he deserves to be brought.’

“So Telambus was made the king of that country.”

At this point Mrs. Meadows began to hunt for a knitting-needle she had dropped, and the children knew that the story was ended.

“That was a pretty good story,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “It was short and sweet, as the king-bird said to the honey-bee.”

“Dey wuz too much kingin’ in it ter suit me. Ef folks got ter have kings, how come we ain’t got none?” asked Drusilla.

“Please tell me about the little girl with the vial of sparkling water from the Well at the End of the World,” said Sweetest Susan to Mr. Thimblefinger. “I expect she is nearly grown by this time.”

“Oh, yes,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, “she has now grown to be quite a young lady.”

“Huh!” grunted Drusilla, “ef folks grow up dat quick, I dunner what hinder me from bein’ a ol’ gray-head ’oman by sundown.”

VI.
THE MAGIC RING.

“Don’t you see,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, with apparent seriousness, “that if we hadn’t left off the story of the little girl who went to the Well at the End of the World just where we did, she would have had no time to grow?”

Buster John smiled faintly, but Sweetest Susan took the statement seriously, though she said nothing. Drusilla boldly indorsed it.

“I speck dat’s so,” she said, “kaze when de lil’ gal got back home wid dat vial she wa’n’t in no fix fer ter cut up dem kind er capers what de tales tell about.”

“Certainly not,” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, “but now she has had time to grow up to be a young lady, almost. Names go for so little down here that I haven’t told you hers. She was named Eolen. Some said it was a beautiful name, but her stepmother and her stepmother’s daughter said it was very ugly. Anyhow, that was her name, and whether it was ugly or whether it was beautiful, she had to make the best of it.

“Well, Eolen went home when the old man gave her the vial of water from the Well at the End of the World. She hid the vial beneath her apron until she reached her own room, and then she placed it at the very bottom of her little trunk,—a trunk that had belonged to her mother, who was dead.

“Nothing happened for a long time. Whenever Friday fell on the thirteenth of a month, Eolen would rub a drop of the sparkling water on her forehead, and she grew to be the loveliest young lady that ever was seen. Her stepsister was not bad-looking, but, compared with Eolen, she was ugly. The contrast between them was so great that people could not help noticing it and making remarks about it. Some of these remarks came to the ears of her stepmother.

“Now a stepmother can be just as nice and as good as anybody, but this particular stepmother cared for nothing except her own child, and she soon came to hate Eolen for being so beautiful. She had never treated the child kindly, but now she began to treat her cruelly. Eolen never told her father, but somehow he seemed to know what was going on, and he treated her more affectionately each day, as her stepmother grew more cruel.

“This lasted for some time, but finally Eolen’s father fell ill and died, and then, although she had many admirers, she was left without a friend she could confide in or rely on. To make matters worse, her stepmother produced a will in which her husband had left everything to her and nothing to Eolen. The poor girl didn’t know what to do. She knew that her father had made no such will, but how could she prove it? She happened to think of the vial of sparkling waters. She found it and turned it upside down.

“On the instant there was a loud knock at the street door. Eolen would have gone to open it, but her stepmother was there before her. She peeped from behind the curtains in the hallway, and saw a tall, richly-dressed stranger standing on the steps.

“‘I wish to see a young lady who lives here. She is the daughter of an old friend,’ said the stranger.

“The stepmother smiled very sweetly. ‘Come in. I will call her.’

“But instead of calling Eolen she called her own daughter. The girl went, but not with a good grace. She had been petted and spoiled, and was very saucy and impolite. The stranger smiled when he saw her.

“‘What was my mother doing when you saw her sitting by the Well at the End of the World?’ he asked.

“‘Do you take me for a crazy person?’ replied the girl.

“‘By no means,’ said the stranger. ‘You are not the young lady I came to see.’

“The stepmother then called Eolen and stood in the room frowning to see what was going to happen. Eolen came as soon as she was called, and the stranger seemed to be much struck by her beauty and modesty. He took her by the hand and led her to a chair.

“‘What was my mother doing when you saw her sitting by the Well at the End of the World?’ he asked.

“‘She was combing her hair,’ replied Eolen.

“‘That is true,’ remarked the stranger. ‘Yes, she was combing her hair.’ Then he turned to the stepmother and said: ‘May I see this young lady alone for a little while? I have a message for her from an old friend.’

“‘Certainly!’ the stepmother answered. ‘I hope her friend is well-to-do, for her father has died without leaving her so much as a farthing.’ Having said this, the stepmother flounced from the room.

“‘I came at your summons,’ said the stranger; ‘you turned the vial of sparkling water upside down, and now I am here to do your bidding.’

“Then Eolen told him of the death of her father, and how he had left all of his property to her stepmother. The stranger listened attentively, and while he listened played with a heavy gold ring that he wore on his third finger. When Eolen was through with her story he took this ring from his finger and handed it to her.

“‘Look through that,’ he said, ‘and tell me what you see.’

“Eolen held the ring to one of her eyes, and peeped through the golden circle. She was so surprised that she came near dropping the ring. She had held it up toward the stranger, but instead of seeing him through the ring she seemed to be looking into a room in which some person was moving about. As she continued to look, the scene appeared to be a familiar one. The room was the one her stepmother occupied—the room in which her father had died. She saw her stepmother take from her father’s private drawer a folded paper and hide it behind the mantel. Then the scene vanished, and through the ring she saw the stranger smiling at her.

“‘What you have seen happened some time ago.’ He took the ring and replaced it on his finger. ‘Your stepmother is now coming this way. She has been trying to hear what we are saying. When she comes in, do you get your father’s real will from behind the mantel and bring it to me.’

“Sure enough the stepmother came into the room silently and suddenly. She pretended to be much surprised to find any one there.

“‘You must excuse me,’ she said to the stranger. ‘I imagined I heard you take your leave some time ago.’

“‘You are excusable,’ replied the stranger. ‘I have been reflecting rather than talking. I have been thinking what could be done for your stepdaughter, who must be quite a burden to you.’

“The stepmother took this for an invitation to tell what she knew about Eolen, and you may be sure she didn’t waste any praise on the young lady. But right in the midst of it all Eolen, who had gone out, returned and handed the stranger the folded paper that had been hid behind the mantel. The stepmother recognized it and turned pale.

“‘This,’ said the stranger, opening the paper and reading it at a glance, ‘is your father’s will. I see he has left you half the property.’

“‘That is the will my husband forgot to destroy,’ cried the stepmother. ‘I have the real will.’

“‘May I see it?’ asked the stranger.

“The stepmother ran to fetch it, but when the stranger had opened it, not a line nor a word of writing could be found on it.

“‘I see you are fond of a joke,’ said the stranger, but the stepmother had fallen into a chair and sat with her face hid in her hands. ‘I am fond of a joke myself,’ continued the stranger, ‘and I think I can match yours.’

“With that the stranger took the real will, tore it in small pieces and threw it into the fireplace.

“‘What have you done?’ cried Eolen.

“‘The most difficult thing in the world,’ replied the stranger; ‘I have made this lady happy.’

“And sure enough the stepmother was smiling and thanking him.

“‘I thought you were my enemy,’ she said, ‘but now I see you are my friend indeed. How can I repay you?’

“‘By treating this young lady here as your daughter,’ he replied. ‘Have no fear,’ he said, turning to Eolen. ‘No harm can befall you. What I have done is for the best.’

“But before he went away he gave Eolen the gold ring, and told her to wear it for the sake of his mother, who sat by the Well at the End of the World. She thanked him for his kindness and promised she would keep the ring and treasure it as long as she lived.

“But there was one trouble with this magic ring. It was too large for any of Eolen’s fingers. She had the whitest and most beautiful hands ever seen, but the ring would fit none of her fingers. Around her neck she wore a necklace of coral beads, and on this necklace she hung the ring.

“For many day’s Eolen’s stepmother was kind to her, almost too kind. But the woman was afraid her stepdaughter would inform the judges of her effort to steal and hide her husband’s will. The judges were very severe in those days and in that country, and if the woman had been brought before them and such a crime proven on her, she would have been sent to the rack.”

“What is a rack?” asked Sweetest Susan.

“Hit’s de place whar dey scrunch folks’s ve’y vitals out’n ’em,” said Drusilla solemnly.

“That’s about right, I reckon,” assented Mr. Thimblefinger. “Well, the stepmother was as kind to Eolen as she knew how to be, but the kindness didn’t last long. She hated her stepdaughter worse than ever. She was afraid of her, but she didn’t hate her any the less on that account.

“Eolen had a habit of taking off her coral necklace and placing it under her pillow at night. One night, when she was fast asleep, her stepmother crept into the room and slipped the ring from the necklace. She had no idea it was a magic ring. She said to herself that it would look better on her daughter’s finger than it did on Eolen’s coral necklace, so she took the ring and slipped it on the finger of her sleeping daughter, and then stepped back a little to admire the big golden circle on the coarse, red hand.

“Almost immediately the daughter began to toss and tumble in her sleep. She flung her arms wildly about and tried to talk. The mother, becoming alarmed, tried to wake her, but it was some time before the girl could be roused from her troubled sleep.

“‘Oh!’ she cried, when she awoke, ‘what is the matter with me? I dreamed some one was cutting my finger off. What was it? Oh! it hurts me still!’

“She held up the finger on which her mother had placed the ring and tried to tear off the golden band. ‘It burns—it burns!’ she cried. ‘Take it off.’

“Her mother tried to take the ring off, but it was some time before she succeeded. Her daughter struggled and cried so that it was a hard matter to remove the ring, which seemed to be as hot as fire. A red blister was left on the girl’s finger, and she was in great pain.

HER STEPMOTHER CREPT INTO THE ROOM

“‘What have I done?’ the mother cried, seeing her daughter’s condition. The two made so much noise that Eolen awoke and went to the door to find out what the trouble was.

“‘Go away, you hussy!’ screamed the stepmother when she saw Eolen at the door. ‘Go away! You are a witch!’

“‘Why, what have I done?’ Eolen asked.

“‘You are the cause of all this trouble. For amusement I placed your gold ring on my dear daughter’s finger, and now see her condition!’

“‘Why, then, did you take my ring? If you had left it where I placed it, you would have had none of this trouble.’ Eolen spoke with so much dignity that her stepmother was surprised into silence, though she could talk faster and louder than a flutter-mill. But finally she found her voice.

“‘Go away! You are a witch!’ she said to Eolen.

“But Eolen went boldly into the room. ‘Give me my ring!’ she exclaimed. ‘You shall wrong me no further. Give me my ring! I will have it!’

“This roused the stepmother’s temper. She searched on the floor till she found the ring. Then she opened a window and flung it as far as she could send it.

“‘Now let’s see you get it!’ she cried. With that she seized Eolen by the arm and pushed her from the room, saying, ‘Go away, you witch!’

“Now, then,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, after pausing to take breath, “what was the poor girl to do?” He looked at Sweetest Susan as if expecting her to answer the question.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Sweetest Susan.

“Shake up de bottle,” exclaimed Drusilla.

“Exactly so,” said Mr. Thimblefinger.

VII.
THE COW WITH THE GOLDEN HORNS.

“I hope that isn’t all of the story,—if you call it a story,” said Buster John.

“Which?” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, with an air of having forgotten the whole business.

“Why, that about throwing the gold ring from the window,” replied Buster John.

“Well, no,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, in an absent-minded way. “In a book, you know, you can read right on if you want to, or you can put the book down and rest yourself when you get tired. But when I’m telling a story, you must give me time to rest. I’m so little, you know, that it doesn’t take much to tire me. Of course, if you don’t like the story, I can stop any time. It’s no trouble at all to stop. Just wink your eye at me twice, and I’m mum.”

“Oh, we don’t want you to stop,” said Sweetest Susan.

“No, don’t stop,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, drowsily, “because then everybody gets to talking, and I can’t doze comfortably. Your stories are as comforting to me as a feather-bed.”

“Then I’ll add a bolster to the bed,” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger. He hesitated a moment, and then went on with the story:—

“Of course, Eolen didn’t know what to do when her stepmother threw the gold ring from the window and pushed her from the room. She went back to her bed and lay down, but she couldn’t sleep. After a while daylight came, and then she dressed herself and went down into the garden to hunt for the ring. She searched everywhere, but the ring was not to be found.

“Now the ring could have been found very easily if it had been where it fell when Eolen’s stepmother threw it from the window. But that night a tame crow, belonging to the Prince of that country, was roosting in one of the trees in the garden.”

“Oh, was it a sure enough Prince?” asked Sweetest Susan.

“Why, certainly,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, with great solemnity. “A make-believe Prince could never have reigned in that country. The people would have found him out, and he would have been put in the calaboose. Well, this tame crow that belonged to the Prince had wandered off over the fields, and had gone so far away from the palace that it was unable to get back before dark, and so it went to bed in one of the trees growing in the garden behind the house where Eolen lived.

“Of course, as soon as morning came, the crow was wide awake and ready for any mischief that might turn up. It flew to the ground, hoping to find something for breakfast, and hopped about, searching in the leaves and grass. Suddenly the crow saw the ring shining on the ground and picked it up and turned it over. What could it be? The crow’s curiosity was such that it forgot all about breakfast. It seized the ring in its beak and went flopping to the palace. It was so early in the morning that the palace was closed, but the crow flew straight to the Prince’s window and beat his wings against it until some of the attendants came and opened it, when the crow walked in with great dignity.

“The Prince had been awakened by the noise, but when he saw the bird stalking into the room as stiff as a major-general of militia, he fell back on his bed laughing. The crow hopped to the foot-board of the bed and stood there holding the gold ring in his beak, as much as to say, ‘Don’t you wish you were as rich as I am?’

“The Prince rose from his bed and took the ring from the crow, but it was so hot that he made haste to drop it in a basin of cold water. Then a curious thing happened. The ring seemed to expand in the basin until it was as large as the bottom, and within the circle it made the picture of a beautiful girl standing by a milk-white cow. There were two peculiarities about the milk-white cow. Her ears were as black as jet, and her horns shone and glittered as if they were made of gold.

“The Prince was entranced. He gazed at the beautiful picture long and lovingly, and the crow sat on the rim of the basin and chuckled as proudly as if it had painted the picture. The girl was the loveliest the Prince had ever seen, and the cow was surely the most beautiful of her kind. The Prince’s attendants uttered exclamations of delight when they saw the picture, and his ministers, when they were sent for, were struck dumb with astonishment.

“‘If this bird could only speak!’ cried the Prince.

“But the crow went chuckling about the room saying to itself, ‘What a fool a Prince must be who cannot understand my simple language!’

“The Prince gazed at the picture framed by the gold ring for a long time. At last he concluded to take it from the water. As he did so it shrunk to its natural size, and the picture of the beautiful girl and the Cow with the Golden Horns disappeared, and the ring no longer burnt his fingers. He dropped it in the basin once more, but it remained a simple gold ring and the picture failed to appear again.

“The Prince was disconsolate. He remained in the palace and refused to go out. He moped and pined, until the family doctor was called in. The doctor fussed about and felt of the Prince’s pulse and looked at his tongue, and said that a change of air was necessary; but the Prince said he didn’t want any change of air and wouldn’t have it. In fact, he said he didn’t want any air at all, and he wouldn’t take any pills or powders, and he wouldn’t drink any sage tea, and he wouldn’t have any mustard plaster put on him. He was in love, and he knew that the more medicine he took, the worse off he would be.”

“Well, a little sage tea ain’t bad when you are in love,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “It’s mighty soothing.”

“Maybe,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger, “but the Prince didn’t want it, and wouldn’t have it. He wanted the beautiful girl he had seen in the picture. He was in love with her, and he wanted to marry her. So his ministers consulted together and finally they sent around a bailiff”—

“Nonsense!” cried Mrs. Meadows.

“Tut—tut!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit.

“Well,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “he sent a crier around”—

“A herald, you mean,” suggested Buster John, who had read a good many story books.

“A bailiff could do the work just as well, but you can have it your way. Well,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger, “the Prince’s ministers sent a herald around to inquire at all the people’s houses if any of them had a Cow with Golden Horns, but nobody had such a cow, and everybody wondered what the herald meant. A Cow with Golden Horns! People went about asking one another if they had ever heard of such a thing before. Some said the throne was tottering. Others said the politicians were trying to work a scheme to increase taxation. Still others talked about the peril of the nation. Everybody had some explanation, but nobody had the right one. The poor young Prince was nearly crazy to find the young girl whose picture he had seen in the basin of water.

“For a few days the people heard no more of the matter, but at the end of a week the herald went round the city again declaring that the Prince would marry any young lady who would bring as her marriage portion a Cow with Golden Horns. She need not have riches of any kind; all that was necessary was a Cow with Golden Horns. This word went around among the people and from city to city. Rich men with daughters tried everywhere to buy a Cow with Golden Horns, but all to no purpose.

“The Prince waited and waited and pined and grew thinner. But just as matters were getting to be very serious indeed, an old man appeared in the palace park leading a beautiful white cow with jet black ears and golden horns. The servants set up such a shout when they saw the beautiful cow that everybody in the palace was aroused and all came out to see what caused the noise. Then the servants and attendants ran over one another in their efforts to reach the Prince, who was moping in his room. As they ran they cried:—

“‘The Cow with the Golden Horns has come! The Cow with the Golden Horns has come!’

“The Prince forgot his dignity and hurried out to see the Cow with the Golden Horns. The old man came leading her, and she was, indeed, a beautiful creature. Her head and limbs were almost as delicate as those of a deer, and her eyes were large and soft. Her body was as white as snow, her ears glistened like black silk, and her golden horns shone in the sun. The old man bowed low as he led the beautiful cow forward.

“‘I wouldn’t make much of a bride myself, your Majesty,’ he said. ‘I have brought you the Cow with the Golden Horns. She might find you the bride that I failed to bring you.’

“‘I fear I shall have no such good fortune,’ replied the Prince. ‘But I think you have proved to me that I am not dreaming. How shall I reward you?’

“‘I ask no reward, your Majesty. I only ask the privilege of taking away my Cow with the Golden Horns when you have found your bride.’

“When the Prince had given his promise, the old man said, ‘You have a ring, your Majesty, that came to you in a curious way. Let this ring be placed on the left horn of the cow. The girl or woman that is able to remove this ring will be the bride you are wishing for. Every morning the Cow with the Golden Horns will appear here in the lawn and remain until night falls. Let it be announced, your Majesty, that whoever takes the ring from her shall be the Princess of the Realm.’”

“Huh!” exclaimed Drusilla suddenly. “He talk like he been ter college.”

“Will you hush?” cried Buster John. But Mr. Thimblefinger paid no attention to the interruption.

“‘But how do you know,’ asked the Prince, ‘that the right one will come to get the ring?’

“‘How do I know that your Majesty has the ring?’ the old man answered.

“This seemed to satisfy the Prince, who caused it to be announced all through his kingdom that he would choose for his bride the girl or woman who would take the ring from the golden horn of the Cow.

“Of course there was a great commotion among the ladies when this announcement was made, and nearly all of them tried to take the ring from the golden horn of the Cow. Some said they tried it just for fun, and some said they tried it just out of curiosity; but all of them failed. Even Eolen’s stepmother tried, and then she made her daughter try, but when the daughter touched the ring it burnt her so that she screamed. And then some of those who had tried and failed turned up their noses and said it was a trick.

“Eolen had never thought of trying. She had seen the Prince and admired him, yet she had no idea of going up before all these people. But as soon as her stepmother started for the palace with her daughter, there came a knock at the door. Eolen opened it, and there, standing before her, was the old man who had carried her to the Thunder’s house, and to the Jumping-Off Place. She was very glad to see him, and told him so, and he was just as glad to see her.

“‘Why don’t you go and get your ring?’ he asked.

“‘It is lost,’ she answered.

“‘It is found,’ he said. ‘I have placed it on the golden horn of the Cow that stands near the palace door. You must go and get it.’

“‘I have nothing to wear,’ she replied.

“Then the old man tapped on the wall and called:—

“‘Sister Jane! Sister Jane! Where are you?’

“‘I am where I ought to be,’ was the reply. The wall opened and out stepped the old, old woman that Eolen had seen combing her hair by the Well at the End of the World.

“‘Clothe this child in silk and satin and comb her hair out fine, Sister Jane.’

“The old woman grumbled a little, but gave Eolen a touch here and there, and in a moment she was dressed as fine as the finest lady in the land.

“‘Now she is ready, brother,’ said the old, old woman, and then she disappeared in the wall, combing her long gray hair and smiling.

“‘Must I walk?’ asked Eolen, looking at her satin slippers.

“‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed the old man. Then he tapped in another part of the wall. ‘Nephew! Nephew! Where are you?’

“‘Wherever you wish me to be,’ a voice replied, and then the wall opened, and out stepped the handsome stranger who had given Eolen the gold ring. ‘What do you want?’

“‘A carriage and horses,’ said the old man.

“‘They are at the door,’ was the reply, ‘and I’ll drive them myself.’

“Sure enough, there stood at the door a coach and four, and Eolen was carried to the palace in grand style. Liveried servants appeared and spread a strip of carpet before her, and the Cow with the Golden Horns came running to meet her, and in a moment she had the ring. Then the people set up a loud shout, crying:—

“‘The Princess! the Princess!’

SHE WOULD HAVE KNELT, BUT HE LIFTED HER UP

“And then the Prince came out and went to her. She would have knelt, but he lifted her up and knelt himself before her, and kissed her hand, and smiled on her, for she was the lovely girl he had seen in the picture.”

“What is the moral of that?” inquired Mr. Rabbit, waking from his nap.

“Why, you didn’t even hear the story,” said Mr. Thimblefinger.

“That is the reason I want to hear the moral of it,” remarked Mr. Rabbit.

“There is no moral at all,” said Mr. Thimblefinger.

“Then I’m mighty glad I was asleep,” grumbled Mr. Rabbit.

VIII.
BROTHER WOLF’S TWO BIG DINNERS.

The children said they were very much pleased with the story about the Cow with the Golden Horns. Buster John even went so far as to say that it was as good as some of the stories in the books. But Mr. Thimblefinger shook his head. He said he was very glad they were pleased with it, but he knew Mr. Rabbit was right. The story couldn’t be a very good story, because it had no moral.

“But I think it had a very good moral,” remarked Mrs. Meadows.

“What was it?” inquired Mr. Rabbit with great solemnity.

“Why, if the little girl had been too stingy to give the old beggar a piece of her cake, she would never have come to be Princess,” replied Mrs. Meadows.

“Did she give the beggar a piece of cake?” asked Mr. Rabbit.

“Why, certainly she did,” Mr. Thimblefinger answered.

“Well,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, setting himself back in his chair, “I must have been fast asleep when she did it. But the place for a moral, as I’ve been told, is right at the end of a story, and not at the beginning.”

“Can’t you tell us a story with a moral?” suggested Mrs. Meadows.

“I can,” replied Mr. Rabbit. “I can for a fact, and the piece of cake you mentioned puts me in mind of it.”

Mr. Rabbit closed his eyes and rubbed his nose, and then began:—

“Once upon a time, when Brother Fox and myself were living on pretty good terms with each other, we received an invitation to attend a barbecue that Brother Wolf was going to give on the following Saturday. The next day we received an invitation to a barbecue that Brother Bear was going to give on the same Saturday.

“I made up my mind at once to go to Brother Bear’s barbecue, because I knew he would have fresh roasting ears, and if there’s anything I like better than another, it is fresh roasting ears. I asked Brother Fox whether he was going to Brother Bear’s barbecue or to Brother Wolf’s, but he shook his head. He said he hadn’t made up his mind. I just asked him out of idle curiosity, for I didn’t care whether he went or whether he stayed.

“I went about my work as usual. Cold weather was coming on, and I wanted to get my crops in before the big freeze came. But I noticed that Brother Fox was mighty restless in his mind. He didn’t do a stroke of work. He’d sit down and then he’d get up; he’d stand still and look up in the tops of the trees, and then he’d walk back and forth with his hands behind him and look down at the ground.

“I says to him, says I, ‘I hope you are not sick, Brother Fox.’

“Says he, ‘Oh, no, Brother Rabbit; I never felt better in my life.’

“I says to him, says I, ‘I hope money matters are not troubling you.’

“Says he, ‘Oh, no, Brother Rabbit, money was never easier with me than it is this season.’

“I says to him, says I, ‘I hope I’ll have the pleasure of your company to the barbecue to-morrow.’

“Says he, ‘I can’t tell, Brother Rabbit; I can’t tell. I haven’t made up my mind. I may go to the one, or I may go to the other; but which it will be, I can’t tell you to save my life.’

“As the next day was Saturday, I was up bright and early. I dug my goobers and spread ’em out to dry in the sun, and then, ten o’clock, as near as I could judge, I started out to the barbecue. Brother Wolf lived near the river, and Brother Bear lived right on the river, a mile or two below Brother Wolf’s. The big road, that passed near where Brother Fox and I lived, led in the direction of the river for about three miles, and then it forked, one prong going to Brother Wolf’s house, and the other prong going to Brother Bear’s house.

“Well, when I came to the forks of the road, who should I see there but old Brother Fox. I stopped before he saw me, and watched him. He went a little way down one road, and licked his chops; then he came back and went a little way down the other road, and licked his chops.

“Not choosing to be late, I showed myself and passed the time of day with Brother Fox. I said, says I, that if he was going to Brother Bear’s barbecue, I’d be glad to have his company. But he said, says he, that he wouldn’t keep me waiting. He had just come down to the forks of the road to see if that would help him to make up his mind. I told him I was mighty sorry to miss his company and his conversation, and then I tipped my hat and took my cane from under my arm and went down the road that led to Brother Bear’s house.”

Here Mr. Rabbit paused, straightened himself up a little, and looked at the children. Then he continued:—

“I reckon you all never stood on the top of a hill three quarters of a mile from the smoking pits and got a whiff or two of the barbecue?”

“I is! I is!” exclaimed Drusilla. “Don’t talk! Hit make me dribble at de mouf. I wish I had some right now.”

HE WENT A LITTLE WAY DOWN ONE ROAD

“Well,” said Mr. Rabbit, “I got a whiff of it and I was truly glad I had come—truly glad. It was a fine barbecue, too. There was lamb, and kid, and shote, all cooked to a turn and well seasoned, and then there was the hash made out of the giblets. I’ll not tell you any more about the dinner, except that I’d like to have one like it every Saturday in the year. If I happened to be too sick to eat it, I could sit up and look at it. Anyhow, we all had enough and to spare.

“After we had finished with the barbecue and were sitting in Brother Bear’s front porch smoking our pipes and talking politics, I happened to mention to Brother Bear something about Brother Wolf’s barbecue. I said, says I, that I thought I’d go by Brother Wolf’s house as I went on home, though it was a right smart step out of the way, just to see how the land lay.

“Says Brother Bear, says he: ‘If you’ll wait till my company take their leave, I don’t mind trotting over to Brother Wolf’s with you. The walk will help to settle my dinner.’

“So, about two hours by sun, we started out and went to Brother Wolf’s house. Brother Bear knew a short cut through the big canebrake, and it didn’t take us more than half an hour to get there. Brother Wolf was just telling his company good-by; and when they had all gone he would have us go in and taste his mutton stew, and then he declared he’d think right hard of us if we didn’t drink a mug or two of his persimmon beer.

“I said, says I, ‘Brother Wolf, have you seen Brother Fox to-day?’

“Brother Wolf said, says he, ‘I declare, I haven’t seen hair nor hide of Brother Fox. I don’t see why he didn’t come. He’s always keen to go where there’s fresh meat a-frying.’

“I said, says I, ‘The reason I asked was because I left Brother Fox at the forks of the road trying to make up his mind whether he’d eat at your house or at Brother Bear’s.’

“‘Well, I’m mighty sorry,’ says Brother Wolf, says he; ‘Brother Fox never missed a finer chance to pick a bone than he’s had to-day. Please tell him so for me.’

“I said I would, and then I told Brother Wolf and Brother Bear good-by and set out for home. Brother Wolf’s persimmon beer had a little age on it, and it made me light-headed and nimble-footed. I went in a gallop, as you may say, and came to the forks of the road before the sun went down.

“You may not believe it, but when I got there Brother Fox was there going through the same motions that made me laugh in the morning—running down one road and licking his chops, and then running down the other and licking his chops.

“Says I, ‘I hope you had a good dinner at Brother Wolf’s to-day, Brother Fox.’

“Says he, ‘I’ve had no dinner.’

“Says I, ‘That’s mighty funny. Brother Bear had a famous barbecue, and I thought Brother Wolf was going to have one, too.’

“Says Brother Fox, ‘Is dinner over? Is it too late to go?’

“Says I, ‘Why, Brother Fox, the sun’s nearly down. By the time you get to Brother Bear’s house, he’ll be gone to bed; and by the time you go across the swamp to Brother Wolf’s house, the chickens will be crowing for day.’

“‘Well, well, well!’ says Brother Fox, ‘I’ve been all day trying to make up my mind which road I’d take, and now it’s too late.’

“And that was the fact,” continued Mr. Rabbit. “The poor creature had been all day trying to make up his mind which road he’d take. Now, then, what is the moral?”

Sweetest Susan looked at Mrs. Meadows, but Mrs. Meadows merely smiled. Buster John rattled the marbles in his pocket.

“I know,” said Drusilla.

“What?” inquired Mr. Rabbit.

“Go down one road an’ git one dinner, den cut ’cross an’ git some mo’ dinner, an’ den go back home down de yuther road.”

Mr. Rabbit shook his head.

“Tar-Baby, you are wrong,” he said.

“If you want anything, go and get it,” suggested Buster John.

Mr. Rabbit shook his head and looked at Sweetest Susan, whereupon she said:—

“If you can’t make up your mind, you’ll have to go hungry.”

Mr. Rabbit shook his head.

“Eat a good breakfast,” said Mrs. Meadows, “and you won’t be worried about your dinner.”

“All wrong!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, with a chuckle. “The moral is this: He who wants too much is more than likely to get nothing.”

“Well,” remarked Mrs. Meadows dubiously, “if you have to work out a moral as if it was a sum in arithmetic, I’ll thank you not to trouble me with any more morals.”

“The motion is seconded and carried,” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger.

IX.
THE LITTLE BOY OF THE LANTERN.

“Of course,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “all of you can tell better stories than I can, because you are larger. Being taller, you can see farther and talk louder; but I sometimes think that if I was to climb a tree, I’d see as far as any of you.”

“Well, I hope your feelings are not hurt,” remarked Mr. Rabbit sympathetically. “It’s not the fault of your stories that I fall asleep when you are telling them. It’s my habit to sit and nod at certain hours of the day, and if you’ll watch me right close, you’ll see that I sometimes drop off when I’m telling a story myself. I’ll try and keep awake the next time you tell one.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to prop Mr. Rabbit’s eyelids open with straws,” said Mrs. Meadows, laughing.

“I’ll just try you with a little one,” Mr. Thimblefinger declared. “I’ll tell you one I heard when I was younger. I want to see whether Mr. Rabbit will keep awake, and I want to see whether there’s a moral in the tale.”

So he took off his little hat, which was shaped like a thimble, and run his hand over the feather ornament to straighten it out. Then he began:—

“A long time ago, when there was a great deal more room in the country next door than there is now, there lived a man who had a wife, one son, a horse, a cow, and a calf. He was a hard-working man, so much so that he had little or no time to devote to his family. He worked hard in the field all day, and when night came he was too tired to trouble much about his son. His wife, too, having no servant, was always busy about the house, sewing, washing, cooking, cleaning, patching, milking, and sweeping. Day in and day out it was always the same. The man was always working, and the woman was always working. They had no rest except on Sunday, and then they were too tired to pay much attention to their son.

“The consequence was, that while the boy was a very bright lad, he was full of mischief, up to all sorts of tricks and pranks that some people call meanness. By hook or by crook—or maybe by book—he had learned how to spell and read. But the only book he had to read was one with big pictures of men dressed in red clothes, and armed with yellow cutlasses. The book was called ‘The Pirooters of Peruvia.’”

“Maybe the name was ‘The Pirates of Peru,’” suggested Buster John.

“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “I don’t suppose any such country as Peru had been found on the map when that book was written. But never mind about that. The boy read only that book, and he became rather wild in his mind. He wanted to be a pirooter, whatever that was, and so he armed himself with old hoe helves and called them pikes, and he tied a shingle to his side and called it a cutlass, and he got him a broom-handle and called it a horse.

“This boy’s name was Johnny, but sometimes they called him Jack for short. Some people said he was mean as he could be; but I don’t say that. He was fonder of scampering over the country than he was of helping his mother. Maybe he didn’t know any better because he wasn’t taught any better. But one morning his mother was so tired that she couldn’t get out of bed. She had worn herself out with work. The next morning she couldn’t get up, nor the next; and then the neighbors, who had come in to see what the matter was, said that she would never get up any more. So one day Johnny found everything very still in the house, and the neighbors who were there were kinder to him than they ever had been, and then he knew that his mother would never get tired any more.

“He felt so bad that he wandered off into the woods, crying as he went. His eyes were so full of tears that he couldn’t see where he was going, and he didn’t care. He went on and on, until, finally, when he took heart to look around, he found himself in a part of the country that was new to him. This caused him to dry his eyes, for he was perfectly sure that he had traveled neither fast nor far enough to be beyond the limits of the numberless journeys he had made in all directions from his father’s house; and yet, here he was, suddenly and without knowing how he got there, in a country that was altogether new to him.

“It was just like when you came down through our spring gate,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “The grass was different and the trees were different, and even the sand and the gravel were of a color that Johnny had never seen before. Suddenly, while he was wondering how he could have missed seeing all these strange things when he had journeyed this way before, a lady, richly dressed, came out of the woods and stood before him. She neither smiled nor looked severe, but pity seemed to shine in her face.

“‘What now?’ she said, raising her hand to her head. ‘You have come fast and come far. You are in trouble. Go back. When you want me, go to the Whispering Poplar that stands on the hill and call my name.’

“‘Who are you?’ asked Johnny, forgetting to be polite, if he ever knew how.

“‘The Keeper of the Cows that roam in the night,’ replied the lady. ‘When you go to the Whispering Poplar that stands on the hill, whisper this:—

O Keeper of Cows that roam in the night,

Come over the hill and lend me your light.’

“Johnny would have thanked the woman, but in the twinkling of an eye she was gone without making a sound, and not a blade of grass shook to show that she had been there. Johnny turned in his tracks and started home the way he came. Before he had gone far he stopped to look back, but the strange country was nowhere to be seen—only the old familiar hills and trees that he had always known.

“When he got home there was a strange woman cooking and fixing his father’s supper. The table was set, and everything was almost as neat and as tidy as it used to be when his mother was alive. Even his own little plate was in its place, and his mug, with the picture of a blue castle painted on it, was by the plate. But Johnny had no appetite. He went to the door and looked in, and then went to the stable. Once there, he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to drive the cow in from the pasture. He went running to get her, but found her coming along of her own accord, something she was not in the habit of doing.

A LADY, RICHLY DRESSED, CAME OUT OF THE WOODS

“Johnny wondered a little at this, but it soon passed out of his mind, and he got behind the cow and made her go faster. He drove the cow into the lot, and waited awhile for the woman to come and milk. But she delayed so long that he went to the house and found his father eating supper. Instead of going to the table, he went and sat by the fire.

“‘Have something to eat?’ said the woman.

“‘I am not hungry,’ he replied.

“‘Have a glass of fresh milk, then?’ she said.

“‘Not to-night,’ he answered. ‘I have just driven the cow in from the pasture.’

“‘I brought her from the pasture myself,’ said the woman, ‘milked her, and turned her out again.’

“Johnny said nothing to this, but he knew the cow had not been milked, and he wondered where the woman got the milk that his father was drinking. He thought it over, and forgot all about his grief. He noticed that as soon as his father drank the milk he began to smile at the woman. He smiled at the woman, but was cross to Johnny.

“After supper the woman went out, and after a while Johnny went out, too, leaving his father sitting by the fire smoking his pipe. Johnny went to the lot, thinking the woman had gone there. He wanted to see whether she would milk the cow. He crept along the side of the fence, and soon he was near enough to peep through a crack without being seen. He saw the woman rubbing the cow on the back while the calf was getting all the milk.

“‘You see how good I am to you, sister,’ said she. ‘Now I want you to be good to me. When that boy Jack goes after you to the pasture, I want you to lead him a chase. I saw him beating your calf to-day. But see how good I am to your calf, sister. I give it all the milk.’

“The cow shook her horn and switched her tail, and Johnny, sitting in the fence corner, wondered what it all meant.

“‘I see,’ said the cow, after a while. ‘You want to marry the boy’s father, and the boy is in the way. But suppose they find you out. What then?’

“‘Trust me for that, sister,’ said the woman; ‘trust me for that.’

“Johnny waited to hear no more, but crept away and went to bed. He was dressed and out by sun-up next morning, but the woman was up before him, and had breakfast nearly ready. Johnny asked her if she had milked the cow, and she replied that she had milked and forgotten about it. Johnny saw the milk-pail setting on the shelf, and when he looked at it he knew the cow had not been milked, else the sides of the pail would have been spattered.

“But the cow had been turned out, and the calf was sleeping contentedly in the fence corner, instead of nibbling the grass. Johnny drank no milk at breakfast, but his father did, and smiled at the woman more than ever. During the day Johnny forgot all about the cow, but when night came he knew she must be brought up, so he went to the pasture after her. She was not to be found. He hunted over the hills and fields, and then, not finding her, began to cry.

“Suddenly the lady he had seen the day before stepped out of the wood and spoke to him. She held in her hand a tiny lantern.

“‘Take this,’ she said, holding out the lantern. ‘You wouldn’t call me, and so I came to you.’

“‘I forgot,’ whispered Johnny.

“‘Don’t forget any more,’ said the lady. ‘Take this lantern and run to the Whispering Poplar that stands on the hill. You’ll find your cow tied there. Drive her home, and don’t spare her.’

“Johnny found the cow tied to the poplar sure enough, and he made her gallop home as fast as she could. He blew out his tiny lantern before he got in sight of the house, but it dropped from his hand and he could find it no more. He ceased to hunt for it after a while, and drove the cow to the lot, where the woman was waiting.

“‘Go get your supper,’ she said to Johnny.

“‘Yes ’m,’ replied Johnny, but he went off only to creep back to see what the woman would do.

“She abused the cow terribly. He could see that she was angry. ‘You are a nice sister,’ she exclaimed, ‘to let that boy bring you home so early.’

“‘Don’t “sister” me,’ moaned the cow. ‘I’m nearly famished, and that boy has nearly run me off my legs. Somebody that I couldn’t see caught me and tied me to a tree this morning, and there I’ve been all day. We’d better go away from here. That boy will find you out yet.’

“Then Johnny crept away, ate his supper, and went to bed. He slept late the next morning, but when he awoke he found that his father, instead of being at work, as was his habit, was smoking his pipe and talking to the woman, and both were smiling at each other very sweetly. That afternoon, Johnny went to bring the cow home before sundown, but he couldn’t find her. He hunted and hunted for her until long after dark, and then he went to the Whispering Poplar that stands on the hill, and said:—

“‘O Keeper of Cows that roam in the night,

Come over the hills and lend me your light!’

“Instantly Johnny heard a cow lowing in the valley, and saw a light glimmering faintly in the distance. In a little while he heard a tremendous clatter of hoofs up the hill, and the rushing of some large animal through the bushes. It seemed to have one eye only and that eye shone as fiercely as a flame of fire as its head swayed from side to side. It came rushing to the poplar-tree where Johnny stood, and stopped there. Johnny peeped from behind the tree and saw that the frightful animal was nothing more than his cow, with a tiny lantern hanging on her horn. She stood there panting and trembling. Johnny waited to see if the Keeper of Cows that roam in the night would make her appearance, but he waited in vain. Then he drove the cow home, turned her into the lot, and went in the house to get his supper. His father and the woman were sitting very close together.

“‘Have you brought the cow?’ the woman asked.

“‘She’s in the lot,’ replied Johnny.

“‘You are a smart boy,’ said the woman.

“‘Thanky, ma’am,’ exclaimed Johnny.

“So it went on day after day. The woman would make the cow wander farther and farther away from home, and Johnny would go to the Whispering Poplar that stands on the hill and call for the beautiful lady, the Keeper of the Cows that roam in the night, and soon the cow would come running and lowing. Then Johnny would drive her home by the light of his little lantern. This happened so often that the neighbors, and indeed the people in all that country, when they saw a light bobbing around at night, would shake their heads and say, ‘There goes Jack with his lantern,’ and then after a while they called him ‘Jack of the Lantern.’

“One day he heard two of the neighbors talking about him, saying it was a pity that so bright a boy should have such a stepmother as the woman his father was about to marry. Then Johnny (or Jack, as he was sometimes called) knew that his father was preparing to marry the woman who was keeping house for him, and it made the boy feel very wretched to think that this woman was to take the place of his mother.

“That very day he went to the Whispering Poplar that stands on the hill and called for the Keeper of the Cows that roam in the night. The lady made her appearance, and then Johnny told her his troubles. The lady smiled for the first time. Then she told Johnny that if he would follow her directions his troubles would disappear. She gave him a roll of blue ribbon, and told him what to say when he presented it to the woman just before the marriage took place. She told him also what to do with his little lantern. Johnny went home feeling very much better, and that night his father told him he was to have a new mother the next day. He said nothing in reply, but smiled as if the news pleased him.

“Johnny lay awake that night a long time, and once he thought the woman came and leaned over his bed as if to listen, but just then a cow not far away lowed once, twice, thrice. Then the woman went away muttering something.

“The next day the invited guests began to assemble early, and after a while the preacher came. The women neighbors would have the bride to stand up in the middle of the floor to admire her just before the ceremony, and when she stood up Johnny began to march around her, waving his lantern and his blue ribbon and singing:—

“‘I have for the bride ten yards of blue ribbon—

Ten yards of blue ribbon, ten yards of blue ribbon—

I have for the bride ten yards of blue ribbon,

So rich and so soft and so rare;

Five yards to pin on her snowy white bosom—

Her snowy white bosom, her snowy white bosom—

Five yards to pin on her snowy white bosom,

And five to tie in her hair.

“‘I have a lantern to light her along with—

To light her along with, to light her along with—

I have a lantern to light her along with,

When forth she fares in the night;

Out in the dark, the ribbon will rustle—

The ribbon will rustle, the ribbon will rustle—

Out in the dark the ribbon will rustle,

And the lantern will lend her its light!’

“Johnny threw the blue ribbon over the woman’s shoulder and around her neck, and waved his lantern, and instantly the woman disappeared, and in her place stood a cow. Before the people could recover their surprise, the lady that Johnny had seen at the Whispering Poplar came into the room and bowed to the company.

“‘This is the most malicious cow in all my herd,’ said she, ‘and this brave boy has caught her. Here is a purse of gold for his reward. As for you, sir,’ turning to Johnny’s father, ‘you may thank your son for saving you from this witch.’ Then she bowed again, and went away, leading the cow, and neither of them was ever seen in that country again.

“But to this day, when people see a light bobbing up and down in the fields at night, they say, ‘Yonder’s Jack of the Lantern!’”

X.
A LUCKY CONJURER.

“Now, I think that was a pretty good story,” said Mr. Rabbit. “It had something about cows in it, and there was nothing about kings and princes. I wouldn’t give that”—Mr. Rabbit blew a whiff of smoke from his mouth—“or all your princes and kings. Of course that’s on account of my ignorance. I don’t know anything about them. I reckon they are just as good neighbors as anybody, when you come to know them right well.”

Buster John laughed at this, but Sweetest Susan only smiled.

“Oh, I am not joking,” remarked Mr. Rabbit solemnly. “There’s no reason why kings and queens and princes shouldn’t be just as neighborly as other people. If a king and queen were keeping house anywhere near me, and were to send over after a mess of salad, or to borrow a cup of sugar or a spoonful of lard, I’d be as ready to accommodate them as I would any other neighbors, and I reckon they’d do the same by me.”

“They’d be mighty foolish if they didn’t,” said Mrs. Meadows.

“I hear tell dat folks hafter be monstus umble-come-tumble when dey go foolin’ ’roun’ whar dey er kingin’ an’ a queenin’ at,” remarked Drusilla. “Ef dey sont me fer ter borry any sugar er lard fum de house whar dey does de kingin’ an’ queenin’, I boun’ you I’d stan’ at the back gate an’ holler ’fo’ I went in dar whar dey wuz a-havin’ der gwines on. Dey wouldn’t git me in dar ’fo’ I know’d how de lan’ lay.”

“I expect you are right, Tar-Baby,” replied Mr. Rabbit.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t go to sleep over the story of the little boy and the lantern. But it didn’t have any moral,” said Mr. Thimblefinger.

“Why, I reckon that’s the reason I didn’t do any nodding,” explained Mr. Rabbit. “I knew there was something the matter.”

There was a pause, during which Mr. Rabbit betrayed a tendency to fall to nodding again. Presently Mrs. Meadows remarked:—

“I mind me of a story that I heard once—I reckon the talk about kings and queens made me remember it. Anyway, it popped into my head all of a sudden, though I hadn’t thought about it in years.”

“Fire away!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, opening his eyes and slowly closing them again.

“Once upon a time there lived in the land of Moraria a man who was very poor. He worked whenever and wherever he could find work, yet he had so many children that even if he had found work every day he could have made hardly enough for all to eat and wear. As it was, times were so hard and work was so scarce that he frequently had to go hungry and half clothed. His wife did the best she could, which was very little. She worked about the palace where the king had lived, but as she was only one among a hundred, she got small wages, and had few opportunities to carry any scraps of victuals to her children.

“Finally the man came to the conclusion that he must make a desperate effort to better his condition, so he said to his wife:—

“‘What are my five senses for? I see other people living by their wits, and dressing fine and enjoying the best in the land. Why shouldn’t I do the same? What is to prevent me but my stupidity?’

“‘Stupidity is a high fence to climb over,’ replied the man’s wife. ‘But if you are willing to try how far your wits will carry you, you will have a good opportunity in a few days. The king’s daughter, the Princess Myla, is to be married next week, and even now the guests are assembling at the palace—most of them belonging to the bridegroom’s retinue.’

“The man leaned his head on his hand and thought a while, and then he rose and put on the best clothes he had, which were poor enough, and tied a rope girdle around his waist.

“‘I shall go to court as a pilgrim,’ he said to his wife. ‘When you see me, do you go around among the other servants and tell them that a great conjurer has arrived from the East. In this way it will come quickly to the King’s ears. Nothing will come of that, but the next morning something valuable will be missing from the palace. When you hear of it, do you tell the rest that you know a man who can find whatever is missing.’

“‘But how will you do this?’ asked the woman.

“‘Leave that to me,’ he replied.

“The man carried out his plan, and his wife followed his directions. She pointed him out to her fellow-servants as a great conjurer from the East. Ragged as he was, the man stalked majestically about the palace-yard, and after a while sat on the ground with his face to the wall, and shook his head from side to side, and made many queer motions with his hands.

“Now, while the man sat there going through his queer motions, he heard voices on the other side of the wall. He judged that two men were resting in the shade on that side, and he knew by the way they talked that they had come with the young Prince who was to marry the Princess Myla.

“‘You have left the blanket on the horse, I hope,’ said one.

“‘Yes, everything is attended to,’ replied the other.

“‘That is well,’ remarked the first. ‘The Prince, our master, desires the Princess Myla to be the first to look on this beautiful horse, which has just come out of Arabia. I will go myself to see that the animal is properly cared for.’

“Presently two strangers came through the gate, laughing and talking, and the man who was playing the conjurer knew they were the keepers of the horse. He rose when they went by, and watched them until he saw what part of the palace stables they entered. Then he slowly made his way out of the palace grounds.

“That night he went back and removed the horse, placing it where no one would be likely to find it. Then he told his wife what he had done.

“‘There will be a great outcry,’ said he, ‘when the horse is missed. In the midst of it make your voice heard, and remind the young Prince’s attendants that there is a famous conjurer within reach who can no doubt find the horse.’

“As the man said, so it turned out. There was a great noise made when it was found that the beautiful Arabian horse had been stolen. The young Prince was ready to tear his hair, so great was his disappointment. He offered a large sum of money to any one who would recover the horse. When the excitement was at its highest, the woman mentioned to some of the attendants that a famous conjurer had come to the palace. She then pointed her husband out to the men. At once the news was carried to the Prince, who was with the King.

“The King was not a believer in conjurers, and he quickly told the attendants to go send the vagabond about his business. But the young Prince was so keen to recover the beautiful horse which he had intended as a wedding gift for the Princess Myla that he insisted on consulting the conjurer. So the man was sent for. He came, followed by a number of people who were anxious to see what he would do. He had a very wise look as he bowed to the King and to the Prince.

“‘Who are you?’ the King asked with a frown.

“‘A poor pilgrim, your Majesty. Nothing more.’

“‘What is your business?’

“‘I am a student, your Majesty.’

“‘Where are your books?’

“‘In men’s faces, your Majesty.’

“The man’s replies were so apt that the King’s ill-humor partly passed away.

“‘A horse has been stolen from the royal stables,’ said the King. ‘I am told you are a conjurer. If you are, find the horse.’

“The man seated himself on the carpet, drew a crystal stone from his pocket, and asked the young Prince to warm it in the palm of his hand. Then the man took it and looked at it a few moments, rubbing his hand over it as if something blurred his sight. Then he said:—

“‘The horse has on a blanket woven on a Russian loom. I see! A dapple-gray with milk-white mane and tail.’

“‘That is the horse!’ cried the Prince. ‘Where is he?’

“‘He is tied in a thicket a half league from here, near a road that leads to the river. He paws the ground and whinnies for his master. He is hungry.’

“At once messengers were sent and the horse found. The Prince was about to give the man a purse of gold, but the King stayed his hand, saying:—

“‘I’ll test this fellow. I believe he is an imposter.’

“The man was very much frightened at this, but there was no escape for him. The King went to his private apartment, and shortly came back with a covered basket in his hand.

“‘There is a bird in this nest,’ said the King. ‘If you are a conjurer, tell me the name of it.’

“‘Alas, your Majesty,’ cried the man, preparing to fall on his knees and beg for mercy, ‘a nest that wouldn’t fit a sparrow might chance to fit a crow.’

AS HE DID SO, A CROW HOPPED OUT

“‘You certainly have gifts,’ remarked the King as he lifted the cover from the basket. As he did so a crow hopped out and went stalking about the room. The man was more astonished than the King. In his fright he had hit on an old saying that he had often heard, and it saved his life.

“The Prince gave the man a purse of gold and he was about to retire, when suddenly an attendant came running into the chamber crying that some one had stolen the beautiful diamond ring belonging to the Princess Myla.

“‘Tell the Princess to trouble herself no further. We have here a man who will be able to find it,’ said the King.

“‘Allow me a little time, your Majesty,’ cried the man, who was now frightened nearly out of his wits. ‘Let me go into a vacant room in a quiet part of the palace, where I may have an opportunity to look into this matter.’

“He was soon placed in a room near the servants’ quarters, the attendants telling him that he would be summoned by the King in an hour. He went into the room, shut the door, and flung himself on the floor, bewailing his unhappy condition.

“Now the ring had been stolen by one of the women in attendance on the Princess. She was so pale and sad-looking that her companions had nicknamed her Misery, and sometimes the Princess herself, in a spirit of fun, called her by that name. She had heard how the conjurer had discovered the stolen horse, and she had seen him name the crow in the covered basket. Consequently she was very much frightened when she heard the King command him to find the stolen ring. She saw the conjurer go into the room, and after a while she crept to the door to listen, so great was her fear.

“The man in the room was not thinking of the stolen ring at all. He was merely bewailing his unhappy lot.

“‘Oh, misery, misery!’ he cried; ‘I have heard of you, but now I know you!’

“He had no sooner said this than there came a knock on the door and a voice said:—

“‘Don’t talk so loud! Open the door!’

“The man opened the door and saw a woman standing there trembling and weeping.

“‘Don’t expose me,’ she said, ‘but spare my life. I have the ring here. I did wrong to steal it.’

“For a moment the man was so overcome with astonishment that he was unable to speak. He took the ring in his hand and looked at it while the woman continued to plead with him. He handed her the ring again.

“‘Take it,’ he said, ‘and place it beneath the corner of one of the rugs in the bedroom of the Princess. Be quick about it, for I am going to the King.’

“The woman ran and did as she had been told, and then the man came from the room and sent an attendant to inform the King that the ring had been found. The King sent for him.

“‘Where is the ring?’

“‘Under a corner of a rug in the bedroom of the Princess, your Majesty,’ replied the man, bowing low and smiling.

“Search was at once made, and sure enough the beautiful ring was found under a corner of a rug in the Princess’s bedroom. The Princess herself came to thank the conjurer, and if he had not been a very sensible man his head would have been turned by the attention he received. Even the King no longer doubted the conjurer’s powers.

“‘There is something in this man,’ said the King, and he straightway offered him a high position among his councilors.

“The man thanked the King most heartily, but declared that his business would not allow him to remain another day at court. So the King gave him a purse of gold, the young Prince gave him another, and the beautiful Princess Myla gave him a string of pearls of great value. Then he went home, bought him some land, built him a comfortable house, and went into business for himself.

“It sometimes happened that his wife complained because he did not accept the King’s offer and remain at court, so that she might have flourished as a fine lady, but he always replied by saying that the man is a fool who will tempt Providence more than three times in a lifetime. Though he went into the palace poor and came out of it rich, he had escaped only by the skin of his teeth. He was always grateful for his good fortune, and by his example taught his children to lead virtuous lives and always to help the poor and needy.”

XI.
THE KING OF THE CLINKERS.

Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes had stopped frolicking, and were now listening to the stories. While Mrs. Meadows was telling about the lucky conjurer, Tickle-My-Toes became very uneasy. He moved about restlessly, pulled off his big straw hat, put it on again, and seemed to be waiting impatiently for the time to come when he might say something.

So, when Mrs. Meadows had finished, she looked at Tickle-My-Toes to see what he wanted. The rest did the same. But Tickle-My-Toes blushed very red, and looked at his feet.

“You acted as if you wanted to say something,” said Mrs. Meadows, “and if you do, now’s your chance. What’s the matter? Have you run a splinter in your foot? You look as if you wanted to cry.”

“I did want to say something,” replied Tickle-My-Toes.

“What was it?” Mrs. Meadows inquired.

“Nothing much,” answered Tickle-My-Toes, putting his finger in his mouth.

“I declare, I’m ashamed of you,” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “Here you are mighty near as old as I am, and yet trying to play boo-hoo baby.”

“I don’t think you ought to talk that way,” said Tickle-My-Toes. “I thread your needles for you every day, and I do everything you ask me.”

“I know what’s the matter with you,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “You want me to take you in my lap and rock you to sleep.”

“Oh! I don’t!” cried Tickle-My-Toes, blushing again. “I wanted to tell a story I heard, but I’ll go off somewhere and tell it to myself.”

“There wouldn’t be any fun in that,” suggested Buster John.

“No,” said Mrs. Meadows. “Tell the story right here, so we can enjoy it with you.”

“You’ll laugh,” protested Tickle-My-Toes.

“Not unless there’s something in the story to laugh at.”

“This is no laughing story. It’s just as solemn as it can be,” explained Tickle-My-Toes.

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit. “If there’s anything I like, it is one of those solemn stories that make you feel like you want to go off behind the house and shake hands with yourself, and cry boo-hoo to the ell-and-yard and seven stars.”

Mr. Rabbit’s enthusiastic remark was very encouraging to Tickle-My-Toes, who, after scratching his head a little, and looking around to see if he could find a place to hide when the time came, began his story in this wise:—

“Once upon a time, and in a big town away off yonder somewhere, there lived a little boy who had no father nor mother. He was so small that nobody seemed to care anything about him. But one day a woman, the wife of a baker, heard him crying in the streets, and carried him into the house, and gave him something to eat, and warmed him by the fire, and after that he felt better.

“The baker himself grumbled a great deal when he came home and found what his wife had done. He said he wouldn’t be surprised to come home some day and find his house full of other people’s children. But his wife replied that it would be well enough to complain when he found the house full. As for this little brat, she said, he wouldn’t fill a milk jar if he was put in it, much less a great big house.

“The baker growled and grumbled, but his wife paid no attention to him. She sat in her chair and rocked and sang, and was just as good-natured as she could be. After a while the baker himself got over his grumbling, and began to laugh. He told his wife that he had sold all his bread that day, and had orders for as much the next day.

“‘Of course,’ said she; ‘but if I had left that child crying in the streets your business would have been ruined before the year is out.’

“‘Maybe so,’ replied the baker.

“Well, the little boy grew very fast, and was as lively as a cricket. The baker’s wife thought as much of him as if he had been her own son, and the baker himself soon came to be very fond of him. He was very smart, too. He learned to watch the fire under the big oven, and to make himself useful in many ways. He played about the oven so much, and was so fond of watching the bread bake and the fire burn, that the baker’s wife called him Sparkle Spry.

“For many years the country where the baker and his wife and Sparkle Spry lived had been at peace with all the other countries. But one day a man from a neighboring country had his nose pulled by somebody in the baker’s country, and then war was declared by the kings and queens, and the people fell to fighting.

“Now, when people fight they must be fed, and the cheapest thing to feed them on is bread. A part of the army camped near the town where the baker lived, and there was a great demand for bread. The baker’s oven was not a large one, and by running it day and night he could only bake three hundred loaves.

“He and his wife baked until they were tired out. They told Sparkle Spry to watch the oven so that the bread wouldn’t burn, and to wake them when it was brown. They were so tired that Sparkle Spry was sorry for them, and he wondered why he wasn’t big enough to take their places, if only for one day and night. While he was thinking and wishing, he saw something moving. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and then he saw an old man, no bigger than a broomstick, and no taller than a teacup, peeping from behind the oven.

HE SAW AN OLD MAN, NO BIGGER THAN A BROOMSTICK

“‘Are they all gone?’ he whispered, coming forward a little way.

“‘All who?’ asked Sparkle Spry.

“‘The old ones—the big man and the fat woman.’

“‘They have gone to bed,’ said Sparkle Spry. ‘I can call them!’

“‘No, no,’ cried the old man. ‘They are such fools! They don’t know what is good for them. I have been waiting for years to get a chance to show them how to bake bread. Once I showed myself to the man, and he thought I was a snake; once to the woman, and she thought I was a rat. What fools they are!’

“‘Who are you?’ inquired Sparkle Spry. He didn’t like to hear his friends abused.

“‘Who—me? I’m the King of the Clinkers—twice plunged in the water and twice burned in the fire.’

“‘Well, to-night you can bake all the bread you want to,’ said Sparkle Spry. ‘The baker and his wife have been trying to supply the army that is camped here, but their oven is too small. They have worked until they can work no longer, and now they have gone to bed to rest.’

“‘Good!’ cried the King of the Clinkers. ‘Shut the door, so they can’t hear us! I’ll show them a thing or two about baking bread.’

“Then he walked close to the hot oven, tapped on it with a little poker that he carried in his belt, and called out: ‘Wake up! Get out! Come on! Hurry up! We’ve no time to lose! Show yourselves! Stir about! Be lively!’

“With that, hundreds of little men swarmed out of the ash heap behind the oven, some of them sneezing and some rubbing their eyes, but all jumping about with motions as quick as those of a flea when he jumps.”

“Oh, please don’t talk about fleas,” pleaded Mr. Rabbit, shuddering and scratching himself behind the ear. “It makes the cold chills run up my back. I never hear ’em named but I think I can feel ’em crawling on me.”

“Anyhow, that’s the way the little men jumped about,” said Tickle-My-Toes, resuming his story. “They swarmed in and out of the oven, hot as it was; they swarmed in and out of the flour barrels; they swarmed in and out of the trough where the dough was kneaded; and they swarmed in and out of the woodshed.

“The King of the Clinkers stood sometimes on the edge of the oven, sometimes on the edge of the flour barrels, sometimes on the edge of the trough, sometimes on the woodpile, and sometimes at the door of the furnace. And wherever he stood he waved his tiny poker and told the others what to do.

“Some of the little men carried wood to the furnace, some carried flour and water to the trough, some carried dough to the oven, and some brought out the hot and smoking bread. Sparkle Spry watched all this with so much surprise that he didn’t know what to say or do. He saw the loaves of bread rise up in rows as high as the ceiling, and he sat and watched it as dumb as an oyster. He had seen bread baked, but he had never seen such baking as this.

“Finally the eye of the King of the Clinkers fell on Sparkle Spry. ‘Don’t sit there doing nothing,’ he cried. ‘Go fetch wood and pile it here by the furnace door. You can do that!’

“Sparkle Spry did as he was bid, but though he brought the wood as fast as he could, he found that he couldn’t bring it fast enough. Pretty soon the King of the Clinkers called out to him:

“‘You can rest now. The flour is all gone, and we have hardly begun.’

“‘There’s plenty in the storehouse,’ said Sparkle Spry.

“‘How many barrels?’ asked the King of the Clinkers.

“‘Two hundred,’ Sparkle Spry answered.

“The King of the Clinkers wrung his hands in despair. ‘Hardly a mouthful—hardly a mouthful! It will all be gone before the chickens crow for day. But run fetch the key. Two hundred barrels will keep us busy while they last.’

“Sparkle Spry brought the key of the storehouse door, and the little men swarmed in and rolled the barrels out in a jiffy. Only one accident happened. In taking the flour out of one of the barrels, after they had rolled it near the dough trough, one of the little men fell in and would have been drowned but for Sparkle Spry, who felt around in the loose flour and lifted him out.”

“Drowned!” cried Sweetest Susan.

“Of course,” answered Tickle-My-Toes. “Why not? I ought to have said ‘smothered,’ but now that I’ve said ‘drowned’ I’ll stick to it.”

“Better stick to the story,” remarked Mr. Rabbit solemnly,—“Better stick to the story.”

“Now, I think he’s doing very well,” said Mrs. Meadows in an encouraging tone.

“Well,” said Tickle-My-Toes, “the little men worked away until they had baked the two hundred barrels of flour into nice brown loaves of bread. This made five hundred barrels they had used, and that was all the baker had on hand. The fifteen hundred pounds of flour made twenty hundred and odd fat loaves, and these the King of the Clinkers had carried into the storehouse.

“When all this was done, and nicely done, the King of the Clinkers went to the door of the room where the baker and his wife were sleeping. They were snoring as peacefully as two good people ever did. Then he went to the street door and listened.

“‘Get home—get home!’ he cried to the little men. ‘I hear wagons rumbling on the pavement; they will be here presently for bread.’

“The little men scampered this way and that, behind the oven and into the ash heap, and, in a few seconds, all had disappeared.

“‘Now,’ said the King of the Clinkers, ‘I want to tell you that I’ve had a splendid time, and I’m very much obliged to you for it. I have enjoyed myself, and I want to make some returns for it. Pretty soon the bread wagons will be at the door clamoring for bread. You will wake the baker and his wife. When they find all their flour made into nice bread they will be very much surprised. They will ask you who did it. You must tell them the truth. They will not believe it, but they’ll be very proud of you. They will be willing to give you anything you want. Tell them you want a wooden horse. They will have it built for you. It must have a window on each side and good strong hinges in the legs. Good-by! I hear the wagons at the door.’

“The King of the Clinkers waved his hand and disappeared behind the oven. The wagons rattled near the door, the teamsters cracking their whips and calling for bread for the hungry army. Sparkle Spry ran to the baker and shook him, and ran to the baker’s wife and shook her. They were soon awake, but when the baker learned that the wagons had come for bread, he threw up both hands in despair.

“‘I’m ruined!’ he cried. ‘I ought to have been baking and here I’ve been sleeping! And the army marches away to-day, leaving me with all my stock of flour on hand. Oh, why didn’t the boy wake me?’

“‘Come,’ said his wife; ‘we’ll sell what we’ve got, and not cry over the rest.’

“They went into the storehouse, and there they saw a sight such as they had never seen before. The room was so full of steaming bread that they could hardly squeeze in at the door. From floor to ceiling it was stacked and packed. They sold and sold until every loaf was gone, and then, instead of the bread, the baker and his wife had a sack full of silver money.

“The baker went in to count it, but his wife took it away from him. ‘Not now,’ she said; ‘not until we have thanked this boy.’

“‘You are right!’ cried the baker. ‘It’s the most wonderful thing I ever heard of. How did you manage it?’

“‘Some little men helped me,’ answered Sparkle Spry.

“The woman seized his hands and kissed his fingers. ‘These are the little men,’ she exclaimed.

“‘There’s one thing I’m sorry for,’ said Sparkle Spry.

“‘What is that?’ asked the baker.

“‘Why, we had to burn so much wood.’

“‘Don’t mention it—don’t mention it,’ protested the baker.

“‘Now,’ said the baker’s wife, embracing Sparkle Spry again, ‘you deserve something for making us rich. What shall it be?’

“The baker frowned a little at this, but his brow cleared when Sparkle Spry replied that he wanted a wooden horse built.

“‘You shall have it,’ said the baker’s wife.

“‘Yes, indeed,’ assented the baker. ‘As fine a one as you want.’”

XII.
THE TERRIBLE HORSE.

When Tickle-My-Toes had told about how pleased the baker and his wife were with Sparkle Spry, he paused and looked at Chickamy Crany Crow, as if he expected that she would beckon him away. But, instead of that, she said:—

“Why, that isn’t all.”

“Well, it’s enough, I hope,” replied Tickle-My-Toes.

“No,” said Mrs. Meadows, “it’s not enough, if there’s any more. Why, so far it’s the best of all the stories. It’s new to me. I had an idea that I had heard all the stories, but this one is a pole over my persimmon, as we used to say in the country next door.”

“I don’t like to tell stories,” protested Tickle-My-Toes, puckering his face in a comical way. “It’s too confining.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit. “It’s time you were settling down. What will you look like a year or two from now, if you keep on cutting up your capers?”

Tickle-My-Toes caught hold of the corner of Chickamy Crany Crow’s apron, and, thus fortified, resumed his story:—

“Well, the baker and his wife promised Sparkle Spry they would have him a big wooden horse made, and they were as good as their word. They sent right off that very day for a carpenter and joiner, and when he came, Sparkle Spry showed the man what he wanted. He said the horse must be as much like a real horse as could be made out of wood, and three times as big.

“The man asked the baker’s wife what the brat wanted with such a machine as that, and this made the good woman mad.

“‘He’s no brat, I can tell you that!’ she exclaimed, ‘and if he wants a play horse as big as a whale and the same shape, he shall have it. Now if you want to make his play horse, get to work and make it. If not, I’ll get somebody else to make it.’

“But the man declared he meant no harm, and said he was glad to get the work. So he got the lumber, and in a few days, being a very clever workman, he had finished the wooden horse. He made it just as Sparkle Spry wanted him to. He put big hinges at the joints of the legs, cut a window in each side of the body, made the ears and the nostrils hollow, and fixed pieces of glass for the eyes.

“The carpenter seemed to enjoy his work, too, for every time he went off a little distance to see how his work looked, he laughed as hard as he could. When he was nearly done he asked Sparkle Spry if he wanted the roof shingled.

“‘Why, no,’ replied the boy. ‘There’s no roof there. Besides, horses don’t have shingles on them.’

“He’ll look pretty rough,” remarked the man.

“‘Yes,’ said Sparkle Spry, ‘but after you get through with him he is to be polished off.’

“‘That’s so,’ the carpenter assented, ‘but this horse has a good many things about him that other horses haven’t got.’

“So, when the carpenter was through with the horse, a leather finisher was sent for, and he covered the horse with hides of cows tanned with the hair on, and fixed a cow’s tail where the horse’s tail should have been.

“The baker grumbled a little at this extra expense, and said he was afraid Sparkle Spry had strained his head the night he baked so much bread. But the baker’s wife said she would like to have a whole house full of crazy children, if Sparkle Spry was crazy.

“When the wooden horse was finished, Sparkle Spry waited until the baker and his wife had gone to bed, and then he tapped on the oven and whistled. Presently the King of the Clinkers peeped out to see what the matter was. He came from behind the oven cautiously, until he found that Sparkle Spry was alone, and then he came forth boldly.

“‘The horse is ready,’ said Sparkle Spry.

“‘Ready!’ exclaimed the King of the Clinkers. ‘Well, I think it is high time. My workmen could have built it in a night; and here I have been waiting and waiting for I don’t know how long.’

“‘I hope you’ll like it,’ Sparkle Spry suggested.

“‘Like it!’ cried the King of the Clinkers. ‘Why, of course I’ll like it. I haven’t enjoyed a ride in so long that I’m not likely to quarrel with the horse that carries me.’

“‘But this is a wooden horse,’ remarked Sparkle Spry.

“‘I should hope so; yes, indeed!’ grunted the King of the Clinkers. ‘I have been riding wooden horses as long as I can remember. They may be a little clumsy, but they suit me.’

“‘But this horse has no rockers,’ persisted Sparkle Spry. ‘It is as solid as a house.’

“‘Much you know about wooden horses,’ said the King of the Clinkers. ‘Wait; I’ll call my torchbearers.’

“He tapped on the oven with his tiny poker, and immediately a company of little men filed out from behind it. As they passed the furnace door they lit their torches at a live coal, and marched out to the wooden horse, followed by the King of the Clinkers and Sparkle Spry.

“The latter had reason to be very much astonished at what he saw then and afterwards. The torchbearers led the way to the left foreleg of the wooden horse, opened a door, and filed up a spiral stairway, the King of the Clinkers following after. Sparkle Spry climbed up by means of a stepladder that the carpenter had used. When he crawled through the window in the side of the wooden horse, he saw that a great transformation had taken place, and the sight of it almost took his breath away.

“A furnace with a small bake oven had been fitted up, and there was also a supply of flour, coal, and wood. The flue from the furnace ran in the inside of the horse’s neck, finding a vent for the smoke at the ears. On all sides were to be seen the tools and furniture of a bakery, and there were places where the little men might stow themselves away when they were not on duty, and there was a special apartment for the King of the Clinkers.

“In a little while the whole interior of the horse swarmed with the followers of the King of the Clinkers, who stood counting them as they came in.

“‘All here,’ he said, waving his little poker. ‘Now get to bed and rest yourselves.’

“They complied so promptly that they seemed to disappear as if by magic. The torchbearers had thrown their torches in the furnace, and as wood had already been placed there, a fire was soon kindled.

“‘Now,’ said the King of the Clinkers, closing the draught, ‘we’ll let it warm up a little and see if the carpenter has done his work well.’

“Thereupon he pulled a cord that seemed to be tied to a bell, and, in a little while, Sparkle Spry felt that the horse was in motion. He hardly knew what to make of it. He went to the window and peeped out, and the lights in the houses seemed to be all going to the rear. Occasionally a creaking sound was heard, and sometimes he could feel a jar or jolt in the horse’s frame.

“‘Are we flying?’ he asked, turning to the King of the Clinkers.

“‘Flying! Nothing of the sort. Don’t you feel a jolt when the horse lifts up a foot and puts it down again? I’m mighty glad it is a pacing horse. If it was a trotting horse it would shake us all to pieces.’

“‘Where are we going?’ inquired Sparkle Spry.

“‘Following the army—following the army,’ replied the King of the Clinkers. ‘There’s going to be a big battle not far from here, and we may take a hand in it. The king of the country is a fat old rascal, and isn’t very well thought of by the rest of the kings, who are his cousins; but I live here, and he has never bothered me. Consequently, I don’t mind helping him out in a pinch.’

“‘How far do you have to go?’ asked Sparkle Spry, who had no great relish for war if it was as hard as he had heard it was.

“‘Oh, a good many miles,’ replied the King of the Clinkers, ‘and we are not getting on at all. There’s not enough mutton suet on the knee hinges to suit me.’

“So saying, he struck the bell twice, and instantly Sparkle Spry could feel that the wooden horse was going faster.

“‘Does the horse go by the road or through the fields?’ asked Sparkle Spry.

“‘Oh, we take short cuts when necessary,’ answered the King of the Clinkers. ‘We have no time to go round by the road. I hope you are not scared.’

“‘No, not scared,’ replied Sparkle Spry somewhat doubtfully; ‘but it makes me feel queer to be traveling through the country in a wooden horse.’

“Nothing more was said for some time, and Sparkle Spry must have dropped off to sleep, for suddenly he was aroused by the voice of the King of the Clinkers, who called out:—

“‘Here we are! Get up! Stir about!’

“Sparkle Spry jumped to his feet and looked from the window. Day was just dawning, and on the plain before him he saw hundreds of twinkling lights, as if a shower of small stars had fallen to the ground during the night. Being somewhat dazed by his experiences, he asked what they were.

“‘Camp-fires,’ replied the King of the Clinkers. ‘The army that we are going to attack is camped further away, but if you will lift your eyes a little, you will see their camp-fires.’

“‘Do we attack them by ourselves?’ Sparkle Spry asked.

“‘Of course!’ the King of the Clinkers answered. ‘I never did like too much company; besides, I want you to get the credit of it.’

“‘Now, I’d rather be certain of a whole skin than to have any credit,’ protested Sparkle Spry.

“But the King of the Clinkers paid no attention to his protests. He gave his orders to his little men, and strutted about with an air of importance that Sparkle Spry would have thought comical if he had not been thinking of the battle.

“Daylight came on and drowned out the camp-fires, leaving only thin columns of blue smoke to mark them. The wooden horse moved nearer and nearer to the army directly in front of them, and finally came close to the headquarters of the commanding general, who sent out a soldier to inquire the meaning of the apparition. Finally the general came himself, accompanied by his staff, and to him Sparkle Spry repeated what the King of the Clinkers had told him to say. The general pulled his mustache and knitted his brows mightily, and finally he said:—

“‘I’m obliged to you for coming. You’ll have to do the best you can. I never have commanded a wooden horse, and if I were to tell you what to do, I might get you into trouble. I’ll just send word along the line that the wooden horse is on our side, and you’ll have to do the best you can.’

“As he said, so he did. The army soon knew that a big wooden horse had come to help it, and when the queer-looking machine moved to the front, the soldiers got out of the way as fast as they could, and some of them forgot to carry their arms with them. But order was soon restored, and presently it was seen that the opposing army was marching forward to begin the battle.

“The King of the Clinkers waited until the line was formed, and then he sounded the little bell. The horse started off. The bell rang twice, and the horse went faster. Sparkle Spry, looking from the window, could see that he was going at a tremendous rate. The horse went close to the opposing army, and then turned and went down the line to the left. Turning, it came up the line, this time very close. Turning again, it came back, and the soldiers in the front line were compelled to scamper out of the way. While this was going on, the other army came up, but by the time it arrived on the battle-ground there was nothing to fight.

THE WOODEN HORSE HAD STAMPEDED THE ENEMY’S ARMY

“The wooden horse had stampeded the enemy’s army, and the soldiers had all run away, leaving their arms, their tents, and their bread wagons to be captured.

“The commanding general of the victorious army thanked Sparkle Spry very heartily. ‘I’ll mention your name in my report to the king,’ he said. ‘But I hardly know what to say about the affair. You wouldn’t call this a battle, would you?’

“‘No,’ replied Sparkle Spry, ‘I saw no signs of a battle where I went along.’

“‘It is very curious,’ said the general. ‘I don’t know what we are coming to. A great victory, but nobody killed and no prisoners taken.’

“Then he went off to write his report, and some time afterward the king sent for Sparkle Spry, and gave him lands and houses and money, and made him change his every-day name for a high-sounding one. And the baker and his wife came to live near him, and the King of the Clinkers used to come at night with all his little men, and they had a very good time after all, in spite of the high-sounding name.”

With this, Tickle-My-Toes turned and ran away as hard as he could, whereupon Mr. Rabbit opened his eyes and asked in the most solemn way:—

“Is there a wooden horse after him? I wish you’d look.”

XIII.
HOW BROTHER LION LOST HIS WOOL.

Mr. Rabbit shaded his eyes with his hand, and pretended to believe that there might be a wooden horse trying to catch Tickle-My-Toes after all. But Mrs. Meadows said that there was no danger of anything like that. She explained that Tickle-My-Toes was running away because he didn’t want to hear what was said about his story.

“I think he’s right,” remarked Mr. Rabbit. “It was the queerest tale I ever heard in all my life. You might sit and listen to tales from now until—well—until the first Tuesday before the last Saturday in the year seven hundred thousand, seven hundred and seventy-seven, and you’d never hear another tale like it.”

“I don’t see why,” suggested Mrs. Meadows.

“Well,” replied Mr. Rabbit, chewing his tobacco very slowly, “there are more reasons than I have hairs in my head, but I’ll only give you three. In the first place, this Sparkle Spry doesn’t marry the king’s daughter. In the second place, he doesn’t live happily forever after; and in the third place”—Mr. Rabbit paused and scratched his head—“I declare, I’ve forgotten the third reason.”

“If it’s no better than the other two, it doesn’t amount to much,” said Mrs. Meadows. “There’s no reason why he shouldn’t have married the king’s daughter, if the king had a daughter, and if he didn’t live happily it was his own fault. Stories are not expected to tell everything.”

“Now, I’m glad of that,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, “truly glad. I’ve had a story on my mind for many years, and I’ve kept it to myself because I had an idea that in telling a story you had to tell everything.”

“Well, you were very much mistaken,” said Mrs. Meadows with emphasis.

“So it seems—so it seems,” remarked Mr. Rabbit.

“What was the story?” asked Buster John.

“I called it a story,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “but that is too big a name for it. I reckon you have heard of the time when Brother Lion had hair all over him as long and as thick as the mane he now has?”

But the children shook their heads. They had never heard of that, and even Mrs. Meadows said it was news to her.

“Now, that is very queer,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, filling his pipe slowly and deliberately. “Very queer, indeed. Time and again I’ve had it on the tip of my tongue to mention this matter, but I always came to the conclusion that everybody knew all about it. Of course it doesn’t seem reasonable that Brother Lion went about covered from head to foot, and to the tip of his tail, with long, woolly hair; but, on the other hand, when he was first seen without his long, woolly hair, he was the laughing-stock of the whole district. I know mighty well he was the most miserable looking creature I ever saw.

“It was curious, too, how it happened,” Mr. Rabbit continued. “We were all living in a much colder climate than that in the country next door. Six months in the year there was ice in the river and snow on the ground, and them that didn’t lay up something to eat when the weather was open had a pretty tough time of it the rest of the year. Brother Lion’s long woolly hair belonged to the climate. But for that, he would have frozen to death, for he was a great hunter, and he had to be out in all sorts of weather.

“One season we had a tremendous spell of cold weather, the coldest I had ever felt. I happened to be out one day, browsing around, when I saw blue smoke rising a little distance off, so I says to myself, says I, I’ll go within smelling distance of the fire and thaw myself out. I went towards the smoke, and I soon saw that Mr. Man, who lived not far off, had been killing hogs.

“Now, the funny thing about that hog-killing business,” continued Mr. Rabbit, leaning back in his chair and smacking his lips together, as old people will do sometimes, “was that, after the hogs were killed, Mr. Man had to get their hair off. I don’t know how people do now, but that was what Mr. Man did then. He had to get the hair off—but how? Well, he piled up wood, and in between the logs he placed rocks and stones. Then he dug a hole in the ground and half buried a hogshead, the open end tilted up a little higher than the other end. This hogshead he filled with as much water as it would hold in that position. Then he set fire to the pile of wood. As it burned, of course the rocks would become heated. These Mr. Man would take in a shovel and throw in the hogshead of water. The hot rocks would heat the water, and in this way the hogs were scalded so the hair on their hides could be scraped off.

“Well, the day I’m telling you about, Mr. Man had been killing hogs and scalding the hair off. When I got there the pile of wood had burned away, and Mr. Man had just taken his hogs home in his wagon. The weather was very cold, and as I stood there warming myself I heard Brother Lion roaring a little way off. He had scented the fresh meat, and I knew he would head right for the place where the hogs had been killed.

“Now, Brother Lion had been worrying me a good deal. He had hired Brother Wolf to capture me, and Brother Wolf had failed. Then he hired Brother Bear, and Brother Bear got into deep trouble. Finally he hired Brother Fox, and I knew the day wasn’t far off when Mrs. Fox would have to hang crape on her door and go in mourning. All this had happened some time before, and I bore Brother Lion no good will.

“So, when I heard him in the woods singing out that he smelled fresh blood, I grabbed the shovel the man had left, and threw a dozen or so hot rocks in the hogshead, and then threw some fresh dirt on the fire. Presently Brother Lion came trotting up, sniffing the air, purring like a spinning wheel a-running, and dribbling at the mouth.

“I passed the time of day with him as he came up, but kept further away from him than he could jump. He seemed very much surprised to see me, and said it was pretty bad weather for such little chaps to be out; but I told him I had on pretty thick underwear, and besides that I had just taken a hot bath in the hogshead.

“‘I’m both cold and dirty,’ says he, smelling around the hogshead, ‘and I need a bath. I’ve been asleep in the woods yonder, and I’m right stiff with cold. But that water is bubbling around in there mightily.’

“‘I’ve just flung some rocks in,’ says I.

“‘How do you get in?’ says he.

“‘Back in,’ says I.

“Brother Lion walked around the hogshead once or twice, as if to satisfy himself that there was no trap, and then he squatted and began to crawl into the hogshead backwards. By the time his hind leg touched the water, he pulled it out with a howl, and tried to jump away, but, somehow, his foot slipped off the rim of the hogshead, and he soused into the water—kerchug!—up to his shoulders.”

Mr. Rabbit paused, shut his eyes, and chuckled to himself.

YOU NEVER HEARD SUCH HOWLING SINCE YOU WERE BORN

“Well, you never heard such howling since you were born. Brother Lion scrambled out quicker than a cat can wink her left eye, and rolled on the ground, and scratched around, and tore up the earth considerably. I thought at first he was putting on and pretending; but the water must have been mighty hot, for while Brother Lion was scuffling around, all the wool on his body came off up to his shoulders, and if you were to see him to-day you’d find him just that way.

“And more than that—before he soused himself in that hogshead of hot water, Brother Lion used to strut around considerably. Being the king of all the animals, he felt very proud, and he used to go with his tail curled over his back. But since that time, he sneaks around as if he was afraid somebody would see him.

“There’s another thing. His hide hurt him so bad for a week that every time a fly lit on him he’d wiggle his tail. Some of the other animals, seeing him do this, thought it was a new fashion, and so they began to wiggle their tails. Watch your old house cat when you go home, and you will see her wiggle her tail forty times a day without any reason or provocation. Why? Simply because the other animals, when they saw Brother Lion wiggling his tail, thought it was the fashion; and so they all began it, and now it has become a habit with the most of them. It is curious how such things go.

“But the queerest thing of all,” continued Mr. Rabbit, leaning back in his chair, and looking at Mrs. Meadows and the children through half-closed eyes, “was this—that the only wool left on Brother Lion’s body, with the exception of his mane, was a little tuft right on the end of his tail.”

“How was that?” inquired Mrs. Meadows.

Mr. Rabbit laughed heartily, but made no reply.

“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” said Mrs. Meadows with some emphasis. “A civil question deserves a civil answer, I’ve always heard.”

“Well, you know what you said a while ago,” remarked Mr. Rabbit.

“I don’t know as I remember,” replied Mrs. Meadows.

“Why, you said pointedly that it was not necessary to tell everything in a story.” Mr. Rabbit made this remark with great dignity. “And I judged by the way you said it that it was bad taste to tell everything.”

“Oh, I remember now,” said Mrs. Meadows, laughing. “It was only one of my jokes.”

“But this is no joke,” protested Mr. Rabbit, winking at the children, but keeping the serious side of his face toward Mrs. Meadows. “I took you at your solemn word. Now there is a tuft of wool on Brother Lion’s tail, and you ask me how it happened to be there. I answer you as you answered me—’You don’t have to tell everything in a story.’ Am I right, or am I wrong?”

“I’ll not dispute with you,” remarked Mrs. Meadows, taking up her knitting.

“I don’t mind telling you,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, turning to the children with a confidential air. “It was as simple as falling off a log. When Brother Lion fell into the hogshead of hot water, the end of his tail slipped through the bunghole.”

This explanation was such an unexpected one that the children laughed, and so did Mrs. Meadows. But Mr. Thimblefinger, who had put in an appearance, shook his head and remarked that he was afraid that Mr. Rabbit got worse as he grew older, instead of better.

XIV.
BROTHER LION HAS A SPELL OF SICKNESS.

“The fact is,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “I was just telling the story—if you can call it a story—to please company. If you think the end of Brother Lion’s tale is the end of the story, well and good; but it didn’t stop there when I told it in my young days. And it didn’t stop there when it happened. But maybe I’ve talked too long and said too much. You know how we gabble when we get old.”

“I like to hear you talk,” said Sweetest Susan, edging a little closer to Mr. Rabbit and smiling cutely.

Mr. Rabbit took off his glasses and wiped them on his big red handkerchief.

“There’s some comfort in that,” he declared. “If you really like to hear me talk, I’ll go right ahead and tell the rest of the story. It’s a little rough in spots, but you’ll know how to make allowances for that. The creatures had claws and tushes, and where these grow thick and long, there’s bound to be more or less scratching and biting.

“Of course, when Brother Lion had the wool scalded off his hide, he was in a pretty bad condition. He managed to get home, but it was a long time before he could come out and go roaming around the country. As he was the king of the animals, of course all the rest of the creatures called on him to see how he was getting on. I didn’t go myself, because I didn’t know how he felt towards me. I was afraid he had heard me laugh when he backed into the hogshead of hot water, though I made believe I was sneezing. Consequently, I didn’t go and ask him how he was getting on.

“But I went close enough to know that Brother Fox had told Brother Lion a great rigamarole about me. That was Brother Fox’s way. In front of your face, he was sweeter than sauce and softer than pudding, but behind your back—well, he didn’t have any claws, but what tushes he had he showed them.

“I never did hear what Brother Fox said about me in any one place and at any one time, but I heard a little here and a little there, and when it was all patched up and put together it made a great mess. I had done this, and I had done that; I had laughed at Brother Lion behind his back, and I had snickered at him before his face; I had talked about him and made fun of him; and, besides all that, I had never had the politeness to call on him.

“All the other animals found Brother Lion so willing to listen that they learned Brother Fox’s lies by heart, and went and recited them here and there about the country; and in that way I got hold of the worst of them. The trouble with Brother Fox was that he had an old grudge against me. He had been trying to outdo me for many a long year, but somehow or other he always got caught in his own trap. He had a willing mind and a thick head, and when these get together there’s always trouble. The willing mind pushes and the thick head goes with its eyes shut.

“In old times, people used to say that Brother Fox was cunning, but I believe they’ve quit that since the facts have come to light. My experience with him is that he is blessed with about as much sense as a half-grown guinea pig. He’s a pretty swift runner, but he doesn’t even know when the time comes to run.

“Of course, when Brother Fox found out that for some reason or other I wasn’t visiting Brother Lion, he seized the chance to talk about me, and it wasn’t such a great while before he managed to make Brother Lion believe that I was the worst enemy he had and the cause of all his trouble.

“I knew pretty well that something of the sort was going on, for every time I’d meet any of the other animals, they’d ask me why I didn’t call and see Brother Lion. Brother Fox, especially, was anxious to know why I hadn’t gone to ask after Brother Lion’s health.

“I put them all off for some time, until finally one day I heard that Brother Lion had given Brother Fox orders to catch me and bring me before him. This didn’t worry me at all, because I knew that Brother Fox was just as able to catch me as I was to catch a wild duck in the middle of a mill-pond. But I concluded I’d go and see Brother Lion and find out all about his health.

“So I went, taking good care to go galloping by Brother Fox’s house. He was sitting on his front porch, and I could see he was astonished, but I neither said howdy nor turned my head. I knew he would follow along after.

“When I got to Brother Lion’s house everything was very quiet, but I knew Brother Lion was awake, for I heard him groan every time he tried to turn over. So I rapped at the door and then walked in. Brother Lion watched me from under his tousled mane for some time before he said anything. Then he says, says he:—

“‘What’s this I hear?’

“Says I, ‘Not having your ears, I can’t say.’

“‘My ears are as good as anybody’s ears,’ says he.

“‘But I can’t hear through them,’ says I.

“He grunted and grumbled a little over this, because he didn’t know what reply to make.

“‘You haven’t been to see me until now,’ says he.

“‘No,’ says I; ‘I knew you were pretty bad off, and so I had no need to come and ask you how you were. I knew I was partly to blame in the matter, and so I went off to see if I couldn’t find a cure for you.’

“Says he, ‘Don’t talk about cures. Everybody that has come to see me has a cure. I’ve tried ’em all, and now I’m worse off than I was at first.’

“Says I, ‘I could have come as often as Brother Fox did, and my coming would have done you just as much good.’

“‘I don’t know about that,’ says he. ‘Brother Fox has been mighty neighborly. He has lost sleep on my account, and he has told me a great many things that I didn’t know before.’

“‘Likely enough,’ says I. ‘I’ve known him to tell people a great many things that he didn’t know himself. But Brother Fox,’ says I, ‘was the least of all things in my mind when I found out that you had been scalded by water that was not more than milk-warm. I didn’t need to be told that when milk-warm water scalds the hair off of anybody, something else is the matter beside the scalding.’

“At this Brother Lion seemed to quiet down a little. He didn’t talk so loud, and he began to show the whites of his eyes.

“‘Yes,’ says I, ‘Brother Fox is famous for talking behind the door, but I’ve noticed that he never says anything nice about anybody. You know what he’s said about me, but do you know what he’s said about you? Of course you don’t, and I’m not going to tell you, because I don’t want you to be worried.’

“‘But I’d like to know,’ says Brother Lion, says he.

“‘It wouldn’t do you any good,’ says I. ‘I could have come here and jowered and made a good deal of trouble, but instead of that I knew of an old friend of mine who knows how to cure hot burns and cold burns, and so I’ve been off on a long trip to see the witch doctor, old Mammy-Bammy Big Money.’

“‘And did you see her?’ says Brother Lion, says he.

“‘I most certainly did,’ says I, ‘and furthermore I laid the whole case before her. I had to travel far and wide to find her, but when I did find her I asked her to tell me what was good for a person who had been scalded by milk-warm water. She asked me three times the name of the person, and three times I told her. Then she lit a pine splinter, blew it out, and watched the smoke scatter. There was something wrong, for she shook her head three times.’

“‘What did Mammy-Bammy Big Money say?’ says Brother Lion, says he. His voice sounded very weak.

“‘She said nothing,’ says I. ‘She watched the smoke scatter, and then she put her hands before her face and rocked from side to side. After that she walked back and forth, and when she sat down again she took off her left slipper, shook out the gravel, and counted it as it fell. Once more she asked me the name of the person who had been scalded in milk-warm water, and once more I told her.’

“‘Wait!’ says Brother Lion, says he. ‘Do you mean to tell me the water I fell in was only milk-warm?’

“Says I, ‘It seemed so to me. I had just washed my face and hands in it.’

“‘Well, well, well!’ says Brother Lion. ‘What else did she say?’ says he.

“‘I don’t like to tell you,’ says I; and just about that time Brother Fox walked in.

“‘But you must tell me,’ says Brother Lion, says he.

“‘Well,’ says I, ‘if I must I will, but I don’t like to. When Mammy-Bammy Big Money had counted the white pebbles that fell from her slipper, and asked me the name of the person who was scalded in milk-warm water, she told me that he could be cured by poulticing the burns with the fresh hide of his best friend. I asked her the name of this friend, but she shook her head and said she would call no names. Then she said that your best friend had short ears, a sharp nose, keen eyes, slim legs, and a bushy tail.’

“Brother Lion shut his eyes and pretended to be thinking. I looked at Brother Fox as solemnly as I knew how, and shook my head slowly. Brother Fox got mighty restless. He got up and walked around.

“‘Well, well, well!’ says Brother Lion, says he. ‘That might mean Brother Wolf, or it might mean Brother Fox.’

“‘I expect it means Brother Wolf,’ says Brother Fox.

“‘Why, you don’t mean to stand up here and say right before Brother Lion’s face and eyes that Brother Wolf is a better friend to him than you are!’ says I.

“Brother Fox’s mouth fell open and his tongue hung out, and just about that time I made my best bow, and put out for home.”

“But did Brother Lion try the remedy?” Buster John inquired, as Mr. Rabbit paused and began to light his pipe.

“I think Brother Lion caught him and skinned him. It’s a great pity if he didn’t. But I’ll not be certain. So many things have happened since then that I disremember about the hide business. But you may be sure Brother Lion was very superstitious. My best opinion is that he tried the cure.”

XV.
A MOUNTAIN OF GOLD.

“That is a funny name for a witch,” said Buster John, as Rabbit paused and began to nod.

“Which name was that?” inquired Mr. Thimblefinger.

“Why, Mammy-Bammy Big Money,” replied Buster John, elevating his voice a little.

“Well, it’s very simple,” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger. “‘Mammy-Bammy’ was to catch the ear of the animals, and ‘Big Money’ was to attract the attention of the people.”

“Dat’s so,” said Drusilla. “Kaze time you say ‘money’ folks’ll stop der work an’ lissen at you; an’ ef you say ‘Big Money’ dey’ll ax you ter say it agin’.”

“It’s very curious about money,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger. “I don’t know whether you ever thought about it much—and I hope you haven’t—but it has pestered me a good deal, this thing you call money.”

“It’s mighty bothersome,” assented Mrs. Meadows, “when you are where people use it, and when you have none except what you can beg or borrow. Thank goodness! I’m free from all bother now.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “I don’t see that people have much the advantage of the animals when it comes to using money. I’ve seen grown people work night and day for a few pieces of metal.”

“Why, of course!” cried Buster John. “They can take the pieces of metal and buy bread and meat to eat and clothes to wear.”

“So much the more wonderful!” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger. “What do the people who have more bread and meat and clothes than they can use want with the pieces of metal?”

“So they may buy something else that they haven’t got,” said Buster John.

But Mr. Thimblefinger shook his head. He was not satisfied.

“It puts me in mind of a tale I heard once about a poor man who was the richest person in the world.”

“But that couldn’t be, you know,” protested Buster John.

“Anyhow, that’s the way it seemed to me in the story,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “But the story is so old-fashioned it would hardly pass muster now. Besides, they tell me that, as there’s not enough metal to go round, people have begun to make up their minds that pieces of paper with pictures on them are just as good as the metal, and perhaps better. It’s mighty funny to me.”

“What was the story?” asked Sweetest Susan. “Please tell us about it.”

“Why, yes,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “tell us about it. If calamus root passes current with some of my acquaintances and catnip with others, I see no reason why people shouldn’t play make-believe among themselves, and say that pieces of metal and pieces of paper are worth something. In this business people have a great advantage over us. They can put figures on their pieces of metal and paper and make them worth anything, but with us a joint of calamus root is worth just so much. It has been worth that since the year one, and it will be worth that right on to the end of things. Just so with a twist of catnip. But tell us the story—tell us the story. I may drop off to sleep, but if I do, that will be no sign that the tale isn’t interesting.”

“Well,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “once upon a time there was a country in which money became very scarce. The people had a great deal, but they hid it in their stockings and in the chinks of the chimneys and in their teapots. The reason of this was that other countries close at hand made their money out of the same kind of metal, and they’d bring their goods in and sell them and carry the money off home with them.

“Of course this helped to make money scarce, and the scarcer it was the more the people clung to it, and this made it still scarcer. Naturally everybody kept an eye out in the hope of finding a supply of this metal.”

“What sort of metal was it?” asked Buster John.

“Gold,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger.

“Oh!” exclaimed Buster John, in a disappointed tone.

“Yes,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger, “nothing in the world but gold. Those who had money held on to it as long as they could, because they didn’t know how much scarcer it would be, and those who didn’t have any were willing to sell whatever they had for any price in order to get some.

“It was lots worse than playing dolls—lots worse. When children play make-believe with dolls, they soon forget about it; but when grown people begin to play make-believe with money, they never get over it. The wisest men get their heads turned when they begin to think and talk about money. They have forgotten that it was all a make-believe in the beginning.”

Here Mr. Rabbit yawned and said: “You’ll have to excuse me if I nod a little here.”

“Yes,” remarked Mrs. Meadows, “I feel a little sleepy myself, but I’ll try to keep awake for the sake of appearances.”

“Don’t mind me,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, with mock politeness. “Go to sleep if you want to, you two. I won’t have to talk so loud.

“Well, in this country I was telling you about, there was a young man who had saved some money by working hard, but he didn’t save it fast enough to suit himself. He thought so much about it that he would stop in the middle of his work, and sit and study about it an hour at a time.

“He thought about it so much that he began to dream about it, and one night he dreamed that he got in a boat and went to an island on which there was a mountain of gold that shone and glistened in the sun. He was very unhappy when he woke in the morning and found it was nothing but a dream.

“He didn’t go to work that day, but wandered about doing nothing. That night he had the same dream. He had the same dream the next night; and the morning after, the first person he saw was an old man who had stopped to rest on the doorsteps. This old man would have been like other old men but for one thing. His beard was so long that he had to part it in the middle of his chin, pass it under each arm, cross the wisps on his back, and bring them around in front again, where the two ends were tied together with a bow of red ribbon.

“‘How are you, my young friend, and how goes it?’ said the old man, smiling pleasantly. ‘You look as if you had been having wonderful dreams.’

“‘So I have, gran’sir,’ replied the young man.

“‘Well, a dream isn’t worth a snap of your finger unless it comes true, and a dream never comes true until you have dreamed it three times.’

“‘I have dreamed mine three times, gran’sir, and yet it is impossible that it should come true.’

“‘Nonsense! Nothing is impossible. Tell me your dream.’

“So the young man told the old man his dream.

“‘The Island of the Mountain of Gold!’ exclaimed the old man. ‘Why, that is right in my line of travel. I can land you there without any trouble. It is a little out of my way, but not much.’

“‘How shall we get there?’ the young man asked.

“‘On the other side of the town, I have a boat,’ replied the old man. ‘You are welcome to go with me. It is so seldom that dreams come true that I shall be glad to help this one along as well as I can. Besides, I have long wanted an excuse to visit the Island of the Mountain of Gold. I have passed within sight of it hundreds of times, but have always been too busy to land there.’

“The young man looked at the old man with astonishment. If he had spoken his thoughts he would have declared the old man to be crazy, but he said nothing. He simply followed after him. The old man led the way across the town to a wharf, where his boat was tied. It was a light little skiff that could be sailed by one man. In this the two embarked.

“The old man managed the sail with one hand and the rudder with the other, and he had hardly made things ready and taken his seat before a light breeze sprang up and filled the sail. The skiff glided along the water so easily that the shore seemed to be receding while the boat stood still. But the breeze grew stronger and stronger, and the sail bore so heavily on the nose of the boat that the foam and spray flew high in the air.

“The sun was bright and the sky was blue, and the dark green water seemed to boil beneath them, so swiftly the light boat sped along. The young man clapped his hands as joyously as a boy, and the old man smiled. Presently he leaned over the side of the boat and pointed to something shining and sparkling in the distance. The young man saw it, too, and turned an inquiring eye upon his companion.

“‘That is your mountain of gold,’ said the old man.

“‘It seems to be very small,’ said the other. He ceased to smile, and a frown clouded his face.

“The old man noticed the frown, and shook his head and frowned a little himself, coughing in the muffler that was tied around his neck. But he said:—

“‘The mountain of gold is more than twenty miles away.’

“‘How far have we come?’

“‘Some hundred and odd miles.’

“The young man seemed to be very much surprised, but he said nothing. He leaned so far over the side of the boat to watch the mountain of gold that he was in danger of falling out. The old man kept an eye on him, but did not lift a finger to warn him.

“In due time they came to the island, if it could be called an island. It seemed to be a barren rock that had lifted itself out of the sea to show the mountain of gold. The mountain was only a hill, but it was a pretty high one, considering it was of solid gold.”

“Sure enough gold?” asked Sweetest Susan.

“Pure gold,” answered Mr. Thimblefinger. “The old man landed his skiff at a convenient place, and the two got out and went to the mountain, or hill, of gold that rose shining in the middle of the small island. The actions of the young man showed that he considered himself the proprietor of both island and mountain. He broke off a chunk of gold as big as your fist, weighed it in his hand, and would have given it to the old man, but the latter shook his head.

“‘You refuse it?’ cried the other. ‘If it is not enough I’ll give you as much more.’

“‘No,’ replied the old man. ‘Keep it for yourself. You owe me nothing. I could have carried away tons of the stuff long before I saw you, but I had no use for it. You are welcome to as much as you can take away with you.’

“‘As much as I can take away!’ exclaimed the other. ‘I shall take it all.’

“‘But how?’

“‘It is mine! I am rich. I will buy me a ship.’ He walked back and forth, rubbing his hands together.

“‘Then you have no further need of me?’ said the old man.

“‘Not now—not now,’ replied the other with a grand air. ‘You won’t accept pay for your services, and I can do no more than thank you.’

“The old man bowed politely, got in his skiff, and sailed away. The other continued to walk about the island and rub his hands together, and make his plans. He was now the richest man in the world. He could buy kings and princes and empires. He had enough gold to buy all the ships on the sea and to control all the trade on the land. He was great. He was powerful.

“All these thoughts passed through his mind and he was very happy. The sun looked at the young man a long time, and then went to bed in the sea. Two little gray lizards looked at him until the sun went down, and then they crawled back in their holes. A big black bird sailed round and round and watched him until nearly dark, and then sailed away.

HE WAS SO WEAK THAT HE COULDN’T GET UP

“When night came the young man found the air damp and chilly, but he knew he was rich, and so he laughed at the cold. He crept close under his mountain of gold, and, after a long time, went to sleep. In the morning he awoke and found that nobody had taken away his precious mountain of gold during the night. The sun rose to keep him company, the two gray lizards crept out of their holes and looked at him, and the big black bird sailed round and round overhead.

“The day passed, and then another and another. The young man was hungry and thirsty, but he was rich. The night winds chilled him, but he was rich. The midday sun scorched him, but he was the richest man in the world. Every night, no matter how hungry or weak he was, he crept upon the side of the mountain, and stretched himself out, and tried to hug it to his bosom. He knew that if he was hungry, it wasn’t because he was poor, and if he died, he knew he would die rich. So there he was.”

“What then?” asked Buster John, as Mr. Thimblefinger paused to look at his watch.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger, holding the watch to his ear. “One fine morning this rich young man was so weak that he couldn’t get up. He tried to, but his foot slipped, and he rolled to the foot of the mountain of gold and lay there. He lay there so long and so quietly that the two gray lizards crept close to him to see what was the matter. He moved one of his fingers, and they darted back to their holes.

“The rich young man lay so still that the big black bird, sailing overhead, came nearer and nearer, and finally alighted at a respectful distance from the rich young man. The two gray lizards came out again, and crawled cautiously toward the rich young man. The big black bird craned his neck and looked, and then went a little closer. A sudden gust of wind caused the rich young man’s coat to flap. The gray lizards scrambled towards their holes, and the big black bird jumped up in the air and flew off a little way.

“But presently they all came back, bird and lizards, and this time they went still closer to the rich young man. The big black bird went so close that there is no telling what he would have done next, but just then the old man came running towards them. He had untied the two ends of his beard, and was waving them in the air as if they were flags. The big black bird flew away very angry, and the gray lizards ran over each other trying to get to their holes.

“The old man, tied up his beard again, took up the rich young man on his shoulder, and carried him to the boat. Once there he gave the rich young man some wine. This revived him, and in a little while he was able to eat. But he had no opportunity to talk. The wind whirled the boat through the water, and in a few hours it had arrived at the young man’s town.

“He went home, and soon recovered in more ways than one. He found his strength again, and lost his appetite for riches. But he worked hard, saved all he could, and was soon prosperous; but he never remembered without a shiver the time that he was the richest man in the world.”

XVI.
AN OLD-FASHIONED FUSS.

“I don’t blame ’im fer shiverin’,” said Drusilla; “but, I let you know, here’s what wouldn’t shiver none ef she had dat ar big pile er gol’ what de man had. I’d ’a’ cotch me some fish; I’d ’a’ gobbled up dem lizards, yit!”

“Well,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “I expect money is a pretty big thing. I’ve heard a heap of talk about it, and I’ve known some big fusses to grow out of it. And yet money doesn’t cause all the fusses—oh, no! not by a long jump. I once heard of a fuss that happened long before there was any money, and the curious part about it was that nobody knew what the fuss grew out of.”

“What fuss was that?” asked Buster John, who thought that perhaps there might be a story in it.

“Why, it was the quarrel between the Monkeys and the Dogs. My great-grandfather knew all about the facts, and I’ve heard him talk it over many a time when he was sitting in the kitchen corner chewing his quid. I’ve often heard him wonder, between naps, what caused the dispute.”

“It seems to me I’ve heard something about it,” remarked Mrs. Meadows in an encouraging tone.

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit. “It was notorious in our young days. I reckon it has been settled long before this; anyhow, I hope so.”

“What did your great-grandfather say about it?” inquired Buster John.

“If I were to tell you all he said,” responded Mr. Rabbit, shaking his head slowly, “you’d have to sit here with me for a fortnight, and of course you wouldn’t like to do that. So I’ll just up and tell you about it in my own way. I may not get it exactly right, but I’ll be bound I won’t get it far wrong, for I have nothing else in the round world to do but to sit here and think about old times.

“As well as I can remember, the way of it was about this: Away back yonder, in the times before everybody had got to be so busy trying to get the best of each other, a coolness sprang up between the Monkeys and the Dogs. Nobody knew the right of it, because nobody paid any attention to it along at first. But after awhile it got so that every time a Dog would meet a Monkey in the road, the Monkey would get up in a tree and laugh at him, and then the Dog would stop and scratch up the dirt with all four of his feet and growl.”

“Oh, I’ve seen them do that way,” said Sweetest Susan, laughing.

THE MONKEYS WOULD MAKE FACES AND SQUEAL AT THE DOGS

“Yes,” replied Mr. Rabbit, with a more solemn air than ever. “They have never got out of the habit of that kind of caper from that day to this. Well, the coolness grew into a dispute, and the dispute into a quarrel, and so there it was. The Monkeys would make faces and squeal at the Dogs, and the Dogs would show their teeth and growl at the Monkeys. It went from bad to worse, and after awhile, the Dogs would chase the Monkeys wherever they saw them, and the Monkeys would swing down from the hanging limbs and give the tails of the Dogs some terrible twists.

“Before that time the Monkeys had been living on the ground just like everybody else lived, but the Dogs had such sharp teeth and such nimble feet that the Monkeys had to take to the trees and saplings. At first they couldn’t get about in the trees as they do now. Sometimes they’d miss their footing, or lose their grip, and down they’d come right into the red jaws of the Dogs.

“Now this wasn’t pleasant at all. Even when the Monkeys didn’t fall, the ants and crawling bugs would get on them, and the dead limbs of the trees would fall and hurt them, and the wind would blow them about, and the heavy rains would fall and wet them.

“About that time the Monkeys were the most miserable creatures in the world. They were so miserable that, finally, the Head Monkey made up his mind to go and see the Wise Man who used to settle all disputes as far as he could. So the Head Monkey set out on his journey, and traveled till he came to the Wise Man’s house.

“He got on the gatepost, and looked all around, to see if there was a Dog anywhere in sight. Seeing none, he went to the front door and knocked. The Wise Man came out. He was very old. He had a beard as long as Brother Billy Goat’s, and as gray, but he was very nice and kind. The Head Monkey told his story all the way through, and the Wise Man sat and listened to every word. When he had heard it all, he shut his eyes and studied the matter over, and then he said:—

“‘Only fools get up fusses that they can’t settle. I’ll give you a fool’s remedy to settle a fool’s fuss. Go back to your own country and fetch me a bunch of the hair of a Brindle Dog. Then I’ll show you a cheap and an easy way to get rid of the whole tribe of Dogs. But be sure that you make no mistake. I must have the hair of a Brindle Dog—just that and nothing else. Then I can show you how to get rid of all the Dogs. But if you make any mistake, you will ruin the whole tribe of Monkeys.’

“The Head Monkey scratched himself on the side, quick like. Says he, ‘Oh, I’ll make no mistake. Don’t worry about me. The first time the Dogs have a burying I’ll get on a swinging limb, and when a Brindle Dog comes along I’ll reach down and pull a bunch of hair out of his hide, and by the time he gets through howling I’ll be on my journey back.’

“The Wise Man ran his fingers through his beard, and laughed to himself. Says he, ‘Very well, my young friend, but you had best be careful. A Dog of any kind will bear watching, but especially a Brindle Dog.’

“The Head Monkey made no answer. He simply grinned, and started back home. Now, it happened that after his journey was over, the Dogs had no burying for a long time. They seemed to be in better health than ever. Some traveling doctor had come along and told them that whenever they felt out of sorts they must go out in the fields and hunt for a particular kind of grass. When they found it they were to eat twenty-seven blades of it, and then go on about their business. You may not believe this,” said Mr. Rabbit, pausing in the midst of his story, “but if you will watch the Dogs right close, you will find that to this day they’ll go out and eat grass whenever they are ailing. They don’t chew it. They just bite off a great long sprig of it, and wallop it around their tongues and swallow it whole. I don’t know how they do it, but I’m telling you the plain facts.

“Well, as I was saying, it was a long time after the Head Monkey got home before the Dogs had a burying, and when they did have one it happened that there was no Brindle Dog in the procession. The rest of the Monkeys were all waiting to see what the Head Monkey was going to do, and so they forgot to bother the Dogs. When the Dogs saw that the Monkeys were quiet, they kept quiet themselves, and there was no trouble between them for a long time. Seeing that the Dogs were no longer snapping and snarling at them, some of the older Monkeys began to travel on the ground again, but the younger ones stayed in the trees where they were born.

“The Head Monkey was mighty restless. Sometimes he’d stay in the trees, and then again he’d travel on the ground, but wherever he was he always kept his eye out for a Brindle Dog. Finally, one day, when he was traveling on the ground, he heard a noise up the road, and when he turned around he saw a big Brindle Dog coming towards him. He thought to himself that now was his time or never; so he got behind a bush and waited for the Brindle Dog to come up.