BUSTER AND THE CHOCOLATES
It was a hot summer day. Mother Graymouse had taken her children out for a stroll in the fields. Only Buster remained at home. He had been naughty and was punished by being left behind.
"I'd rather lie here and read my picture book than trot around in the hot sunshine," he thought. "If only I had some candy, I would be quite happy."
After he had looked at all the pictures and read one of the shortest stories, he shut the book and began to sing softly to himself.
By-and-by he grew restless. "Oh, dear, I'm not one bit sleepy. I can't take another nap. I wish I had some candy. I wonder—"
Then he pushed Baby Squealer's high-chair over to the cupboard and climbed up until he could reach the shelf where Silver Ears had put the Christmas candy. It was gone; every single piece.
"Oh, I know!" remembered Buster. "Ruth Giant had a birthday party last night. I think there may be some candy in the play-room. It will do no harm to look."
He stole softly into the play-room on tiptoe, lest old Thomas Cat might be prowling about and hear him. Ruth Giant was sitting among the pillows upon the couch, reading a book. Beside her was a box of splendid chocolates. Now and then she ate one.
Buster hid behind the doll's dresser and waited. At last he got impatient.
"She will eat 'em all up and I know they are real good," he fussed. "Mammy will come home and call me pretty soon. Oh, why doesn't somebody call Ruth Giant down-stairs? I wonder if she would think I was Silver Ears and toss me some candy? It can't be poison, for she is eating it her own self."
At last, such a long at last, Buster thought, Ruth closed her book and went away. How Buster did hurry to get his greedy little paws into that box of chocolates!
He ran home with one, frisked back for another, and still another, until the very last one of Ruth's fine chocolates was added to the delicious heap on Buster's bed.
"My, but that was hard work!" panted the fat, lazy, little fellow. "I wonder where I can hide 'em so I can have candy to nibble when I want it?"
Down behind an old trunk was a pair of old boots that Mr. Giant had brought to the attic. They were rather musty and dusty, but Buster decided it would be quite safe to hide his candy in one of them. So he trotted back and forth until half of the chocolates were stored away in the toe of a boot.
"I guess I can eat the rest before Mammy comes, for I'm real hungry for candy," thought Buster. He lay down on his little bed and snuggled cosily among the pillows with his book and candy.
"Just like Ruth Giant," he thought proudly, as he nibbled a chocolate. "It is almost as good as having a birthday party of my own. And it is much nicer than tramping around out of doors, if Mammy does call it a picnic."
When Mother Graymouse returned, the children were all eager to tell
Buster about their good time in the fields.
"We went down the lane," said Silver Ears, "and found lots of sweet wild flowers."
"And we met Mr. Hop Toad and his wife out for a stroll," added
Limpy-toes. "Yes, and we saw Pete and Dickie Grasshopper, and Madame
Butterfly, also."
"We had our lunch in a lovely grove of ferns," piped Tiny's shrill little voice.
"It was a lovely, cool grove," echoed Teenty, "and we had a nice lunch."
Buster listened sleepily. Now and then he rubbed his stomach.
"Were you lonely, Buster?" asked his mother.
"No, ma'am."
"Did you have a good nap?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Are you sick, child?" she demanded, anxiously.
"Yes, Mammy," wailed Buster. "It seems as if my little jacket would burst! Boo-hoo!"
Mother Graymouse hastened to get him a hot drink, but poor Buster rolled and tossed upon his little bed.
Grand-daddy Whiskers came puffing up to the attic with a pan of warm biscuits under his arm. Mother Graymouse looked relieved, for Grand-daddy was quite a doctor.
"What shall I do for the poor child, Grand-daddy?" she asked.
"What has he been eating?" was Grand-daddy's first question as he bent over Buster's bed.
"They weren't poison, Grand-daddy, 'cause Ruth Giant was eating 'em her own self," moaned Buster.
"Eating what?" cried Mammy and Grand-daddy in the same breath.
"Chocolates," confessed Buster.
"How many?" demanded Grand-daddy sternly.
"Only ten," whimpered Buster.
"I will be right back," said Grand-daddy. "There is a bottle of castor oil on the pantry shelf. That was what the doctor gave Robert when he ate too much candy. You will get a good dose, young man, and then you will feel better. Ten chocolates; the greedy little pig!" he grumbled as he hurried away.
"I won't take castor oil, Mammy!" cried Buster. "It tastes horrid."
"You will take castor oil, Buster," replied Mother Graymouse, "if I have to hold your nose."
Grand-daddy soon returned with the oil bottle and in spite of Buster's kicks and squeals, he managed to pour a big dose down his throat.
In a short time, Granny Whiskers came up to see her sick grandchild.
"I fear that oil will not cure him," she said. "You see, he has been eating a good deal of sweet. What he needs is some sour medicine."
She disappeared down the hole and soon returned with a bottle of vinegar tucked under her plaid shawl.
"Aren't you afraid that vinegar will strangle the poor dear?" protested Mother Graymouse.
"Not a bit of it; not a bit of it! Give me a spoon," directed Granny.
Buster made a wry face as he swallowed the sour dose. Then he began to cough and splutter and choke until Mammy grew frightened.
Uncle Squeaky appeared upon the scene just then.
"Stop that, you young rascal!" he laughed. "That is a very poor imitation of a cough. What you need is neither oil nor vinegar, but a good dose of salt. You are altogether too fresh for a youngster."
Buster stopped choking at once. Soon he began to feel better. Then he called Silver Ears.
"There's ten more chocolates hidden in the toe of the Giant's boot,
Silvy," he whispered weakly. "Bring 'em out and eat 'em for supper.
I'm not hungry for candy any more."
He rolled over and tried to go to sleep. Silver Ears dived down into the boot toe and pulled out the hidden candies. And so the Graymouse family found two plump chocolates at each place when they sat down to supper.
"It has been a lovely picnic day," lisped Tiny, nibbling her chocolate.
"It has been a real lovely day," echoed Teenty sweetly.
Poor Buster, his face hidden in the pillows, remembered his picnic day—chocolate, castor oil, vinegar, and pain,—and he just scowled and scowled.