"I'll have a strawberry ice-cream soda," said Puss. So Mrs. Mousey poured some red syrup into the glass and dropped in a ball of ice cream, and after that she held the glass under a regular soda-fountain spigot which was fastened to a cute little ice-box. "Fiz-z-z, fiz-z-z!" went the water until the pink-colored foam almost ran over the edge of the glass. But it didn't. Wasn't that lucky?
"I'll take a pink and white peppermint stick," said Mr. Rowley Frog, and Mr. Rat said, "Cheese, if you please!" when Mrs. Mousey asked him what he would have.
Heigh-ho!" says Rowley.
"A cat and her kittens came tumbling in."
And, oh dear me! Puss dropped his soda-water glass, and it broke all to smithereens. And then,
Heigh-ho! says Rowley.
The kittens they pulled the little mouse down.
And after that the cat jumped through the open window with the rat and disappeared around the house, and the kittens ran out of the door with poor Mrs. Mouse.
Puss jumped through the window, but before he could catch them they ran into a hole just big enough for them to squeeze through, and Puss was left outside, wondering what to do. The old cat was nowhere to be seen. She had taken good care to get out of sight, for she knew that Puss, Junior, would take Mr. Rat away from her if he ever caught her.
Heigh-ho, says Rowley!
He took up his hat, and he wished them good night."
"I'll go home to mother," he said when he reached the roadway. "I am getting homesick. I think the old pond is the best place for me."
That is the place for me.
I'll never go even a foot beyond,
I'll sit there and croak, and never will smoke,
In my pond by the grassy lea!"
"That's right," said Puss, as he hurried along with Rowley, who, now that he had made up his mind, could not get home fast enough.
And sits and croaks upon his log."
A SAD ENDING
"So am I," answered Rowley. "She was very generous with all her good things to eat."
"And the poor rat," continued Puss. "It was a sad ending to our little feast. I guess he's been eaten up by this time. That naughty old cat looked very hungry."
"Oh dear, oh dear," sobbed Rowley, the tears rolling down his face, "I want to get home. I'll never run away again."
Heigh-ho, says Rowley.
A lily-white duck came and gobbled him up,
So there was an end of one, two and three,
Heigh-ho, says Rowley.
The Rat, the Mouse and the little Frog-gee,
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigh-ho, says Anthony Rowley!"
"This is dreadful," cried Puss, as he saw his small friend disappear down the duck's long neck; "it has been a sad day. All three of my little friends are gone."
"Never mind," cried the lily-white duck, looking up at Puss standing mournfully by the side of the brook, "Frogs are good to eat, and if they will run away from home, it's their own lookout. They should stay in their ponds and not go wandering about strange places."
Puss did not answer. It seemed pretty hard to meet such a sad fate, and he did not like the lily-white duck at all.
"Come, come," cried the duck, "cheer up, I'll ferry you across the brook if you wish to reach the other side."
"That's kind of you," said Puss, seating himself on her back.
"I'm not such a bad sort of duck," she continued, paddling swiftly toward the opposite bank, "but I must eat, and frogs are mighty good eating, let me tell you."
As she finished speaking she waddled up the bank, and Puss sprang nimbly from her back. "Thank you, Mrs. Duck," he said, "indeed, I'm obliged to you; but I wish you hadn't eaten my friend, the little frog."
Just then nine little yellow ducklings waddled toward them. "These are my children," said Mrs. Duck, very proudly.
"How are you, my little ducklets?" cried Puss.
"Quite well, thank you," they answered. It was a pretty sight to see those yellow balls of down cuddle up to their mother, and Puss began to feel that, after all, she must be a good sort of duck, for her children loved her so much. Perhaps he had judged her too harshly for gobbling up the frog, and when she turned to Puss and said:
"Come home with us, Mr. Puss," he forgave her for what she had done, and followed her downy, yellow brood.
BEAVER DAM
Where will I ever find another?
He never should have left the bog,
Alas, Alas! poor Rowley Frog!"
"Dear me," cried Puss to Mrs. Duck and he looked about him for the owner of the sad croaky voice. Pretty soon he saw a big bullfrog in a brook.
"Come along with me," cried Puss, Junior.
Just then a little muskrat jumped out of the water and from behind a tree ran a pretty gray squirrel and a striped chipmunk.
"Did you call us?" they asked Puss all at once.
"No, my little friends," he replied, "but come along," and when they reached Beaver Dam, they looked around to see what had become of the old bullfrog. There he was in the water about halfway down the stream, swimming away for all he was worth.
"Ker-chunk, ker-chunk!" he cried, as he came up to them, "Why don't you wait for a fellow? And why didn't you tell me you were going up stream?"
Puss, Junior, felt very sorry to think that he had really forgotten all about the old bullfrog.
"Well, you got here all right, didn't you?" asked the muskrat. "Now," he continued, "I'm going to knock three times on the dam to let Mr. Beaver know that we would like to cross."
After giving three loud knocks, Mr. Beaver looked over and said: "What's the matter? Who are you? What do you want? Where did you come from? Where are you going?"
"We'll answer the last question first," said Puss, Junior, with a grin. "We'd like to cross over on your beautiful great big dam."
"The toll is a penny," said the beaver, looking them over carefully.
"I haven't got a penny with me," said the little squirrel, "but I have a dandy big nut, if that will do."
"All right," said the beaver, "give me the nut." He put it in his pocket, remarking as he did so, "it looks like a good nut. I only hope I shall not be disappointed when I crack it."
Turning to the chipmunk, he said, "What have you got?"
"A little acorn," answered the chipmunk.
"I don't want any more nuts," said the beaver, disgustedly. "I'm not particularly fond of nuts, anyway. I only took this one from the squirrel because I knew he didn't have anything else."
"Here are two pennies, Mr. Beaver—one for Chipmunk and one for me," said Puss, Junior.
"All right, Sir Cat," said the beaver, "walk across, but see that you do not slip, for the water is very deep on the upper side."
Puss carefully wended his way over, followed by the little squirrel and the chipmunk. The old frog swam over, as did the muskrat. When they all reached the other side, Puss went forward, followed by his small comrades, who stretched out behind him like a funny little army.
They hadn't gone very far, when a rabbit jumped out from behind a bush. Puss, Junior, called out, "Don't be frightened. We won't hurt you."
"Baby!" cried the squirrel, "you're bigger than I am, but you're twice as much afraid."
"I'm going to a wedding," said the rabbit. "I've no time to wait!" and away he went.
"Gracious me!" exclaimed the squirrel. "I had forgotten all about Cock Robin's wedding! I must be going."
"And so must I," cried the chipmunk and the beaver, but what the old bullfrog said I will tell you in the next story.
DUCKLINGS
Of ducklings, small and callow;
Their little wings are short, their down
Is mottled gray and yellow."
"There is a quiet little stream,
That runs into the moat,
Where tall green sedges spread their leaves
And water lilies float."
"Close by the margin of the brook
The old duck made her nest,
Of straw, and leaves, and withered grass,
And down from her own breast."
"And there she sat for four long weeks,
In rainy days and fine,
Until the ducklings all came out—
Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine."
"So this is your home," said Puss, Junior, as Mrs. Duck stepped into her nest, followed by her brood.
One scrambled on her back;
"That's very rude," said old Mrs. Duck;
"Get off! quack, quack, quack, quack!"
"What do you do when it rains?" asked Puss, Junior.
"What do we do when it rains?" repeated Mrs. Duck, "why, what do you suppose a duck's feathers are good for? They shed the water as well as a barn roof. Yes, even better, for feathers are water-proof and shingles are not."
"Well, my good Mrs. Duck, of course it's all right for you and your family, but should it rain, what would I do? I couldn't possibly crawl under your wings."
"Not very well," laughed Mrs. Duck.
"But it's not going to rain," cried one little duck, peering out from between her feathers. "I know it's not going to rain, for there isn't a cloud in the sky."
Then all the little ducklings poked their heads out and cried, "It's not going to rain, it's not going to rain!"
"If it should, and there's no telling lately, for the weather has been so unsettled, I could take you up to the barnyard and introduce you to Molly Head," said Mrs. Duck, turning to Puss, Junior. "She has charge of all the poultry and is a very kind woman, very kind indeed."
"If I knew where to buy an umbrella," said Puss, after a pause, "I wouldn't mind a little shower, but you know how a cat hates to get wet."
"Yes, they make as much fuss over a little water as a hen does," laughed good Mrs. Duck.
A LESSON IN WADDLING
The wind played little lullabys in the tall grass and the brook close by murmured over its pebbly bottom. The crickets in the meadow made sleepy little noises, so that it must have been over an hour before anybody woke up.
The eggshells with her bill,
"Besides, it never suits young ducks
To keep them sitting still."
So, rising from her nest, she said,
"Now, children, look at me:
A well bred duck should waddle so,
From side to side—d'ye see?"
"I'll play duck too," said Puss, jumping to his feet and imitating Mrs. Duck. The ducklings looked at Puss in wonder.
"He'd make a fine duck," said one little duckling.
"If he had feathers instead of fur," laughed Mrs. Duck.
"If he had yellow stockings like ours," said another duckling, "instead of red-topped boots."
"Stop your quacking," cried Mrs. Duck. "Did you hear what I said about waddling just now?"
She went on to explain:
"A well bred duck turns in his toes
As I do—try again."
Puss, Junior, turned in his toes exactly the way they did, which made them laugh; even Mrs. Duck chuckled. "Look out," she cried, "or Puss, Junior, will do it better than you."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Puss with a grin.
"Won't you try to do better?" said Mrs. Duck, turning to her brood with an anxious expression on her kind face.
"That's better," said their mother;
"But well bred ducks walk in a row,
Straight, one behind the other."
"I wish I had a drum," cried Puss, "I'd beat time. We could make believe we were soldiers." But Mrs. Duck did not answer. "Do your best," she said to her little brood.
All waddling in a row.
"Now to the pond," said old Mrs. Duck.
Splash, splash! and in they go.
"I wish I could swim," cried Puss; "it looks like great sport!"
HOW TO BE A DUCK
"To this side, now to that;
There, snap at those great brown-winged flies,
They make young ducklings fat."
"See who can swim the fastest," cried Puss. "Why don't you have a race?" The nine little ducklings stopped.
"Line up in a row," cried Puss, "and when I cry 'Go!' swim as fast as you can, and the one who reaches this bank first wins. I'll give a bright penny to the winner."
All the ducklings arranged themselves in a row, and when Puss cried "One, two, three, go!" they paddled away as hard as they could. Back and forth went their little yellow feet. Such a splashing! Nearer and nearer they came. One little duck flapped his wings upon the water and in this way managed to get ahead. He was the first to land.
"Here is your penny," cried Puss.
"What can I do with it, mother?" he asked.
"You can get a stick of candy to-morrow," replied his mother. "Not this afternoon, for it is time now to go home to the farm.
The hen-wife, Molly Head,
Will feed you with the other fowls
On bran and mashed-up bread."
Mrs. Duck came out of the water and shook herself well, sending quite a shower of water in little drops all about her. Puss jumped back to avoid a shower bath. The ducklings stood up on their toes and flapped their small wings. Then off they all went, Mrs. Duck in the lead. Puss followed behind, taking care not to step on the yellow toes of the last duckling.
As they neared the barnyard Mrs. Duck turned and said:
I hope that all of you
Will gobble up the food as fast
As well bred ducks should do."
The woman who took care of the poultry yard was already there. From a well filled pan she was scattering handfuls of corn in all directions. There were a great many chickens, who darted hither and thither, picking up the grains of corn. When the corn was all gone she set down a dish of food. No sooner had she done this than Mrs. Duck exclaimed:
Unless it is too small;
In that case, I should use my foot
And overturn it all."
The ducklings did as they were bid,
And found the plan so good
That from that day the other fowls
Got hardly any food.
"My, but she's a wise old duck," said Puss to himself with a grin.
"WHEN I WAS A LITTLE BOY"
On the front porch sat a little old man, smoking a pipe, from which the smoke drifted away in little gray clouds, while the smoke from the stovepipe chimney stretched out like a long black feather.
"Good-day," said Puss, taking off his hat.
"Come and rest beside me," said the old man, pushing forward an armchair. So Puss sat down, and after wiping the perspiration from his forehead remarked, "A warm day, my good sir."
"Yes, indeed," replied the little old man, "but all days seem very much alike to me."
"Do they?" asked Puss. "Why?"
"Well, I'll tell you the story of my life," said the little old man, and, taking his pipe from his lips, he began:
I lived by myself,
And all the bread and cheese I got
I laid upon the shelf.
The rats and the mice
They made such a strife,
That I was forced to go to town,
And buy me a wife.
The streets were so broad,
And the lanes were so narrow,
I was forced to bring my wife home
In a wheelbarrow.
The wheelbarrow broke,
And my wife had a fall.
Farewell wheelbarrow, wife and all."
"And have you lived alone ever since?" asked Puss.
"Yes," replied the old man, "and the mice and the rats give me no peace. They eat up all my cheese and flour."
"I'll help you," said Puss. "Let me stay here to-night, and I'll catch every rat and mouse that bothers you inside the house."
"You can make up poetry as well as I can," said the old man, with a laugh. "Why, that's the first laugh I've had in many a long year. I like you, Sir Cat. You are an obliging sort of person. You shall have the best that my small home affords. I only hope you will rid the place of rats and mice."
"Leave that to me," replied Puss, with a grin.
GOOD RIDDANCE
"It's a long time since I've been a mouser!" laughed Puss to himself. "I wonder if I have lost my cunning?" And he sat down by the window and crossed his leg over the other. "Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse," and it was not the night before Christmas, either. Pretty soon the sound of scampering feet caught his ear, and, turning his head, he saw a dozen mice or more running over the floor, and after that two big rats stole softly across the old rag rug in front of the fireplace. With a leap, Puss landed close to the rats, and with his right paw, laid hold of the nearest, and with his left paw caught the other. "Squeak, squeak! Oh, let us go!" they cried.
"Not unless you promise to leave this house," replied Puss, fiercely, his whiskers standing out straight and his eyes glaring like two balls of fire.
"We will, we will!" squeaked the rats.
"Then go!" cried Puss, "and don't you ever come back!"
"We won't, we won't!" cried the terrified rats.
And after that Puss softly crept into the kitchen, where on the table sat three little mice eating a piece of cake. In a second Puss had them fast in his claws.
"Squeak, squeak!" screamed the little mice.
"I'll spare you," said Puss, glaring at them with eyes as bright as automobile lamps. "I'll let you go if you'll promise to leave this house with all your sisters and brothers and cousins and aunts and fathers and mothers and grandmothers and grandfathers, and all your friends, and everybody else that I can't think of, for I'm so mad I could eat you."
"Oh don't," they cried; "we'll go, we'll go! We'll promise to leave."
And after that the little old man was never bothered with rats and mice.
MISTER FOX
And he begged of the moon to give him light,
For he'd many miles to trot that night."
Well, as soon as the Fox had finished asking Lady Moon to show him the way Puss cried out:
"Oh, Mr. Fox, take me with you, for I'm lost in this forest." But goodness me! the Fox was so frightened at the sound of Puss, Junior's, voice that he jumped behind a tree.
"Who speaks to me?" he asked, faintly.
"Puss in Boots, Junior."
"Ah," replied the Fox, coming out from his hiding place, "now I'm not afraid. At first I thought you were a farmer; farmers don't like me!"
"Why should they?" asked Puss. "You steal their ducks and chickens."
"Softly, softly!" whispered the Fox; "someone may hear you."
"Very well," replied Puss, "I'll whisper if you'll show me the way."
"Come along," replied the Fox. So they walked along through the dark forest, and every now and then the moon peeped through the tree tops to help Mr. Fox find his way, but for all that, the forest was very gloomy and Puss nearly stumbled two or three times and so did Mr. Fox.
Where the ducks and geese declared it hard
That their nerves should be shaken and their rest be marred
By the visit of Mister Fox."
"Do you hear what they say about me?" asked the Fox in a whisper.
"They say you give them bad dreams," replied Puss; "that you keep them awake and ruin their nerves."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Fox, "what do they expect? Do they imagine I come here to sing them to sleep? To stand under the coop window and sing a lullaby? Ha, ha! I'm very fond of duck and very fond of goose, but not in that way. Oh, my, no!" And he grinned until all his long white teeth shone in the moonlight.
MR. SLIPPER-SLOPPER
Puss was peeking through a crack in the boards, but before he had time to utter a cry of warning, Mr. Fox,
And swung her across his back;
The black duck cried out, "Quack! quack! quack!"
With her legs hanging dangling down.
And after that Puss pounded on the kitchen door and shouted, "The fox has run off with the black duck!"
"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Slipper-Slopper. "Who has taken the black duck?"
"Hurry up!" called Puss. "The fox has a good start; 'twill be hard to catch him."
So Mrs. Slipper-Slopper pulled in her head and pretty soon came thumping down the stairs and opened the door.
"Which way did the fox go?" asked Mr. Slipper-Slopper.
"Up the hill," said Puss.
"Where's my gun?" asked Mr. Slipper-Slopper, turning to his wife.
"Why, don't you remember, John?" she replied. "You lent it to old Neighbor Jones last week."
"So I did," said Mr. Slipper-Slopper. "Too bad!"
"Well, I'm going after him, anyway," cried Mr. Slipper-Slopper, picking up the broom. "If I catch him I'll hit him a whopper!"
"You wouldn't hit an old man like Neighbor Jones?" cried Mrs. Slipper-Slopper excitedly.
"No——the fox," cried Mr. Slipper-Slopper. "I mean the fox."
"You'd better put on your boots," said his wife. "You can't go in your slippers."
A DINNER INVITATION
"Yes, John, you had better take this young cat's advice," cried Mrs. Slipper-Slopper.
And he blew a blast both loud and shrill;
Says the fox, 'This is very pretty music—still
I'd rather be at my den.'"
"Gracious me!" exclaimed Puss to himself, "Mr. Slipper-Slopper is crazy. Why does he blow his horn? It's bad enough to hunt a fox with a broom!"
"Look here, Mr. Slipper-Slopper," he cried, "you have no boots—you've nothing but slippers. You have no gun—you've nothing but an old broom. And what's more, you have no sense. You deserve to lose your gray goose and your black duck. Good-by." And Puss ran off in disgust.
"I've no use for a man who can't protect his own," he muttered to himself. "I won't help catch that fox. Let him have a feast. He must eat as well as Mr. Slipper-Slopper. Probably Mr. Slipper-Slopper would have killed the gray goose for dinner in a few days, anyhow."
"Helloa, what are you talking about?" cried Mr. Fox, jumping out from behind a large stone.
"So you think old Slipper-Slopper would have killed the goose and eaten it himself, do you?" asked the fox with a grin.
"Well," answered Puss, startled at the sudden appearance of Mr. Fox, "I thought it pretty mean of you to steal his goose, but now that I've found out what a foolish man Mr. Slipper-Slopper is, I'm glad you have a good dinner in store for yourself and family."
"That's very nice of you," said Mr. Fox, with another grin.
"Neither have I forgotten that you helped me out of the forest," continued Puss, "and I feel very friendly toward you."
"If that's the case," said the fox in a kind voice, "you come home with me and Mrs. Fox will give you some of the best roast duck you ever tasted in your life."
ROAST DUCK
"Thank you, Mister Fox," he answered. "Let me carry the duck for you—the goose is enough of a load!"
"You are right," replied the fox, handing the duck to Puss. "It was a hard run up that hill. If I had known the farmer better, however, I wouldn't have hurried so."
"Well, lead the way, and I'll follow," said Puss.
To his dear little foxes, eight, nine, ten,
Says he, 'you're in luck, here's a good fat duck,
With her legs hanging dangling down.'"
"This is Puss in Boots, Junior," he said, turning to his good wife, Mrs. Fox. "He has carried the duck for me, for I have a big fat goose."
Then Mrs. Fox asked Puss to sit down and rest while she cooked the supper, and the little foxes begged him to tell them a story.
"What kind of a story do you like?" asked Puss.
"Tell them how I crept into the hen-house and got away from old Mr. Slipper-Slopper," said Mr. Fox. "You keep them quiet and I'll pluck off the feathers while Mrs. Fox heats the oven. Then we'll lose no time in roasting the duck."
"All right," replied Puss, "I'll tell them about it," and as soon as Mr. Fox went out of the room Puss commenced.
"Your father and I crept softly into the barnyard and then your daddy tiptoed into the hen-house and said to Madam Goose: 'By your leave, I'll take you away and carry you home to my den Oh!' I'm not quite sure whether he or Madam Goose said 'Oh!' but that doesn't make any difference."
"I think it must have been Madam Goose," said a little fox. "I think she was frightened."
"Maybe you are right," said Puss, with a smile. "At any rate, when your father caught the black duck there was no mistake about what she said, it was 'Quack! quack! quack!'"
Well, just then Mr. Fox came in and said dinner was ready.
They did very well without fork or knife.
They never ate a better goose in all their life;
And the little ones picked the bones!"
And Puss, Junior, had all he could eat, too.
TAFFY
Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef;
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy wasn't home,
Taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone;
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed,
I took the marrow-bone and beat about his head."
"Well, I guess you did what was right," said Puss, Junior, as he and Tom Thumb neared a butcher shop in a small village.
The butcher, who had just spoken in rhyme, shifted from one foot to the other in an uneasy sort of way. "But that isn't all," he went on to say, in rather an anxious tone of voice.
"Tell us the worst, then," laughed Puss, Junior, who didn't appear very sympathetic, although the name Taffy appealed to him and made him wonder what sort of a person Taffy was.
"The truth of the matter is," the butcher went on to say, "I hit him a bit too hard with the marrow-bone. His head is in bad shape, and the doctor says it will be some weeks yet before Taffy gets out of bed."
"Gracious me!" exclaimed Tom Thumb. "Why weren't you more careful?"
"That's just it," replied the butcher. "Why wasn't I more careful?" And then he gave a sigh and went into his shop to wait on a customer.
"Let's make a call on Taffy," said Puss, Junior. "Somehow, I can't help liking him. I don't know whether it's on account of his name, or not. But Taffy sounds awfully nice to me."
"It tastes awfully good to me," laughed Tom Thumb. "You must have him mixed up with candy. That's the reason you like him, I guess."
"Come on and we'll soon find out," cried Puss, Junior. "I'm curious to see what 'Welsh Taffy' is like." So they both walked up the street, inquiring on the way where Taffy lived. If the house Taffy owned was any indication that Taffy was a nice sort of person, it certainly spoke well for him, for it was the prettiest and most homelike little place Puss had ever seen.
"I like him already," said Puss, as he knocked on the door.
A KIND VISIT
"How is Taffy?" Puss asked.
"His head is still painful," replied the little Welshwoman, "but for that he feels quite well, thank you," and she dropped another courtesy.
"May we see him?" asked Tom Thumb.
"Well, that I don't know," she replied, "but I will enquire. Won't you step into the sitting room?" So our two small visitors walked in and sat down. The little canary bird hopped about in her cage and the flowers in the green boxes in the bay-window nodded in the sunlight, as the big old clock in the far corner ticked away the minutes.
"Come up and see Taffy," suddenly cried the voice of the little Welshwoman.
I guess Puss had almost fallen asleep listening to the drowsy tick of the old clock and the low twitter of the canary. Everything was so quiet and home-like it reminded him of his old home when he had prowled about in the garret and discovered the story book, "Puss in Boots." Yes, Puss, Junior, felt a little bit homesick, for "no matter how humble, there's no place like home."
Taking Tom Thumb by the hand, he followed the Welshwoman up the stairs, where they found Taffy sitting propped up in bed, his head done up in great bandages. But, oh, what pleasant blue eyes he had! And his red beard, big and soft, flowed down over the counterpane, and his big strong hand lay so quietly on his lap that Puss forgot he was Puss in Boots, Junior, son of the Seneschal to my Lord of Carabas, and jumped right up on the bed and nestled up to Taffy, purring away just like an ordinary cat!
And what did Taffy do? Did he say "Scat! You'll get the counterpane all dirty with your red-topped boots!" No, he didn't. He just stroked Puss, Junior, with his big, kind hand, and the little Welshwoman picked up Tom Thumb and cuddled him in her bosom, saying in a low voice, "Dearie me, but it's nice to have friends come to see you when everybody in town is calling my Taffy a thief."
And then a tear fell from her eye on little Tom Thumb's hat; but he didn't care, for somehow he felt there must be some mistake, and that Taffy wasn't to blame. And Puss felt the same way, for he kept on purring and rubbing his nose against Taffy's big red hand.