Once upon a time two children came to the house of a sailor man, who lived beside the salt sea; and they found the sailor man sitting in his doorway knotting ropes.
“How do you do?” asked the sailor man.
“We are very well, thank you,” said the children, who had learned manners, “and we hope you are the same. We heard that you had a boat, and we thought that perhaps you would take us out in her, and teach us how to sail, for that is what we wish most to know.”
THE SAILOR MAN.
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“All in good time,” said the sailor man. “I am busy now, but by and by, when my work is done, I may perhaps take one of you if you are ready to learn. Meantime here are some ropes that need knotting; you might be doing that, since it has to be done.” And he showed them how the knots should be tied, and went away and left them.
When he was gone the first child ran to the window and looked out.
“There is the sea,” he said. “The waves come up on the beach, almost to the door of the house. They run up all white, like prancing horses, and then they go dragging back. Come and look!”
“I cannot,” said the second child. “I am tying a knot.”
“Oh!” cried the first child, “I see the boat. She is dancing like a lady at a ball; I never saw such a beauty. Come and look!”
“I cannot,” said the second child. “I am tying a knot.”
“I shall have a delightful sail in that boat,” said the first child. “I expect that the sailor man will take me, because I am the eldest and I know more about it. There was no need of my watching when he showed you the knots, because I knew how already.”
Just then the sailor man came in.
“Well,” he said, “my work is over. What have you been doing in the meantime?”
“I have been looking at the boat,” said the first child. “What a beauty she is! I shall have the best time in her that ever I had in my life.”
“I have been tying knots,” said the second child.
“Come, then,” said the sailor man, and he held out his hand to the second child. “I will take you out in the boat, and teach you to sail her.”
“But I am the eldest,” cried the first child, “and I know a great deal more than she does.”
“That may be,” said the sailor man; “but a person must learn to tie a knot before he can learn to sail a boat.”
“But I have learned to tie a knot,” cried the child. “I know all about it!”
“How can I tell that?” asked the sailor man.
“GO” AND “COME”
“Little boy,” said the nurse one day, “you would be far better at work. Your garden needs weeding sadly; go now and weed it, like a good child!”
But the little boy did not feel like weeding that day.
“I can’t do it,” he said.
“Oh! yes, you can,” said the nurse.
“Well, I don’t want to,” said the little boy.
“But you must!” said the nurse. “Don’t be naughty, but go at once and do your work as I bid you!”
She went away about her own work, for she was very industrious; but the little boy sat still, and thought himself ill-used.
By and by his mother came into the room and saw him.
“What is the matter, little boy?” she asked; for he looked like a three-days’ rain.
“Nurse told me to weed my garden,” said the little boy.
“Oh,” said his mother, “what fun that will be! I love to weed, and it is such a fine day! Mayn’t I come and help?”
“Why, yes,” said the little boy. “You may.” And they weeded the garden beautifully, and had a glorious time.
CHILD’S PLAY
Once a child was sitting on a great log that lay by the roadside, playing; and another child came along, and stopped to speak to him.
“What are you doing?” asked the second child.
“I am sailing to the Southern Seas,” replied the first, “to get a cargo of monkeys, and elephant tusks, and crystal balls as large as oranges. Come up here, and you may sail with me if you like.”
So the second child climbed upon the log.
“Look!” said the first child. “See how the foam bubbles up before the ship, and trails and floats away behind! Look! the water is so clear that we can see the fishes swimming about, blue and red and green. There goes a parrot-fish; my father told me about them. I should not wonder if we saw a whale in about a minute.”
“What are you talking about?” asked the second child, peevishly. “There is no water here, only grass; and anyhow this is nothing but a log. You cannot get to islands in this way.”
“But we have got to them,” cried the first child. “We are at them now. I see the palm-trees waving, and the white sand glittering. Look! there are the natives gathering to welcome us on the beach. They have feather cloaks, and necklaces, and anklets of copper as red as gold. Oh! and there is an elephant coming straight toward us.”
“I should think you would be ashamed,” said the second child. “That is Widow Slocum.”
“It’s all the same,” said the first child.
Presently the second child got down from the log.
“I am going to play stick-knife,” he said. “I don’t see any sense in this. I think you are pretty dull to play things that aren’t really there.” And he walked slowly away.
The first child looked after him a moment.
“I think you are pretty dull,” he said to himself, “to see nothing but what is under your nose.”
But he was too well-mannered to say this aloud; and having taken in his cargo, he sailed for another port.
LITTLE JOHN BOTTLEJOHN
Little John Bottlejohn lived on the hill,
And a blithe little man was he.
And he won the heart of a pretty mermaid
Who lived in the deep blue sea.
And every evening she used to sit
And sing on the rocks by the sea,
“Oh! little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn,
Won’t you come out to me?”
Little John Bottlejohn heard her song,
And he opened his little door.
And he hopped and he skipped, and he skipped and he hopped,
Until he came down to the shore.
And there on the rocks sat the little mermaid,
And still she was singing so free,
“Oh! little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn,
Won’t you come out to me?”
Little John Bottlejohn made a bow,
And the mermaid, she made one too,
And she said, “Oh! I never saw any one half
So perfectly sweet as you!
In my lovely home ’neath the ocean foam,
How happy we both might be!
Oh! little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn,
Won’t you come down with me?”
Little John Bottlejohn said, “Oh yes!
I’ll willingly go with you.
And I never shall quail at the sight of your tail,
For perhaps I may grow one too.”
So he took her hand, and he left the land,
And plunged in the foaming main.
And little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn,
Never was seen again.
A FORTUNE
One day a man was walking along the street, and he was sad at heart. Business was dull; he had set his desire upon a horse that cost a thousand dollars, and he had only eight hundred to buy it with. There were other things, to be sure, that might be bought with eight hundred dollars, but he did not want those; so he was sorrowful, and thought the world a bad place.
As he walked, he saw a child running toward him; it was a strange child, but when he looked at it, its face lightened like sunshine, and broke into smiles. The child held out its closed hand.
“Guess what I have!” it cried gleefully.
“Something fine, I am sure!” said the man.
The child nodded and drew nearer; then opened its hand.
“Look!” it said; and the street rang with its happy laughter. The man looked, and in the child’s hand lay a penny.
“Hurrah!” said the child.
“Hurrah!” said the man.
Then they parted, and the child went and bought a stick of candy, and saw all the world red and white in stripes.
The man went and put his eight hundred dollars in the savings-bank, all but fifty cents, and with the fifty cents he bought a hobby-horse for his own little boy, and the little boy saw all the world brown, with white spots.
“Is this the horse you wanted so to buy, father?” asked the little boy.
“It is the horse I have bought!” said the man.
“Hurrah!” said the little boy.
“Hurrah!” said the man. And he saw that the world was a good place after all.
THE STARS
A little dear child lay in its crib and sobbed, because it was afraid of the dark. And its father, in the room below, heard the sobs, and came up, and said,
“What ails you, my dearie, and why do you cry?”
And the child said, “Oh, father, I am afraid of the dark. Nurse says I am too big to have a taper; but all the corners are full of dreadful blackness, and I think there are Things in them with eyes, that would look at me if I looked at them; and if they looked at me I should die. Oh, father, why is it dark? why is there such a terrible thing as darkness? why cannot it be always day?”
The father took the child in his arms and carried it downstairs and out into the summer night.
“Look up, dearie!” he said, in his strong, kind voice. “Look up, and see God’s little lights!”
The little one looked up, and saw the stars, spangling the blue veil of the sky; bright as candles they burned, and yellow as gold.
“Oh, father,” cried the child; “what are those lovely things?”
“Those are stars,” said the father. “Those are God’s little lights.”
“But why have I never seen them before?”
“Because you are a very little child, and have never been out in the night before.”
“Can I see the stars only at night, father?”
“Only at night, my child!”
“Do they only come then, father?”
“No; they are always there, but we cannot see them when the sun is shining.”
“But, father, the darkness is not terrible here, it is beautiful!”
“Yes, dearie; the darkness is always beautiful, if we will only look up at the stars, instead of into the corners.”
BUTTERCUP GOLD
Oh! the cupperty-buts! and oh! the cupperty-buts! out in the meadow, shining under the trees, and sparkling over the lawn, millions and millions of them, each one a bit of purest gold from Mother Nature’s mint. Jessy stood at the window, looking out at them, and thinking, as she often had thought before, that there were no flowers so beautiful. “Cupperty-buts,” she had been used to call them, when she was a wee baby-girl and could not speak without tumbling over her words and mixing them up in the queerest fashion; and now that she was a very great girl, actually six years old, they were still cupperty-buts to her, and would never be anything else, she said. There was nothing she liked better than to watch the lovely golden things, and nod to them as they nodded to her; but this morning her little face looked anxious and troubled, and she gazed at the flowers with an intent and inquiring look, as if she had expected them to reply to her unspoken thoughts. What these thoughts were I am going to tell you.
Half an hour before, she had called to her mother, who was just going out, and begged her to come and look at the cupperty-buts.
“They are brighter than ever, Mamma! Do just come and look at them! golden, golden, golden! There must be fifteen thousand million dollars’ worth of gold just on the lawn, I should think.”
And her mother, pausing to look out, said, very sadly,—
“Ah, my darling! if I only had this day a little of that gold, what a happy woman I should be!”
And then the good mother went out, and there little Jessy stood, gazing at the flowers, and repeating the words to herself, over and over again,—
“If I only had a little of that gold!”
She knew that her mother was very, very poor, and had to go out to work every day to earn food and clothes for herself and her little daughter; and the child’s tender heart ached to think of the sadness in the dear mother’s look and tone. Suddenly Jessy started, and the sunshine flashed into her face.
“Why!” she exclaimed, “why shouldn’t I get some of the gold from the cupperty-buts? I believe I could get some, perfectly well. When Mamma wants to get the juice out of anything, meat, or fruit, or anything of that sort, she just boils it. And so, if I should boil the cupperty-buts, wouldn’t all the gold come out? Of course it would! Oh, joy! how pleased Mamma will be!”
Jessy’s actions always followed her thoughts with great rapidity. In five minutes she was out on the lawn, with a huge basket beside her, pulling away at the buttercups with might and main. Oh! how small they were, and how long it took even to cover the bottom of the basket. But Jessy worked with a will, and at the end of an hour she had picked enough to make at least a thousand dollars, as she calculated. That would do for one day, she thought; and now for the grand experiment! Before going out she had with much labor filled the great kettle with water, so now the water was boiling, and she had only to put the buttercups in and put the cover on. When this was done, she sat as patiently as she could, trying to pay attention to her knitting, and not to look at the clock oftener than every two minutes.
“They must boil for an hour,” she said; “and by that time all the gold will have come out.”
Well, the hour did pass, somehow or other, though it was a very long one; and at eleven o’clock, Jessy, with a mighty effort, lifted the kettle from the stove and carried it to the open door, that the fresh air might cool the boiling water. At first, when she lifted the cover, such a cloud of steam came out that she could see nothing; but in a moment the wind blew the steam aside, and then she saw,—oh, poor little Jessy!—she saw a mass of weeds floating about in a quantity of dirty, greenish water, and that was all. Not the smallest trace of gold, even in the buttercups themselves, was to be seen. Poor little Jessy! she tried hard not to cry, but it was a bitter disappointment; the tears came rolling down her cheeks faster and faster, till at length she sat down by the kettle, and, burying her face in her apron, sobbed as if her heart would break.
Presently, through her sobs, she heard a kind voice saying, “What is the matter, little one? Why do you cry so bitterly?” She looked up and saw an old gentleman with white hair and a bright, cheery face, standing by her. At first, Jessy could say nothing but “Oh! the cupperty-buts! oh! the cupperty-buts!” but, of course, the old gentleman didn’t know what she meant by that, so, as he urged her to tell him about her trouble, she dried her eyes, and told him the melancholy little story: how her mother was very poor, and said she wished she had some gold; and how she herself had tried to get the gold out of the buttercups by boiling them. “I was so sure I could get it out,” she said, “and I thought Mamma would be so pleased! And now—”
Here she was very near breaking down again; but the gentleman patted her head and said, cheerfully, “Wait a bit, little woman! Don’t give up the ship yet. You know that gold is heavy, very heavy indeed, and if there were any it would be at the very bottom of the kettle, all covered with the weeds, so that you could not see it. I should not be at all surprised if you found some, after all. Run into the house and bring me a spoon with a long handle, and we will fish in the kettle, and see what we can find.”
Jessy’s face brightened, and she ran into the house. If any one had been standing near just at that moment, I think it is possible that he might have seen the old gentleman’s hand go into his pocket and out again very quickly, and might have heard a little splash in the kettle; but nobody was near, so, of course, I cannot say anything about it. At any rate, when Jessy came out with the spoon, he was standing with both hands in his pockets, looking in the opposite direction. He took the great iron spoon and fished about in the kettle for some time. At last there was a little clinking noise, and the old gentleman lifted the spoon. Oh, wonder and delight! In it lay three great, broad, shining pieces of gold! Jessy could hardly believe her eyes. She stared and stared; and when the old gentleman put the gold into her hand, she still stood as if in a happy dream, gazing at it. Suddenly she started, and remembered that she had not thanked her kindly helper. She looked up, and began, “Thank you, sir;” but the old gentleman was gone.
Well, the next question was, How could Jessy possibly wait till twelve o’clock for her mother to come home? Knitting was out of the question. She could do nothing but dance and look out of window, and look out of window and dance, holding the precious coins tight in her hand. At last, a well-known footstep was heard outside the door, and Mrs. Gray came in, looking very tired and worn. She smiled, however, when she saw Jessy, and said,—
“Well, my darling, I am glad to see you looking so bright. How has the morning gone with my little housekeeper?”
“Oh, mother!” cried Jessy, hopping about on one foot, “it has gone very well! oh, very, very, very well! Oh, my mother dear, what do you think I have got in my hand? What do you think? oh, what do you think?” and she went dancing round and round, till poor Mrs. Gray was quite dizzy with watching her. At last she stopped, and holding out her hand, opened it and showed her mother what was in it. Mrs. Gray was really frightened.
“Jessy, my child!” she cried, “where did you get all that money?”
“Out of the cupperty-buts, Mamma!” said Jessy, “out of the cupperty-buts! and it’s all for you, every bit of it! Dear Mamma, now you will be happy, will you not?”
“Jessy,” said Mrs. Gray, “have you lost your senses, or are you playing some trick on me? Tell me all about this at once, dear child, and don’t talk nonsense.”
“But it isn’t nonsense, Mamma!” cried Jessy, “and it did come out of the cupperty-buts!”
And then she told her mother the whole story. The tears came into Mrs. Gray’s eyes, but they were tears of joy and gratitude.
“Jessy dear,” she said, “when we say our prayers at night, let us never forget to pray for that good gentleman. May Heaven bless him and reward him! for if it had not been for him, Jessy dear, I fear you would never have found the ‘Buttercup Gold.’”
THE PATIENT CAT
When the spotted cat first found the nest, there was nothing in it, for it was only just finished. So she said, “I will wait!” for she was a patient cat, and the summer was before her. She waited a week, and then she climbed up again to the top of the tree, and peeped into the nest. There lay two lovely blue eggs, smooth and shining.
The spotted cat said, “Eggs may be good, but young birds are better. I will wait.” So she waited; and while she was waiting, she caught mice and rats, and washed herself and slept, and did all that a spotted cat should do to pass the time away.
When another week had passed, she climbed the tree again and peeped into the nest. This time there were five eggs. But the spotted cat said again, “Eggs may be good, but young birds are better. I will wait a little longer!”
So she waited a little longer and then went up again to look. Ah! there were five tiny birds, with big eyes and long necks, and yellow beaks wide open. Then the spotted cat sat down on the branch, and licked her nose and purred, for she was very happy. “It is worth while to be patient!” she said.
But when she looked again at the young birds, to see which one she should take first, she saw that they were very thin,—oh, very, very thin they were! The spotted cat had never seen anything so thin in her life.
“Now,” she said to herself, “if I were to wait only a few days longer, they would grow fat. Thin birds may be good, but fat birds are much better. I will wait!”
So she waited; and she watched the father-bird bringing worms all day long to the nest, and said, “Aha! they must be fattening fast! they will soon be as fat as I wish them to be. Aha! what a good thing it is to be patient.”
At last, one day she thought, “Surely, now they must be fat enough! I will not wait another day. Aha! how good they will be!”
So she climbed up the tree, licking her chops all the way and thinking of the fat young birds. And when she reached the top and looked into the nest, it was empty!!
Then the spotted cat sat down on the branch and spoke thus, “Well, of all the horrid, mean, ungrateful creatures I ever saw, those birds are the horridest, and the meanest, and the most ungrateful! Mi-a-u-ow!!!!”
ALICE’S SUPPER
Far down in the meadow the wheat grows green,
And the reapers are whetting their sickles so keen;
And this is the song that I hear them sing,
While cheery and loud their voices ring:
“’Tis the finest wheat that ever did grow!
And it is for Alice’s supper, ho! ho!”
Far down in the valley the old mill stands,
And the miller is rubbing his dusty white hands;
And these are the words of the miller’s lay,
As he watches the millstones a-grinding away:
“’Tis the finest flour that money can buy,
And it is for Alice’s supper, hi! hi!”
Downstairs in the kitchen the fire doth glow,
And Maggie is kneading the soft white dough,
And this is the song that she’s singing to-day,
While merry and busy she’s working away:
“’Tis the finest dough, by near or by far,
And it is for Alice’s supper, ha! ha!”
And now to the nursery comes Nannie at last,
And what in her hand is she bringing so fast?
’Tis a plate full of something all yellow and white,
And she sings as she comes with her smile so bright:
“’Tis the best bread-and-butter I ever did see!
And it is for Alice’s supper, he! he!”
THE QUACKY DUCK
The Quacky Duck stood on the bank of the stream. And the frogs came and sat on stones and insulted him. Now the words which the frogs used were these,—
Ya! ha! he hasn’t any fore-legs!
Oh! what horrid luck
To be a Quacky Duck!”
These were not pleasant words. And when the Quacky Duck heard them, he considered within himself whether it would not be best for him to eat the frogs.
“Two good things would come of it,” he said. “I should have a savoury meal, and their remarks would no longer be audible.”
So he fell upon the frogs, and they fled before him. And one jumped into the water, and one jumped on the land, and another jumped into the reeds; for such is their manner. But one of them, being in fear, saw not clearly the way he should go, and jumped even upon the back of the Quacky Duck. Now, this displeased the Quacky Duck, and he said, “If you will remove yourself from my person, we will speak further of this.”
So the frog, being also willing, strove to remove himself, and the result was that they two, being on the edge of the bank, fell into the water. Then the frog departed swiftly, saying, “Solitude is best for meditation.”
But the Quacky Duck, having hit his head against a stone, sank to the bottom of the pond, where he found himself in the frogs’ kitchen. And there he spied a fish, which the frogs had caught for their dinner, intending to share it in a brotherly manner, for it was a savoury fish. When the Quacky Duck saw it, he was glad; and he said, “Fish is better than frog” (for he was an English duck)! And, taking the fish, he swam with speed to the shore.
Now the frogs lamented when they saw him go, for they said, “He has our savoury fish!” And they wept, and reviled the Quacky Duck.
But he said, “Be comforted! for if I had not found the fish, I should assuredly have eaten you. Therefore, say now, which is the better for you?” And he ate the fish, and departed joyful.
AT THE LITTLE BOY’S HOME
It was a very hot day, and the little boy was lying on his stomach under the big linden tree, reading the “Scottish Chiefs.”
“Little Boy,” said his mother, “will you please go out in the garden and bring me a head of lettuce?”
“Oh, I—can’t!” said the little boy. “I’m—too—hot!”
The little boy’s father happened to be close by, weeding the geranium bed; and when he heard this, he lifted the little boy gently by his waistband, and dipped him in the great tub of water that stood ready for watering the plants.
“There, my son!” said the father. “Now you are cool enough to go and get the lettuce; but remember next time that it will be easier to go at once when you are told, as then you will not have to change your clothes.”
The little boy went drip, drip, dripping out into the garden and brought the lettuce; then he went drip, drip, dripping into the house and changed his clothes; but he said never a word, for he knew there was nothing to say.
That is the way they do things where the little boy lives. Would you like to live there? Perhaps not; yet he is a happy little boy, and he is learning the truth of the old saying,—
Shut the door after you, and you’ll never be chid.”
NEW YEAR
The little sweet Child tied on her hood, and put on her warm cloak and mittens. “I am going to the wood,” she said, “to tell the creatures all about it. They cannot understand about Christmas, mamma says, and of course she knows, but I do think they ought to know about New Year!”
Out in the wood the snow lay light and powdery on the branches, but under foot it made a firm, smooth floor, over which the Child could walk lightly without sinking in. She saw other footprints beside her own, tiny bird-tracks, little hopping marks, which showed where a rabbit had taken his way, traces of mice and squirrels and other little wild-wood beasts.
The child stood under a great hemlock-tree, and looked up toward the clear blue sky, which shone far away beyond the dark tree-tops. She spread her hands abroad and called, “Happy New Year! Happy New Year to everybody in the wood, and all over the world!”
A rustling was heard in the hemlock branches, and a striped squirrel peeped down at her. “What do you mean by that, little Child?” he asked. And then from all around came other squirrels, came little field-mice, and hares swiftly leaping, and all the winter birds, titmouse and snow-bird, and many another; and they all wanted to know what the Child meant by her greeting, for they had never heard the words before.
“It means that God is giving us another year!” said the Child. “Four more seasons, each lovelier than the last, just as it was last year. Flowers will bud, and then they will blossom, and then the fruit will hang all red and golden on the branches, for birds and men and little children to eat.” “And squirrels, too!” cried the chipmunk, eagerly.
“Of course!” said the Child. “Squirrels, too, and every creature that lives in the good green wood. And this is not all! We can do over again the things that we tried to do last year, and perhaps failed in doing. We have another chance to be good and kind, to do little loving things that help, and to cure ourselves of doing naughty things. Our hearts can have lovely new seasons, like the flowers and trees and all the sweet things that grow and bear leaves and fruit. I thought I would come and tell you all this, because sometimes one does not think of things till one hears them from another’s lips. Are you glad I came? If you are glad, say Happy New Year! each in his own way! I say it to you all now in my way. Happy New Year! Happy New Year!”
Such a noise as broke out then had never been heard in the wood since the oldest hemlock was a baby, and that was a long time ago. Chirping, twittering, squeaking, chattering! The wood-doves lit on the Child’s shoulder and cooed in her ear, and she knew just what they said. The squirrels made a long speech, and meant every word of it, which is more than people always do; the field-mouse said that she was going to turn over a new leaf, the very biggest cabbage-leaf she could find; while the titmouse invited the whole company to dine with him, a thing he had never done in his life before.
When the Child turned to leave the wood, the joyful chorus followed her, and she went, smiling, home and told her mother all about it. “And, mother,” she said, “I should not be surprised if they had got a little bit of Christmas, after all, along with their New Year!”
JACKY FROST
Jacky Frost, Jacky Frost,
Came in the night;
Left the meadows that he crossed
All gleaming white.
Painted with his silver brush
Every window-pane;
Kissed the leaves and made them blush,
Blush and blush again.
Jacky Frost, Jacky Frost,
Crept around the house,
Sly as a silver fox,
Still as a mouse.
Out little Jenny came,
Blushing like a rose;
Up jumped Jacky Frost,
And pinched her little nose.
THE CAKE
Once a Cake would go seek his fortune in the world, and he took his leave of the Pan he was baked in.
“I know my destiny,” said the Cake. “I must be eaten, since to that end I was made; but I am a good cake, if I say it who should not, and I would fain choose the persons I am to benefit.”
“I don’t see what difference it makes to you!” said the Pan.
“But imagination is hardly your strong point!” said the Cake.
“Huh!” said the Pan.
The Cake went on his way, and soon he passed by a cottage door where sat a woman spinning, and her ten children playing about her.
“Oh!” said the woman, “what a beautiful cake!” and she put out her hand to take him.
“Be so good as to wait a moment!” said the Cake. “Will you kindly tell me what you would do with me if I should yield myself up to you?”
“I shall break you into ten pieces,” said the woman, “and give one to each of my ten children. So you will give ten pleasures, and that is a good thing.”
“Oh, that would be very nice, I am sure,” said the Cake; “but if you will excuse me for mentioning it, your children seem rather dirty, especially their hands, and I confess I should like to keep my frosting unsullied, so I think I will go a little further.”
“As you will!” said the woman. “After all, the brown loaf is better for the children.”
So the Cake went further, and met a fair child, richly dressed, with coral lips and eyes like sunlit water. When the child saw the Cake, he said like the woman, “Oh, what a beautiful Cake!” and put out his hand to take it.
“I am sure I should be most happy!” said the Cake. “And you will not take it amiss, I am confident, if I ask with whom you will share me.”
“I shall not share you with any one!” said the child. “I shall eat you myself, every crumb. What do you take me for?”
“Good gracious!” cried the Cake. “This will never do. Consider my size,—and yours! You would be very ill!”
“I don’t care!” said the child. “I’d rather be ill than give any away.” And he fixed greedy eyes on the Cake, and stretched forth his hand again.
“This is really terrible!” cried the Cake. “What is one’s frosting to this? I will go back to the woman with the ten children.”
He turned and ran back, leaving the child screaming with rage and disappointed greed. But as he ran, a hungry Puppy met him, and swallowed him at a gulp, and went on licking his chops and wagging his tail.
“Huh!” said the Pan.
“OH, DEAR!”
Chimborazo was a very unhappy boy. He pouted, and he sulked, and he said, “Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!” He said it till everybody was tired of hearing it.
“Chimborazo,” his mother would say, “please don’t say, ‘Oh, dear!’ any more. It is very annoying. Say something else.”
“Oh, dear!” the boy would answer, “I can’t! I don’t know anything else to say. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!! oh, DEAR!!!”
One day his mother could not bear it any longer, and she sent for his fairy godmother, and told her all about it.
“Humph!” said the fairy godmother. “I will see to it. Send the boy to me!”
So Chimborazo was sent for, and came, hanging his head as usual. When he saw his fairy godmother, he said, “Oh, dear!” for he was rather afraid of her.
“‘Oh, dear!’ it is!” said the godmother sharply; and she put on her spectacles and looked at him. “Do you know what a bell-punch is?”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo. “No, ma’am, I don’t!”
“Well,” said the godmother, “I am going to give you one.”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “I don’t want one.”
“Probably not,” replied she, “but that doesn’t make much difference. You have it now, in your jacket pocket.”
Chimborazo felt in his pocket, and took out a queer-looking instrument of shining metal. “Oh, dear!” he said.
“‘Oh, dear!’ it is!” said the fairy godmother. “Now,” she continued, “listen to me, Chimborazo! I am going to put you on an allowance of ‘Oh, dears.’ This is a self-acting bell-punch, and it will ring whenever you say ‘Oh, dear!’ How many times do you generally say it in the course of the day?”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “I don’t know. Oh, dear!”
“Ting! ting!” the bell-punch rang twice sharply; and looking at it in dismay, he saw two little round holes punched in a long slip of pasteboard which was fastened to the instrument.
“Exactly!” said the fairy. “That is the way it works, and a very pretty way, too. Now, my boy, I am going to make you a very liberal allowance. You may say ‘Oh, dear!’ forty-five times a day. There’s liberality for you!”
“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo, “I——”
“Ting!” said the bell-punch.
“You see!” observed the fairy. “Nothing could be prettier. You have now had three of this day’s allowance. It is still some hours before noon, so I advise you to be careful. If you exceed the allowance——” Here she paused, and glowered through her spectacles in a very dreadful manner.
“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo. “What will happen then?”
“You will see!” said the fairy godmother, with a nod. “Something will happen, you may be very sure of that. Good-by. Remember, only forty-five!” And away she flew out of the window.
“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo, bursting into tears. “I don’t want it! I won’t have it! Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, DEAR!!!”
“Ting! ting! ting-ting-ting-ting!” said the bell-punch; and now there were ten round holes in the strip of pasteboard. Chimborazo was now really frightened. He was silent for some time; and when his mother called him to his lessons he tried very hard not to say the dangerous words. But the habit was so strong that he said them unconsciously. By dinnertime there were twenty-five holes in the cardboard strip; by tea-time there were forty! Poor Chimborazo! he was afraid to open his lips, for whenever he did the words would slip out in spite of him.
“Well, Chimbo,” said his father after tea, “I hear you have had a visit from your fairy godmother. What did she say to you, eh?”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “she said—oh, dear! I’ve said it again!”
“She said, ‘Oh, dear! I’ve said it again!’” repeated his father. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, dear! I didn’t mean that,” cried Chimborazo hastily; and again the inexorable bell rang, and he knew that another hole was punched in the fatal cardboard. He pressed his lips firmly together, and did not open them again except to say “Good-night,” until he was safe in his own room. Then he hastily drew the hated bell-punch from his pocket, and counted the holes in the strip of cardboard; there were forty-three! “Oh, dear!” cried the boy, forgetting himself again in his alarm, “only two more! Oh, dear! oh, DEAR! I’ve done it again! oh——” “Ting! ting!” went the bell-punch; and the cardboard was punched to the end. “Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo, now beside himself with terror. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!! what will become of me?”
A strange whirring noise was heard, then a loud clang; and the next moment the bell-punch, as if it were alive, flew out of his hand, out of the window, and was gone!
Chimborazo stood breathless with terror for a few minutes, momentarily expecting that the roof would fall in on his head, or the floor blow up under his feet, or some appalling catastrophe of some kind follow; but nothing followed. Everything was quiet, and there seemed to be nothing to do but go to bed; and so to bed he went, and slept, only to dream that he was shot through the head with a bell-punch, and died saying, “Oh, dear!”
The next morning, when Chimborazo came downstairs, his father said, “My boy, I am going to drive over to your grandfather’s farm this morning; would you like to go with me?”
A drive to the farm was one of the greatest pleasures Chimborazo had, so he answered promptly, “Oh, dear!”
“Oh, very well!” said his father, looking much surprised. “You need not go, my son, if you do not want to. I will take Robert instead.”
Poor Chimborazo! He had opened his lips to say, “Thank you, papa. I should like to go very much!” and, instead of these words, out had popped, in his most doleful tone, the now hated “Oh, dear!” He sat amazed; but was roused by his mother’s calling him to breakfast.
“Come, Chimbo,” she said. “Here are sausages and scrambled eggs: and you are very fond of both of them. Which will you have?”
Chimborazo hastened to say, “Sausages, please, mamma,”—that is, he hastened to try to say it; but all his mother heard was, “Oh, dear!”
His father looked much displeased. “Give the boy some bread and water, wife,” he said sternly. “If he cannot answer properly, he must be taught. I have had enough of this ‘oh, dear!’ business.”
Poor Chimborazo! He saw plainly enough now what his punishment was to be; and the thought of it made him tremble. He tried to ask for some more bread, but only brought out his “Oh, dear!” in such a lamentable tone that his father ordered him to leave the room. He went out into the garden, and there he met John the gardener, carrying a basket of rosy apples. Oh! how good they looked!
“I am bringing some of the finest apples up to the house, little master,” said John. “Will you have one to put in your pocket?”
“Oh, dear!” was all the poor boy could say, though he wanted an apple, oh, so much! And when John heard that he put the apple back in his basket, muttering something about ungrateful monkeys.
Poor Chimborazo! I will not give the whole history of that miserable day,—a miserable day it was from beginning to end. He fared no better at dinner than at breakfast; for at the second “Oh, dear!” his father sent him up to his room, “to stay there until he knew how to take what was given him, and be thankful for it.” He knew well enough by this time; but he could not tell his father so. He went to his room, and sat looking out of the window, a hungry and miserable boy.
In the afternoon his cousin Will came up to see him. “Why, Chimbo!” he cried. “Why do you sit moping here in the house, when all the boys are out? Come and play marbles with me on the piazza. Ned and Harry are out there waiting for you. Come on!”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo.
“What’s the matter?” asked Will. “Haven’t you any marbles? Never mind. I’ll give you half of mine, if you like. Come!”
“Oh, DEAR!” said Chimborazo.
“Well,” said Will, “if that’s all you have to say when I offer you marbles, I’ll keep them myself. I suppose you expected me to give you all of them, did you? I never saw such a fellow!” and off he went in a huff.
. . . . . . . .
“Well, Chimborazo,” said the fairy godmother, “what do you think of ‘Oh, dear!’ now?”
Chimborazo looked at her beseechingly, but said nothing.
“Finding that forty-five times was not enough for you yesterday, I thought I would let you have all you wanted to-day, you see,” said the fairy wickedly.
The boy still looked imploringly at her, but did not open his lips.
“Well, well,” she said at last, touching his lips with her wand, “I think that is enough in the way of punishment, though I am sorry you broke the bell-punch. Good-by! I don’t believe you will say ‘Oh, dear!’ any more.”
And he didn’t.