Little Mr. Thimblefinger and his queer country

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Mag CHANDLER —
Sep.COCHARRIS





The Baldwin Library

University
RmB dh
Florida









Books bp Joel Chandler Harris.

NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS. Illus-
trated. r2mo, $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. TIllus-
trated. 12mo0, $1.50,

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

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
Boston anp New York.











MR. RABBIT FELL KERTHUMP. PaGE 42.



LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER
AND HIS QUEER COUNTRY

Wihat the Chiloren Satw and Weard there

BY

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

AUTHOR OF ‘‘ UNCLE REMUS,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY OLIVER HERFORD



BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

Che Wivergide press, Cambridge
1894



Copyright, 1894,

By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS AND
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.

All rights reserved.

The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass,.,U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company



A LITTLE NOTE TO A LITTLE BOOK.

Tue stories that follow belong to three cate-
gories. Some of them were gathered from the
negroes, but were not embodied in the tales of
Uncle Remus, because I was not sure they were
negro stories; some are Middle Georgia folklore
stories, and no doubt belong to England; and
some are merely inventions.

They were all written in the midst of daily
work on a morning newspaper, —a fact that will

account in some measure for their crude setting.

die (Oe Jatt

West Enp, AriLanta, GA.



I.
Il.
Iv.

VIL
VII.
VIII.
IX.

AI.
All.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVIT.
XVIII.
XIX.

CONTENTS.

. Tus GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS

Mr. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY .
Mr. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS

Two QurerR STORIES

. Tur TALKING-SADDLE

Tue TALKING-SADDLE AND THE THIEF
Tur Lapper or Lions
Broruer TERRAPIN’S FIDDLE-STRING

Tur Looxrine-GLass CHILDREN

. Mr. Rapsir as A Ratn-MAKER

How BrotTuEer Brar’s Harr WAS COMBED
A Srnerinc-Matcu

Tue STRAWBERRY-GIRL

Tur Wircu or tHE WELL

Tar Bewircuep HuntsMAN

Tur Tourer Ivory Bossins

“ Kren-Pount,” “ Cop-HANDLE,” AND “ Burcu ”

Mrs. MEADOWS RESUMES HER STORY

A Srory or THE RIVER

PAGE



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Mr. Rassit FELL KERTHUMP (Page 42) . Frontispiece
RaGc-TsG ROLLING OUT OF THE CORNER f _ :
Tue GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS AND THE BIG BLACK
Cat . A - A 5 5 5 : : :
SweEETEST SUSAN WAKING UP. f é : : ,
Foiiowi1nG Litrrte Mr. THIMBLEFINGER . Fi 5
Mr. Rassir anp Mrs. Meapows . ea : é
Mr. Bruty-Gosat anv Mr. Wotr . é 5 : é
My MorHer WASHING THE OLD Man’s Coat AND WAIST-
COAT . ‘ : 2 ‘ : : 2 : ‘
DrvsILLA WAITING ON Mr. Rassit . : : : :
Trp-Torp AND THE MAyor ; S : 3 5 ;
Tor MAyYorR PARDONING THE THIEF . : : : :
CuickamMy Crany Crow anp Ticxire-My-Tors
Mr. Rapsir BANDAGING BrotHer Lion’s Paw a ‘5
Tur Lapprer or Lions . : ‘ 5 " é
Mr. Rassir FippLinc FoR Brorner TERRAPIN z
BrotuEr TERRAPIN TUMBLING INTO THE CREEK
SWEETEST SUSAN, MEETING HER REFLECTION . . 5
THEY ALL PLUNGED INTO THE Looxinc-GLass .. z
Mr. RABBIT SAYING NOTHING . 3 : 5 a :
Brotuer BEAR ARGUING THE RAIN QUESTION . :
Mrs. Bear HANGING OUT CLOTHES . s 3 : :
Lirrte Mr. THIMBLEFINGER . 5 : a : 3
Tue Srneinc-MatcH . 5 : : ‘ ; :

PAGE

10

14
18
24
36
52

56
62
68
82
84
92
98
104
108
110
118
124
128
134
140
144



vill LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Granny Grim-Eve Finps A Beautirut Lirtte Giri
ASLEEP

Tue Lirrte OLtp MAN DISCOVERS THE STRAWBERRY-
GIRL i ‘ i : 4 5

Tue GoLpEen-Harrep, Beautirut LirtLe Giri

Tue Littte OLtp Man, THREE WITs, AND THE STAG

Tue Stag AND THE WITCH

Tue LirrLe GirL AND THE OLD Man

VALENTINE SLAYING THE SPIDER

VALENTINE TALKING TO THE RIVER . :

Buster JOHN SHAKING Hanps wita Mr. Raspit

. 148

. 150

164

. 174

180

. 192

210

. 220

228



LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER AND
HIS QUEER COUNTRY.

1
THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS.

Once upon a time there lived on a plantation,
in the very middle of Middle Georgia, a little girl
and a little boy and their negro nurse. The little
girl’s name was Sweetest Susan. That was the
name her mother gave her when she was a baby,
and she was so good-tempered that everybody
continued to call her Sweetest Susan when she
grew older. She was seven years old. The little
boy’s name was Buster John. That was the
name his father had given him. Buster John
was eight. The nurse’s name was Drusilla, and
she was twelve. Drusilla was called a nurse, but
that was just a habit people had. She was more
of a child than either Sweetest Susan or Buster
John, but she was very much larger. She was



6 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

their playmate — their companion, and a capital
one she made.

Sweetest Susan had black hair and dark eyes
like her father, while Buster John had golden
hair and brown eyes like his mother. As for
Drusilla, she was as black as the old black cat,
and always in a good humor, except when she
pretended to be angry. Sweetest Susan had
wonderful dark eyes that made her face very
serious except when she laughed, but she was as
full of fun as Buster John, who was always in
some sort of mischief that did nobody any harm.

These children were not afraid of anything.
They scorned to run from horses, or cows, or dogs.
They were born on the big plantation, and they
spent the greater part of the day out of doors,
save when the weather was very cold or very wet.
They had no desire to stay in the house, except
when they were compelled to go to bed, and a
great many times they fretted a little because
they thought bedtime came too soon.

Sweetest Susan had a great many dolls, and
she was very fond of them. She had a China
Doll, a Jip-jap Doll, a Rag Doll, a Rubber Doll,
a White Doll, a Brown Doll, and a Black Doll.



THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 7

Sometimes she and Drusilla would play with the
Dolls out in the yard, and sometimes Buster John
would join them when he had nothing better to
do. But every evening Sweetest Susan and Dru-
silla ‘would carry the Dolls into the bedroom and
place them side by side against the wall. Sweet-
est Susan wanted them placed there, she said, so
she could see her children the last thing at night
and the first thing in the morning.

But one night Sweetest Susan went to bed ery-
ing, and this was so unusual that Drusilla forgot
to put the Dolls in their places. Sweetest Susan’s
feelings were hurt. She had not been very good,
and her mother had called her Naughty Susan in-
stead of Sweetest Susan. Buster John, in the
next room, wanted to know what the matter was,
but Sweetest Susan would n’t tell him, and neither
would she tell Drusilla. After a while Sweetest
Susan’s mother came in and kissed her. That
helped her some, but she lay awake ever so long
sobbing a little and thinking how she must do so
as not to be called Naughty Susan.

Drusilla lay on a pallet near Sweetest Susan’s
bed, but, for a wonder, Drusilla lay awake too.
She said nothing, but she was not snoring, and



8 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Sweetest Susan could see the whites of her eyes
shining. The fire that had been kindled on the
hearth so as to give a light (for the weather was
not cold) flickered and flared, and little blue
flames crept about over the sputtering pine-knot,
jumping off into the air and then jumping back.
The blue flames flickered and danced and crept
about so, and caused such a commotion among the
shadows that were running about the room and
trying to hide themselves behind the chairs and in
the corners, that the big brass andirons seemed
to be alive.

While Sweetest Susan was lying there watching
the shadows and wondering when Drusilla would
go to sleep, she heard a voice call out, —

“Oh, dear! I believe I’ve got smut all over my
frock again!”

It was the queerest little voice that ever was
heard. It had a tinkling sound, such as Susan
had often made when she tied her mother’s gold
thimble to a string and struck it with a knitting-
needle. Just as she was wondering where it came
from, a little old woman stepped from behind one
of the andirons and shook the ashes from her
dress.



THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 9

“T think I’d better stay at home,” said the lit-
tle old woman, “if I can’t come down the chim-
ney without getting smut all over my frock. I
wonder where Mr. Thimblefinger is?”

“Oh, I’m here,” exclaimed another tinkling
voice from the fireplace, “but I’m not coming in.
They are not asleep, and, even if they were, I see
the big Black Cat in that chair there.”

“Much I care!” cried the little old woman
snappishly. “I’ll call you when I want you.”

Then she went around the room where Sweet-
est Susan’s Dolls were scattered, and looked at
each one as it lay asleep. Then she shook her
head and sighed.

“They look as if they were tired, poor things !”
she said. “And no wonder! I expect they have
been pulled and hauled about and dragged around
from pillar to post since I was here last.”

Then the little old woman touched the Dolls
with her cane, one by one. Each Doll called
out as 1t was touched, —

“Ts that you, Granny?”

And to each one she replied : —

“ Reser, roser, rise !
And rib and rub your eyes |”



10 LITTLE MR, THIMBLEFINGER.

Sweetest Susan was not at all alarmed. She
felt as if she had been expecting something of the
kind. The Dolls arose and ranged themselves
in front of the fireplace — all except the Rag Doll.

“Where’s Rag-Tag?” inquired the little old
woman anxiously.

“Here lam, Granny!” replied the Rag Doll.
“T’m lame in one leg and I can’t walk with the
other, and my arm’s out of joint.”

“Tut! tut!” said the little old woman. “ How
_ can you be lame in your legs when there’s no
bone in them? How can your arm be out of
joint when there’s no joint? Get up!”

Rag-Tag rolled out of the corner and tumbled
across the floor, heels over head.

“ Now, then,” said the little old woman, open-
ing her satchel, “ what can I do for you?”

“She’s pulled all my hair out!”
the China Doll.

“‘She’s mashed my nose flat!” cried the Jip-
jap Doll. |

“She’s put one of my eyes out!” whined the
- Brown Doll.

“She ’s put chalk all over me!” blubbered the
Black Doll.

whispered







THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 11

“She has n’t hurt me!” exclaimed the Rubber
Doll.

“She’s made a hole in my back, and the
sawdust is all running out!” whined Rag-
Tag.
“T’ll attend to you first, before you bleed
to death,” said the little old woman, frowning.
Then she rapped on the floor with her cane and
cried out : —

“Long-Legged Spinner,
Come earn your dinner !”

While Sweetest Susan was wondering what
this meant, she saw a big Black Spider swing
down from the ceiling and hang, dangling close
to the little old woman’s face. Its little eyes
sparkled like coals of fire, and its hairy mouth
worked as if it were chewing something. Sweet-
est Susan shivered as she looked at it, but she
didn’t scream.

“A thimbleful of fresh cobwebs, Long-Legged
Spinner!” said the little old woman, in a busi-
nesslike way.

Then the big Black Spider moved his legs
faster than a cat can wink her eyes, and in a few
seconds the fresh cobwebs were spun.



12 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“That is very nice,” said the little old woman.
“ Here’s a fat Bluebottle for you.”

The big Black Spider seized the Fly and ran
nimbly to the ceiling again. The Fly buzzed and
buzzed in a pitiful way, and Sweetest Susan
thought to herself, “Oh, what should I do if
that was poor me!”

Then the little old woman hunted in her
satchel until she found a piece of mutton suet,
and with this and the fresh cobwebs she quickly
stopped the hole in Rag-Tag’s back. This done,
she went around and doctored each one. She
glued more hair on the China Doll. She fixed
the nose of the Jip-jap Doll. She gave a new
blue eye to the Brown Doll.

“There!” she exclaimed when she had fin-
ished, “I think you look a little more like
yourself now. But you would look a great deal
better if you had any clothes fit to wear. Now
pay attention! What is the name of this hor-
rible giantess that drags you about and beats you
sole

“Tt’s no giantess, Granny,” replied Rag-Tag.
“Tt’s a little girl, and sometimes she’s very, very

good.”



THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 138

“ Hush!” cried the little old woman. “Speak
when you are spoken to.”

“She is a giantess, Granny,” said the Brown
Doll. “She’s taller than that chair yonder.”

“Where is she now?” the little old woman
asked fiercely.

““She’s asleep in the bed, Granny,” said the
Brown Doll.

“Pinch her good, Granny!” cried the Wax
Doll. “ Put out her eyes!”

“Scratch her, Granny! Pull out her hair!”
pleaded the Brown Doll.

“Bump her head against the wall, Granny!
Mash her nose!” exclaimed the Jip-jap Doll.

The Rag-Tag Doll said not a word.

All this time the little old woman was search-
ing in her satchel for something, and Sweetest
Susan began to get frightened.

“I’ve come off without my specs,” said the
little old woman, “and I can’t see a stiver with
such a light as this.”

Just then the big Black Cat that had been
sleeping quietly in a chair rose and stretched him-
self and gaped, showing his long white teeth.
He jumped to the floor and walked back and forth



14 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

purring and rubbing against the little old woman
in a friendly way.

“Get out! You'll push me over,” she cried.
“ Oh, will you go away? I’Il stick you with my
needle! I certainly will! Keep your long tail
out of my face! Oh, how can I see to do any-
thing? Will you go away? I’ll hit you as sure
as I am standing here!”

“ Don’t,” said the big Black Cat, stopping and
looking straight at the little old woman. “ Don’t
you know it brings bad luck to hit a black cat?”

“Tf I hit you, you’ll feel it,” cried the little old
woman.

“Stop,” exclaimed the big Black Cat. “I
know what you are here for. Do you see my
eyes? They are as green as grass. Do you see
my teeth? They are as strong as iron. Do you
see my claws? They are as sharp as needles. If
T look at you hard you’ll shiver; if I bite you
youll squall; if I scratch you you’ll bleed.”

The Grandmother of the Dolls looked at the
big Black Cat long and hard.

“ Do I know you?” she asked.

“TT know you,” replied the Black Cat.

“ What is your name?” she asked.







THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 15

“ Billy-Billy Blackfoot.”

“Tt is time for you to go hunting,” she said.
She wanted to get him out of the room.

“TI have found what I was hunting for,” said
Billy-Billy Blackfoot.

“ There’s a rat gnawing in the pantry.”

“ Hell be fatter when I catch him.”

“There ’s a piece of cheese in the dining-room.”

“Tt won’t spoil until I eat it.’’

“There ’s a pan of milk in the kitchen.”

“Tt won’t turn sour till I drink it.”

“There ’s catnip in the garden.”

“Tt will grow till I want it.”

The Grandmother of the Dolls then made a
cross-mark on the carpet and waved her cane in
the air. This was done to puta spell on Billy-
Billy Blackfoot, but before the spell could work
Billy-Billy made a circle by chasing his tail
around. Then he glared at the little old woman
and slowly closed one eye. This was too much.
The Grandmother of the Dolls seized her cane
and made a furious attack on Billy-Billy Black-
foot, but he leaped nimbly out of the way and
the cane fell with a whack on the bald head of
the Brown Doll.



16 ' LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

At this there was a tremendous uproar. The
Brown Doll screamed: “Murder!” Billy-Billy
Blackfoot’s tail swelled to twice its natural size ;
the hair-brush fell on the floor; the dustpan
rattled ; the shovel and tongs staggered out from
the chimney-corner and rolled over on the hearth ;
the Dolls scrambled and scurried under the bed,
and the little old woman whisked up the chimney
like a spark from a burning log.

When Sweetest Susan raised up in bed to look
around she saw Drusilla sitting on her pallet rub-
bing her eyes, but Bily-Billy Blackfoot was sit-
ting by the fireplace washing his face as quietly
as if nothing had happened. At first it seemed
to Sweetest Susan that it had all beena dream,
but presently she heard a small voice that came
down the chimney:

“Mr. Thimblefinger! Mr. Thimblefinger! It
is nine minutes after twelve.” There was a pause,
and then the small voice sounded farther away,
like an echo, “ Nine minutes and two seconds
after twelve !”’



If.
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY.

THE next morning Sweetest Susan was awake
early. She wanted very much to turn over and
go to sleep again, for her eyes were heavy and
her body was tired. But the moment she remem-
bered the wonderful events of the night before,
she sat up in bed and looked around. Drusilla
was still asleep and snoring very loudly, but
Sweetest Susan jumped out of bed and shook her
by the shoulder.

“ Drusilla! Drusilla! wake up!” cried Sweet-
est Susan. Drusilla stopped short in her snoring
and turned over with a groan. She kept her
eyes closed, and in a moment she would have
been snoring again, but Sweetest Susan contin-
ued to shake her and called her until she squalled
out :—

“Who dat? What you want? Oh, Lordy!”

“ Wake up, Drusilla,” said Sweetest Susan, “J
want to ask you something.”



18 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“ Ain’t I ’wake? How kin I be any ’waker
when I’m ’wake? Oh, is dat you, honey? I
wuz skeer’d ’t was dat lil’ bit er ol’ ’oman.
Whar she gone? Las’ time I seed her she wuz
des walkin’ ’roun’ here like she wuz gwine ter
tromple on me. I laid low, I did.”

Sweetest Susan clasped her hands together and
cried : “Oh, wasn’t it a dream, Drusilla? Did
it all happen sure enough ?”

Drusilla shook her head wildly. “ How kin
we bofe have de same kind er dream? I seed
de ’oman gwine on, en you seed ’er gwine
on. Uh-uh! Don’t talk ter me ’bout no
dreams.”

The whole matter was settled when Buster John
cried out from the next room: “ What fuss was
that you were making in there last night, squeal-
ing and squeaking ? ”

The matter was soon explained to Buster John,
and after breakfast the children went out and sat
on the big wood-pile and talked it all over. The
boy asked a hundred questions, but still his curi-
osity was not satisfied.

All this time the birds were singing in the
trees and the wood-sawyers sawing in the pine







MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 19

logs. Jo-reeter, jo-reeter, jo-ree! sang the birds.
Craik, craik, craik, went the wood-sawyers.

“There are fifty dozen of them,” said Buster
John.

“ Fifty-five thousand you’d better say,” replied
Sweetest Susan. “ Just listen!”

“No needs ter listen,” cried Drusilla. “ You’d
hear ’em ef you plugged up yo’ years.”

Buster John put his knife-blade under a thick
piece of pine bark and pried it up to find one
of the busy sawyers. The bark was strong, but
presently it seemed to come up of its own accord,
and out jumped the queerest little man they had
ever seen or even heard of except in make-believe
story-books. Buster John dropped his knife,
and down it went into the wood-pile. He could
hear it go rattling from log to log nearly to the
bottom. Sweetest Susan gave a little screech.
Drusilla sat bolt upright and exclaimed : —

“ You all better come en go see yo’ ma. I
want ter see er myse’f.”

But there was nothing to be frightened at. The
tiny man had brushed the dust and trash from
his clothes, and then turned to the children with
a good-humored smile. He was not above four



20 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

inches high. He had on a dress-coat. Drusilla
afterward described it as a claw-hammer coat,
velveteen knickerbockers, and silver buckles on —
his shoes. His hat was shaped like a thimble,
and he had a tiny feather stuck in the side of it.

“T’m much obliged to you for getting me out
of that scrape,” he said with a bow to all the
children. “It was a pretty tight place. I
stayed out last night just one second and a half
too late, and when I went to go home I found
the door shut. So I just crawled under the
bark there for a nap. The log must have turned
in some way, for when I woke up and tried to
crawl out I found I couldn’t manage it. I
wouldn’t have minded that so much, but just
then I saw one of those terrible flat-headed crea-
tures making his way toward me. Why, his
head was a sawmill! He was gnawing the wood
out of his way and clearing a road to me. J
tried to draw my sword, but I couldn’t get it
from under me. Then I felt the bark rising. I
pushed as hard as I could, and here I am.”

“ Ax ’im his name,” said Drusilla in an awe-
stricken tone.

“ Ah, I forgot,” responded the little man. “I



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 21

know you, but you don’t know me. My name is
Mr. Thimblefinger, and I shall be happy to serve
you. Whenever you want me just tap three
times on the head of your bed.”

“ Thank goodness! I don’t sleep in no teal *
exclaimed Drusilla.

“ That makes no difference,” said Mr. Thimble-
finger. “If you sleep on a pallet just tap on the
floor.”

“ Please, Mister, don’t talk dat a-w ay,” Pees
Drusilla, “Ikase I’ll be constant a-projeckin’ wid
dat tappin’, an’ de fus’ time you come Ill holler
fire.”

“Don’t notice her,” said Buster John, “she
talks to hear herself talk.”

“T see,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, tapping
his forehead significantly and nodding his head.

“You kin nod,” said Drusilla defiantly, “but
my head got mo’ in it dan you kin comb out.”

“T believe you!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefin-
ger, “I believe you!” He spoke so earnestly
that Sweetest Susan and Buster John laughed,
and Drusilla laughed with them.

“You dropped your knife,” said Mr. Thimble-
finger. “I’m sorry of it. I can’t bring it up



22 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

to you, but I’ll see if I can’t crawl under and get
it out.”

With that he leaped nimbly from log to log and
disappeared under the wood-pile. The children
went down to see what he would do. They were
so astonished at his droll appearance that they
forgot their curiosity.

“Ts that a fairy, brother?” asked Sweetest
Susan in a low voice.

“No!” exclaimed Buster John with a lofty
air, but not loudly. “Don’t you see he’s nota
bit like the fairies we read about in books? Why,
he was afraid of a wood-sawyer.”

“ That ’s so,” Sweetest Susan rejoined.

“ He’s a witch, dat what he is,” said Drusilla.

“Shucks!” whispered Buster John. He heard
the voice of Mr. Thimblefinger under the wood-
pile.

“ T’ve found it, I’ve found it!” hecried. And
presently he made his appearance, dragging the
knife after him. He tugged at it until he got it
out, and then he sat down on a chip, wiped the
perspiration from his eyes, and fanned himself
with a thin flake of pine bark no bigger than a
bee’s wing.



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 23

“Pick me up and let’s go on top of the wood-
pile, ” said Mr. Thimblefinger after a while. “It’s
suffocating down here. Ouch! don’t tickle me,
if you do I shall have a fit.” Buster John had
lifted him by placing a thumb and forefinger
under his arms. “And don’t squeeze me,
neither,” the little man went on. “I was cramped
under that bark until I’m as sore as a boil all
over. Goodness! I wish I was at home!”

“Where do you live?” asked Sweetest Susan
when they were once more seated on the wood-
pile.

“Not far from here, not very far,” replied
Mr. Thimblefinger, shaking his head sagely, “ but
it is a different country — oh, entirely different.”

Sweetest Susan edged away from the little man
at this, and Drusilla stretched her eyes.

“What is it like?” asked Buster John boldly.

Mr. Thimblefinger reflected a while, and then
shook his head. “I can show it to you,” he
said, “but I can’t describe it.”

“Pick ’im up an’ show ’im to your ma!” ex-
claimed Drusilla suddenly.

“No, no, no!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger, leap-
ing to his feet. “That would spoil everything.



24 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

No grown person living in this country has ever
seen me. No, no! don’t try that. It would
spoil your luck. I wouldn’t be here now if the
Dolls’ Grandmother had n’t begged me to come
with her last night. But I’ll come to see you,”
—he pointed at Drusilla. “Ill come often.”

“TJ des said dat fer ter see what you’d say,”
protested Drusilla. “ You wan’ gwine ter take
’im, wuz you, honey?” This question was ad-
dressed to Buster John, who scorned to answer it.

“Grown people wouldn’t understand me,”
Mr. Thimblefinger explained. “They know a
great deal too much to suit me.” —

“ How do you get to your country?” inquired
Buster John, who was keen for an adventure.

“The nearest way is by the spring,” replied
Mr. Thimblefinger. “That is the only way you
could go.”

“Can I go too?” asked Sweetest Susan. “ And
Drusilla? ”

“Oh, of course,” said Mr. Thimblefinger,
shrugging his shoulders. “One can go or all can

99

go.
“ Do you go down the spring branch ? ” asked
Buster John.







MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 25

“ No, no,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “ Below
the spring and below the branch.”

“Do you mean under the spring?” Sweetest
Susan inquired, with some hesitation.

“That’s it,” cried Mr. Thimblefinger. “ Right
down through the spring and under it.”

“Why, we’d drown,” said Sweetest Susan.
“The spring is deep.”

“Well, you’ll ha’ ter ’skuze me,” exclaimed
Drusilla. “Dat water’s too wet fer me.”

Buster John waited for an explanation, but
none was forthcoming.

“We couldn’t go through the spring, you
know,” he said presently.

“ How do you know?” asked Mr. Thimblefin-
ger slyly. “ Did you ever try it?”

He asked each of the children this, and the
reply was that none of them had ever tried it.

“T put my foot in it once,” said Buster John,
“and the water was just like other spring water.
I know we can’t go through it.”

“Come now!” Mr. Thimblefinger suggested,
“don’t say you know. Sometimes people live to
be very old and don’t know the very things they
ought to know.”



26 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“ But I know that,” replied Buster John con-
fidently.

“Very well, then,” said Mr. Thimblefinger,
pulling out a tiny watch, “did you ever feel of
the water in the spring at precisely nine minutes
and nine seconds after twelve o'clock?”

“‘N-o-o-0,” replied Buster John, taken by sur-
prise, “I don’t think I ever did.”

“Of course not!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger
gayly. “You had no reason. Well, at nine
minutes and nine seconds after twelve o’clock the
water in the spring is not wet. It is as dry as
the air we breathe. It is now two minutes after
twelve o’clock. We'll go to the spring, wait
until the time comes, and then you will see for
yourselves.”

As they went toward the spring — Mr. Thim-
blefinger running on before with wonderful agil-
ity — Drusilla touched Sweetest Susan on the
arm. “Honey,” said she, “don’t let dat creetur
pull you in de spring. Goodness knows, ef he
puts his han’ on me I’m gwine ter squall.”

“Will you hush?” exclaimed Buster John
impatiently.

“Watch out, now,” said Drusilla defiantly.



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 27

“Ef you gits drownded in dar I’ll sho’ tell yo’
ma.”

Fortunately, there was no one near the spring,
so Mr. Thimblefinger advanced boldly, followed
closely by the children, though Drusilla seemed
to hang back somewhat doubtfully. When they
arrived there Mr. Thimblefinger took out his tiny
timepiece and held it in his hand. The children
watched him with breathless interest, especially
Buster John, who was thrilled with the idea of
having an adventure entirely different from any
that he had read of in the story-books.

As the little man stood there holding his watch
and looking at it intently, the dinner-bell rang,
first in the hallway and then in the back porch.
The children remembered it afterward.

“You all better go git yo’ dinner fo’ it git
col’, stidder projeckin’ ’roun’ here wid you dunner
what,” remarked Drusilla.

“Now!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger, “ put
your hand in the spring.”

Buster John did as he was bid, and, to his
amazement, he could feel no water. He could
see it, but he couldn’t feel it. He turned pale
with excitement and withdrew his hand. Then



28 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

he put his other hand in, but the result was the
same. He plunged his arm in up to the elbow,
but his sleeve remained perfectly dry.

“Try it, sis,” he cried.

Sweetest Susan did so, and boldly declared
there was no water in the spring. She wanted
Drusilla to try to wet her hand, but Drusilla sul-
lenly declined.

Mr. Thimblefinger settled the matter by walk-
ing into the spring.

“Now, then, if you are going, come along,”
he cried. “You have just seventeen and a half
seconds.” He waved his hand from the bottom
of the spring and stood waiting. A spring lizard
ran near him, and he drew his sword and chased
it into a hole. A crawfish showed its head, and
he drove it away. Then he waved his hand
again. “Come on, the coast is clear.”

Buster John put his hand in the water again,
and this seemed to satisfy him. He stepped
boldly into the spring, and in a moment he stood
by Mr. Thimblefinger, laughing, but still excited
by the novelty of his experience. He called to
his sister : —

“Come on, sis. It’s splendid down here.”



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 29

“Ts it wet?” she asked plaintively. “Is it
cold?”

“No!” replied Buster John impatiently.
“Don’t be a baby.”

“Come on, Drusilla! You’ve got to come.
Mamma said you must go wherever we went,”
cried Sweetest Susan.

“No, ma’am!” exclaimed Drusilla, with em-
phasis. “She ain’t tol’ me ter foller you in de
fier an’ needer in de water !”

But Sweetest Susan did n’t wait to hear. She
jumped into the spring with a splash and then
stood by her brother very red in the face.

“ive more seconds!” cried Mr. Thimble-
finger in a businesslike way.

Drusilla looked in the spring and hesitated.
She could see the water plain enough, but then
she could also see Sweetest Susan and Buster
John, and they seemed to be very comfortable.

“T’m comin’,” she yelled, “but ef you all
make me git drownded in dry water III ha’nt you
ef it’s de las’ thing I do!”

Then she shut her eyes tight, put her fingers
in her ears, and leaped into the spring. She
floundered around with her eyes still shut, and



30 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

gasped and caught her breath just lke a drown-
ing person, until she heard the others laughing
at her, and then she opened her eyes with as-
tonishment.

Suddenly there was a loud, splashing sound
heard above and around them and under their
feet.

“Watch out!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger.
“Run this way! The water is getting wet
again |”

The way seemed to widen before them as they
ran, and in a moment they found themselves
below the “gum,” or “curb,” of the spring and
beyond it. But as they went forward the bot-
tom of the spring seemed to grow and expand,
and the sun shining through gave a soft light
that was very pleasant to the eye. The grass
was green and the leaves of the trees and the
flowers were pale pink and yellow.

Mr. Thimblefinger seemed to be very happy.
He ran along before the children as nimbly as a
killdee, talking and laughing all the time. Pres-
ently Drusilla, who brought up the rear, sud-
denly stopped in her tracks and looked around.
Then she uttered an exclamation of fright.



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 81

‘Sweetest Susan and Buster John paused to see
what was the matter.

“ Wharbouts did we come in at ?”’ she asked.

Then, for the first time, the children saw that
the bottom of the spring had seemed to expand,
until it spread over their heads and around on all
sides as the sky does in our country.

“Don’t bother about that,” said Mr. Thimble-
finger. “No matter how big it looks, it’s no-
thing but the bottom of the spring after all.”

“But how are we to get out, please?” asked
Sweetest Susan.

“The same way you came in,” said Mr. Thim-
blefinger.

“T tol’ you! I tol’ you!” exclaimed Drusilla,
swinging her right arm up and down vigorously.
“ Kf you kin fly you kin git out, an’ you look
much like flyin’. Dat what you git by not
mindin’ me an’ yo’ ma!”

“Tut! tut!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger.
“T’ll ‘sicc’ the Katydids on you if you don’t
stop scarifig the little girl. Come! we are not
far from my house. Well go there and see
what the neighbors have sent in for dinner.”

Buster John followed him as readily as before,



32 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

but Sweetest Susan and Drusilla were not so
eager. They had no device, however, and Dru-
silla made the best of it.

“T ain’t skeered ez I wuz. He talk mo’ and
mo’ like folks.”

So they went on toward Mr. Thimblefinger’s

house.



III.
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS.

“T HOPE you are not tired,” said Mr. Thim-
blefinger to Sweetest Susan when ey had been
on their way for some little time. “ Because if
you are you can rest yourself by taking longer
steps.”

Buster John was ready to laugh at this, but he
soon discovered that Mr. Thimblefinger was right.
He found that he could hop and j jump ever so far
in this queer countr y, and the first use he made
of the discovery was to jump over Drusilla’s head.
This he did with hardly any effort. After that
the journey of the children, which had grown
somewhat tiresome (though they would n’t say so),
became a frolic. They skimmed along over the
gray fields with no trouble at all, but Drusilla
found it hard to retain her balance when she
jumped high. Mr. Thimblefinger, who had a
reason for everything, was puzzled at this. He
paused a while and stood thinking and rubbing his



B4 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

chin. Then he said that either Drusilla’s head
was too light or her heels too heavy — he could n’t
for the life of him tell which.

There was one thing that bothered the chil-
dren. If Mr. Thimblefinger’s house was just big
enough to fit him (as Buster John expressed it),
how could they go inside? Sweetest Susan was
so troubled that she asked Drusilla about it. But
Drusilla shook her head vigorously.

“Don’t come axin’ me,” she cried. “I done
tol’ you all right pine-blank not ter come. Ef de
house lil’ like dat creetur is, what you gwine do
when night come? En den spozen *pon top er
dat data big rain come up? Oh, I tol’ you ’fo’
you started! Who in de name er sense ever heah
talk er folks gwine down in a spring? You
mought er know’d sump’in gwine ter happen. Oh,
I tol’ you!”

There was no denying this, and Sweetest Susan
and her brother were beginning to feel anxious,
when an exclamation from Mr. Thimblefinger at-
tracted their attention.

“We are nearly there,” he shouted. “ Yon-
der is the house. My! won’t the family be sur-
prised when they see you!”



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. Bd

Sure enough there was the house, and it was
not a small one, either. Drusilla said it looked
more like a barn than a house, but Buster John
said it did n’t make any difference what it looked
like so long as they could rest there and get some-
thing to eat, for they had had no dinner.

“YT hope dey got sho ’nuff vittles — pot-licker
an’ dumplin’s, an’ sump’in you kin fill up wid,”
said Drusilla heartily.

Mr. Thimblefinger, who had been running
a little way ahead, suddenly paused and waited
for the children to come up.

“Come to think of it,’ he remarked, “you
may have heard of some of my family. I call
them my family, but they are no kin tome. We
just live together in the same house for company’s
sake.”

“They are not fairies?” suggested Sweetest
Susan.

Mr. Thimblefinger shook his head. “Oh, no!
Just common every-day people like myself. We
put on no airs. Did you ever hear of Mrs.
Meadows? And Mr. Rabbit? And Mrs. Rab-
bit?”

“ Dem what wuz in de tale?” asked Drusilla.



36 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Yes,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “the very
same persons.”

“ Sho ’nuff! ” exclaimed Drusilla. “ Why, we
been hear talk er dem sence ‘fo’ we wuz knee-
high.”

Sweetest Susan and Buster John said they had
often heard of Mr. Rabbit and Mrs. Meadows.
This seemed to please Mr. Thimblefinger very
much. He smiled and nodded approval.

“Did they ever have you in a story ?” asked.
Buster John.

“No, no!” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “TI was
so little they forgot me.” He laughed at his own
joke, but it was very plain that he didn’t relish
the idea of not having his name in a book.

Presently the children came to the house, but
they hesitated at the gate and stood there in fear
and trembling. What they saw was enough to
frighten them. An old woman was sitting in a
- chair knitting. She was not different from many
old women the children had seen, but near her
sat a Rabbit as big asa man. He was a tremen-
dous creature, grizzly and gray, and watery-eyed
from age. He sat in a rocking-chair smoking a

pipe.







MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 87

“ Te’ ’s go back,” whispered Drusilla. “ Dat
ar creetur bigger dan a hoss. Hf he git a glmp’
us we er gone — gone!”

Sweetest Susan shivered and looked at Buster
John, and Buster John looked at Mr. Thimble-
finger. But Mr. Thimblefinger ran forward, cry-
ing out : —

“ Howdy, folks, howdy! I’ve brought some
friends home to dinner.” He beckoned to the
children. ‘Come on and see Mrs. Meadows and
Mr. Rabbit.”

Mrs. Meadows immediately dropped her knit-
ting in her lap, and threw her hands up to her
head, as if to arrange her hair.

“Come in,” said Mr. Thimblefinger to the
children.

“Yes, come on,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit in a
voice that sounded as if he had a bad cold.

“T’m in no fix to be seen,” said Mrs. Meadows,
“ but I’m glad to see you, anyhow. Come right
in. Take off your things and make yourself at
home. How did you get here? I reckon that
little trick there has been telling tales out of
school.” She pointed at Mr. Thimblefinger and
laughed.



38 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER,

“He brought us,” said Sweetest Susan. “I’m
sorry we came.”

“Now, don’t say that,” remarked Mrs.
Meadows kindly. “What are you afraid of ?”

“Of him,” replied Sweetest Susan, nodding
her head toward Mr. Rabbit.

“Js that all?” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows.
“ Why, he’s as harmless as a kitten.”

“Yes, yes!” said Mr. Rabbit complacently.
“ No harm in me — no harm in old people. Just
give us a little room in the corner — a little place
where we can sit and nod—and there’s no
harm in us. I’m just as glad you’ve come as
T can be. I see you’ve brought the Tar Baby.
She’s grown some since I saw her last.” Mr.
Rabbit looked at Drusilla with considerable curi-
osity. “I hope she’s not as sticky as she used
to be.”

“Hey!” cried Buster John, laughing. “ Mr.
Rabbit thinks Drusilla is the Tar Baby!”

Drusilla tossed her head scornfully. “Huh!
I ain’t no Tar Baby. I may be a nigger, an’
I speck I is, but I ain’t no Tar Baby. My
mammy done tol’ me ’bout de Tar Baby in de
tale, an’ she got it fum her gran’daddy. Hf I’m



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 39

de Tar Baby, I’m older dan my mammy’s gran’-
daddy.”

Mr. Rabbit took off his spectacles and wiped
them on his coat-tail. “My eyes are getting very
bad,” he said, by way of apology. “But you
certainly look very much like the Tar Baby. If
you were both together in the dark, nobody
could tell you apart. Well, well! I’m getting
old.”

“You ain’t no older dan you look,” said Dru-
silla spitefully under her breath.

“Hush ! ” whispered Sweetest Susan. “Hell
eat us up.”

Mrs. Meadows laughed. “ Don’t worry, child.
Mr. Rabbit loves his pipe and a joke, but he ’Il
never hurt you. Never in the world.”

“But this isn’t in the world,” suggested
Buster John. :

“Well, it’s next door, as you may say,” Mrs.
Meadows replied.

Just then Mr. Rabbit slowly raised himself
from his chair and examined the seat closely. “TI
missed Mr. Thimblefinger,” he said, “and I was
afraid I had sat on him.”

“Oh, no!” eried Mr. Thimblefinger, coming



40 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

out from under the steps; “I was just resting
myself.”

“ Mr. Thimblefinger will take care of himself,
I’ll be bound,” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “He’s
little; but is a mountain strong because it is
big tes

“ Why, that puts me in mind of the story —
But never mind! I’m always thinking about old
times.” Mr. Rabbit sighed as he said this.

“Qh, please tell us the story,” pleaded Sweet-
est Susan, anxious to make friends with Mr. Rab-
bit.

He shook his head. “ Mrs. Meadows can tell
it better than I can.”

“Dinner!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger. “ What
about dinner?”

“Dinner “ll be ready directly,” replied Mrs.
Meadows.

“ But the story ?”’ Sweetest Susan said.

THE STRONGEST— WHO? OR WHICH?
“Well,” replied Mrs. Meadows, “it was like
this: One time in the country where we came
from — the country where you live now — there
chanced to be a big frost, and the mill-pond froze



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 41

over. Mr. Rabbit ran along that way and found
that the pond had this bridge across it.”

“ Was it this Mr. Rabbit here?” asked Buster
John.

Mrs. Meadows folded her hands in her lap and
looked at them. “ Well,” she said, “I never talk
about folks behind their backs. You must do
your own guessing. Anyway, Mr. Rabbit found
the ice bridge over the pond, and as he was in
something of a hurry he skipped across it. I
mean he skipped a part of the way. The Ice
was so slippery that when he got about halfway,
his feet slipped from under him and he fell
kerthump! He got up and rubbed himself as
well as he could, and then he thought that the
Ice must be very strong to hit him so hard a lick.
He said to the Ice, ‘ You are very strong.’

“¢T am so,’ replied the Ice.

“< Well, if you are so strong, how can the Sun
melt you?’

“The Ice said nothing, and so Mr. Rabbit
asked the Sun, ‘ Are you very strong ?’

«So they tell me,’ replied the Sun.

“< Then how can the Clouds hide you ?’

“The Sun was somewhat ashamed and had



42 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

nothing to say. So Mr. Rabbit looked at the
Clouds.

“¢ Are you very strong ?’

“¢ We have heard so,’ replied the Clouds.

“How can the Wind blow you?’

“The Clouds sailed away, and Mr. Rabbit
asked the Wind, ‘ Are you very strong ?’

“¢T believe you,’ said the Wind.

“¢Then how can the Mountain stand against
you?’

“The Wind blew itself away, and then Mr.
‘Rabbit asked the Mountain, ‘Are you very
strong ?’

“¢So it seems,’ replied the Mountain.

“ ¢ How can the Mouse make a nest in you?’

“The Mountain was mum. So Mr. Rabbit
asked the Mouse, ‘ Are you very strong ?’

“<<¢T believe so,’ replied the Mouse.

“¢ How can the Cat catch you?’

“The Mouse hid in the grass. Mr. Rabbit
asked the Cat, ‘Are you very strong ?’

“Yes, indeed,’ replied the Cat.

“¢ How can the Dog chase you ?’

“The Cat began to wash her face. Then Mr.
Rabbit said to the Dog, ‘ Are you very strong? :



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 43

“¢T certainly am,’ replied the Dog.

““* Then why does the Stick scare you?’

“The Dog began to scratch the fleas off his
neck, and Mr. Rabbit said to the Stick, ‘ Are you
very strong?’

“« Kverybody says so.’

“¢’'Then how can the Fire burn you?’

“The Stick was dumb, and Mr. Rabbit asked
the Fire, ‘ Are you very strong ?’

“““ Anybody will tell you so,’ the Fire an-
swered.

“¢ How can the Water quench you?’

“The Fire hid behind the smoke. Then Mr.
Rabbit asked the Water, ‘Are you very strong?’
““¢ Strong is no name for it,’ said the Water.

“¢ How can the Ice cover you ?’

“The Water went running down the river, and
after it had gone the Ice said to Mr. Rabbit,
‘You see you had to come back to me at last.

“<¢Yes,’ replied Mr. Rabbit, ‘and now I am
going away. You are too much for me.’ Then
Mr. Rabbit loped off, rubbing his bruises.”

“Was it really you, Mr. Rabbit?” asked Sweet-
est Susan.

Mr. Rabbit rubbed his mustache with the end



44 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER,

of his pipe-stem. “Well, I’ll tell you the truth.
I was mighty foolish in my young days. But
now all I want to do is to eat breakfast, and then
wait until dinner is ready, and then sit and wait
until supper is put on the table.”

Mrs. Meadows winked at the children and then
turned to Mr. Rabbit.

“Now,” said she, “I’ve told the story you
ought to have told, for you know more about it
than anybody else. It’s as little as you can do
to sing the old song that you sung when you used
to go frolicking.”

“Why, it’s about myself!” exclaimed Mr.
Rabbit. “At my time of life it would never
do.”

“ Please make him sing it,” said Sweetest Susan,
who was much given to getting her own way by
the pretty little art of coaxing.

“Oh, he’ll sing it,” replied Mrs. Meadows
confidently. “He can’t refuse.”

Mr. Rabbit shook his head, and then seemed to:
fall into a brown study, but suddenly, seeing that
they were all waiting for the song, he cleared up
his throat, and after several false starts sang this
song : —



MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 45

OH, THIS IS MR. RABBIT!

Oh, this is Mr. Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass ;
He courted Miss Meadows, when her ma was away,
He crossed his legs, and said his say.
He crossed his legs, and he winked his eye,
And then he told Miss Meadows good-by.
So it’s good-by, ducky,
And it’s good-by, dear !
I'll never come to see you
Until next year !
For this is Mr. Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass.

And he eried from the gate, so bold and free:
“J know you are glad to get rid of me.”
And then Miss Meadows shook her head —
“Tf you stay too long you'll find me dead.
And it’s good-by, ducky,
And it’s good-by, dear !
You ‘Il find me dead
When you come next year !”
For this is Mr. Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass.

Mr. Owl called out from the top of the tree,
“ Oh, who? Oh, who?” and “He-he-he !”
Mr. Fox slipped off in the woods and cried ;
Mr. Coon’s broken heart caused a pain in his side,
For it’s good-by, ducky,
And it’s good-by, dear !
If you ever come to see me,
Come before next year !



46 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

For this is Mr, Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass.

Mr. Rabbit looked around, and saw all the trouble,
And he laughed and he laughed till he bent over double.
He shook his head, and said his say —
“T?ll come a-ealling when to-morrow is to-day.
For when you have a ducky,
Don’t stay — don’t stay —
Go off and come again
When to-morrow is to-day.”
For this is Mr. Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass.



IV.
TWO QUEER STORIES.

TuERE is no doubt the children were very
much surprised to see Mr. Rabbit. They were
astonished to find that he was so large and
solemn-looking. When the negroes on the plan-
tation told them about Mr. Rabbit — or Bro-
ther Rabbit, as he was sometimes called —they
had imagined that he was no larger than the rab-
bits they saw in the sedge-field or in the barley-
patch, but this Mr. Rabbit was larger than a
dozen of them put together.

In one way or another Sweetest Susan and
Buster John and Drusilla showed their amaze-
ment very plainly — especially Drusilla, who took
no pains to conceal hers. Every time Mr. Rab-
bit moved she would nudge Sweetest Susan or
Buster John and exclaim: “ Look at dat!” or,
“We better be gwine!” or, “Spozen Brer Fox
er Brer Wolf come up an’ dey er dat big!”

Mrs. Meadows noticed this; indeed, she could
not help noticing it. And so she said : —



48 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“JT reckon maybe you expected to find Mr.
Rabbit no bigger than the rest of his family that
live in your country.”

Before the children could make any answer,
Mr. Rabbit began to chuckle, and he chuckled
so heartily that Sweetest Susan was afraid he
would choke.

“J don’t wonder you laugh,” said Mrs. Mead-
ows, elevating her voice a little, as if Mr. Rabbit
were a little deaf.

“Tt may not be polite to laugh in company,”
replied Mr. Rabbit, “but I am obliged to do it.”
His voice was wheezy, and he nodded his head
vigorously. “ Yes, I am obliged to do it. Why,
I could put one of those poor creatures in my
coat-pocket. They are not Rabbits. They are
Runts. Yes, Runts. That’s what they are.
And to think, too, that their great-grandparents
might have come here when I did. But, no!
They would n’t hear to it. No new country for
them, they said. And so they stayed where they
were, and the breed has dwindled down to— to
nothing. Ill be bound they have forgotten how
to talk.” He turned to the children with a look
of inquiry.



TWO QUEER STORIES. 49

“ Why, of course, rabbits can’t talk,” said
Buster John.

Mr. Rabbit shook his head sadly and put his
hand to his eyes. “ Well, well, well!” he ex-
claimed after a while. “Can’t talk! But I
might have known it. The family’s gone to
seed. I’m glad I’m not there to see it all.
A neighbor here and there does no harm,
but when people began to crowd in I concluded
to move, and I’m glad I did. I’m old and get-
ting feeble, but, thank gracious, I’m not a
Runt.”

“T don’t see but you’re as nimble as ever you
were,” remarked Mrs. Meadows soothingly.

“T know —I know!” Mr. Rabbit insisted ;
“T may be as nimble, but I’m not as keen for a
frolic as I used to be. The chimney-corner suits
me better than a barbecue.” Mr. Rabbit closed
his big eyes and sighed. “ Well, well —every-
body to his time, everybody to his taste | ”

Mrs. Meadows nodded her head approvingly.
“Yes; between first one thing and then another,
there ’s lots of time and a heap of tastes.”

“They tell me,” remarked Mr. Rabbit sud-
denly, “ that things have got to that pass in the



50 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

country we came from that even Mr. Billy-Goat,
who used to eat meat, has dwindled away in
mind and body till he hangs around the stable
doors and eats straw for a living. That’s what
Mr. Thimblefinger says, and he ought to know.
I suppose Billy is still bob-tailed ? I remember
the very day he had his tail broken off.”
“ Tell us about it,” remarked Buster John.

- S WHY MR. BILLY-GOAT'S TAIL IS SHORT.

“Oh, it doesn’t amount to much,” said he.
“Tt’s hardly worth talking about. I think it
was one Saturday. In those days, you know, we
used to have a half-holiday every Saturday. We
worked hard all the week, and we tried to crowd
as much fun into a half-holiday as possible.
Well, one Saturday afternoon Mr. Billy-Goat and
Mr. Dog were walking arm in arm along the
road, talking and laughing in a sociable way,
when all of a sudden a big rain came up. Mr.
Billy-Goat said he was mighty sorry he left his
parasol at home, because the rain was apt to
make his horns rust. Mr. Dog shook himself
and said he did n’t mind water, because when he
got wet the fleas quit biting.



TWO QUEER STORIES. 51

“But Mr. Billy-Goat hurried on and Mr. Dog
kept up with him until they came to Mr. Wolf’s
house, and they ran into the front porch for
shelter. The door was shut tight, but Mr. Billy-
Goat had on his high-heel shoes that day, and he
made so much noise as he tramped about that
Mr. Wolf opened his window and looked out.
When he saw who it was, he cried out : —

“* Hallo! this is not a nice day to pay visits,
but since you are here, you may as well come in
out of the wet.’

“But Mr. Dog shook his head and flirted up
dirt by seratching on the ground with his feet.
He had smelled blood. Mr. Billy-Goat saw how
Mr. Dog acted, and he was afraid to go in. So
he shook his horns.

““ You'd just as well come in and sit by the
fire,’ said Mr. Wolf, unlatching the door.

“But Mr. Dog and Mr. Billy-Goat thanked
him kindly, and said they didn’t want to carry
mud into the house. They said they would just
stand in the porch till the shower passed over.
Then Mr. Wolf took down his fiddle, tuned it up,
and began to play. In his day and time few
could beat him playing the fiddle. And this



52 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

time he played his level best, for he knew that if
he could start Mr. Billy-Goat to dancing he’d
have him for dinner.”

“I don’t see how,” said Buster John.

“Well,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, « if Mr. Billy-
Goat began to dance he would be likely to dance
until he got tired, and then it would be an easy
matter for Mr. Wolf to outrun him.”

“ Of course,” said Sweetest Susan.

“ Well,” Mr. Rabbit continued, “Mr. Wolf
kept on playing the fiddle, but Mr. Billy-Goat
didn’t dance. Not only that, he kept so near the
edge of the porch that the rain drifted in on his
horns and ran down his long beard. But he
kept his eye on Mr. Wolf. After playing the
fiddle till he was tired, Mr. Wolf asked : —

““How do you get your meat, my young
friends ?’

“Mr. Dog said he depended on his teeth, and
Mr. Billy-Goat, thinking to be on the safe side,
said he also depended upon his teeth.

“¢ As'for me,’ cried Mr. Wolf, my feet!’ and with that he dropped his fiddle
and jumped at Mr. Billy-Goat. But he knocked
the broom down and the handle tripped him. It











te ae,
Avett
Wy Dt ip g
Z OI

Ake ee Fig Y , ay fe :
c % Psy Z Y. Ly :
Bf) Oe oF Lf ie

x





TWO QUEER STORIES. 53

was all very sudden, but by the time Mr. Wolf
had recovered himself Mr. Billy-Goat and Mr.
Dog had gone a considerable distance.

“They ran and ran until they came toa big
ereek. Mr. Billy-Goat asked Mr. Dog how he
was going to get across.

eee Sonne said Mr. Dog.

“¢ Then Ill have to bid you good-by,’ replied
Mr. Billy-Goat, ‘ for I can’t swim a stroke.’

“ By this time they had arrived at the bank of
the creek, and they could hear Mr. Wolf coming
through the woods. They had no time to ieee
Mr. ee looked around on the ground, gathered
some jan-weed, yan-weed, and tan-weed, rubbed
them together, and squeezed a drop of the j juice
on Mr. Bally Coats horns. He had no sooner
done this than Mr. Billy-Goat was changed into
a white rock.

“Then Mr. Dog leaped into the creek and
swam across. Mr. Wolf ran to the bank, but
there he stopped.. The water was so wide it
made tears come in his eyes; so deep that it made
his legs ache; and so cold that it made his body
shiver

“When Mr. Dog arrived safely on the other



&
54 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

side he cried out, ‘ Aha! you are afraid! - You’ve
drowned poor Mr. Billy-Goat, but you are afraid
of me. I dare you to fling a rock at me!’

“This made Mr. Wolf so mad that he seized
the white rock and threw it at Mr. Dog with all
his might. It fell near Mr. Dog, and instantly
became Mr. Billy-Goat again. But in falling a
piece was broken off, and it happened to be Mr.
Billy-Goat’s tail. Ever since then he has had a
very short tail.”

“‘ Were you there, Mr. Rabbit?” asked Sweet-
est Susan bluntly.

“T was fishing at the time,” replied Mr. Rab-
bit. “TI heard the noise they made, and I turned
around and saw it just as I’ve told you.”

Drusilla touched Buster John on the arm.
“We ain’t dreamin’, is we, honey ?”

Buster John looked at her scornfully. “ What
put that in your head ?” he asked.

“Suppose the rock had hit Mr. Dog?” sug-
gested Sweetest Susan.

THE PUMPKIN-EATER.

“ Now, that’s so!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefin-
ger. “And it reminds me of a little accident



TWO QUEER STORIES. 55

that happened in my mother’s family. But it’s
hardly worth telling.”

“ Well, tell it, anyhow,” said Mrs. Meadows.

“Yes,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “the proof of
the pudding is in chewing the bag.”

“ Well,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “as far back
as I can remember, and before that, too, my
mother was a widow, and she had a great many
children to take care of. The reason she had so
many children was because she was poor. I have
noticed all my life that when people are very
poor they happen to have more children than
they know what to do with. This was the way
with my mother. She had a houseful of chil-
dren, and she found it a hard matter to get
along.

“One day she went down to the creek to wash
the clothes, such as she and the children had, and
when she got there she found an old man sitting
on the bank. He said, ‘Howdy,’ and she said,
‘Good-morning,’ and then he asked her if she
would be so good as to wash his coat and his
waistcoat. She said she would be glad to do
so, and the old man said he would be very much
obliged. So my mother washed the coat and



56 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

waistcoat. Then he asked her if she would comb
his hair for him, and she did so.

“The old man thanked her kindly, and took
from his pocket a string of red beads and made
her a present of them. Then he told her to go
out behind the house when she got home, and
there she *d find a pumpkin-tree growing. He
said that she must bury the string of beads at
the foot of the tree.

“ are so beautiful.’

“But the old man declared that she must do
as he said, and after that she was to go to the
pumpkin-tree every day and ask for as many
pumpkins as she wanted.

““ My mother went home and found the pump-
kin-tree where never a tree had been growing
before, and at its roots she buried the string of
beads. Next morning, bright and early, she
went to the pumpkin-tree and called for one
pumpkin. Down it dropped from the tree. For
a long time my mother and her children were
happy and growing fat. Every day a big pump-
kin would be cooked, and as my mother had to
leave us so as to attend to her work, enough







TWO QUEER STORIES. 57

pumpkin would be left in the pot to last us all
day.

“T remember that time very well,” Mr.
Thimblefinger continued, with a sigh, “for I was
getting fat and growing to be almost as large as
the rest of the children. But one day, as my
mother was going out to work she found a ham-
per basket on the gate-post, and in that basket
was a baby. So she carried the baby in the
house, gave it something to eat, and then put it
on the floor to play with the rest. But as soon
as she got out of the yard the baby crawled to
the pot where the cooked pumpkin was, and ate
and ate until there was no pumpkin left. Of
course, the rest of the children had to go hungry.
And when my mother came home she had to go
hungry, too.

“She was very much surprised. She found all
the pumpkin gone and the children crying for
something to eat, and the stray baby was crying
louder than any. She said we were the greediest
children she had ever seen.

“The next day she cooked two pumpkins, but
the same thing happened. The baby went to
the pot and ate both. The children told her how



58 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

it happened, but she wouldn’t believe them.
She said she could n’t be made to believe that one
puny little baby could eat two whole pumpkins —
and it is very queer, when you come to think
about it.

“The next day she cooked three pumpkins, but
the same thing happened. Then four, then five,
then six. But it was always the same. No mat-
ter how many pumpkins were cooked, the stray
baby would eat them all, and the rest of the chil-
dren would have to go hungry. You see how
small I am,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, suddenly
pausing in the thread of his story. “Well, the
reason of it is that I was starved out by that
pumpkin-eating baby. My brothers and sisters
and myself were just as large and as healthy as
any other children until that baby was found on
the gate-post, and from that day we began to
dwindle and shrink away.

“Well, we starved and starved until at last my
mother could very plainly see that something was
the matter. So she set a trap for the baby and
baited it with pumpkins. She had n’t got out of
hearing before the baby put his head in the pot
and got caught in the trap. It stayed there all



IFWO QUEER STORIES. 59

day, and when mother came home at night she
found it there. She was very much surprised,
but she saw she must get rid of the baby. She
said that any creature that could manage to eat
like that was able to take care of itself, and so
she carried it off down the road and left it
there.

“Now this Pumpkin-Eater was a witch baby,
and as soon as it thought my mother was out of
sight and hearing it changed itself into a tall,
heavy man.”

“°T wuz feedin’ de big man all de time,” ex-
claimed Drusilla.

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “ My
mother was watching it, and she followed to see
where it would go. It went down to the bank of
the river. There it found the old man who had
given my mother the string of beads, and asked
him for something to eat.

«Comb my hair for me,’ said the old man.

“ But it refused, and then the old man told it
to go to the pumpkin-tree and ask for twenty
pumpkins. The greedy thing was glad to do this.
Tt went to the tree and called for twenty pump-
kins, and down they fell on its head.”



60 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER,

“What then?” asked Buster J ohn, as Mr.
Thimblefinger paused. “ Was it hurt?”

“Smashed!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger.
“Knocked flatter than a pancake! Broke into
jiblets ! ”

“Tt was a great waste of pumpkins,” remarked
Mrs. Meadows.



Vv.
THE TALKING-SADDLE,

Just then Mrs. Meadows smoothed out her
apron and rose from her chair.
“TJ smell dinner,” she said, “and it smells like
it is on the table. Let’s go in and get rid of it.”
She led the way, and the children followed.
The dinner was nothing extra, — just a plain,
every-day, country dinner, with plenty of pot-
liquor and dumplings; but the children were hun-
gry, and they made short work of all that was
placed before them. Drusilla waited on the table,
as she did at home, but she did n’t go close to Mr.
Rabbit. She held out the dishes at arm’s length
when she offered him anything, and once she came
very near dropping a plate when he suddenly
flapped his big ear on his nose to drive off a fly.
Mrs. Meadows was very kind to the children,
but when once the edge was taken off their ap-
petite they began to get uneasy again. There
were a thousand questions they might have asked,



62 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

but they had been told never to ask questions in
company. Mr. Thimblefinger, who had a keen
eye for such things, noticed that they were begin-
ning to get glum and dissatisfied, and so he said
with a laugh : —

“T’ve often heard in my Pa of children
who talked too much, but these don’t talk at all.”

“Oh, theyll soon get over that,” Mrs.
Meadows remarked. “Everything is so strange
here, they don’t know what to make of it. When
I was a little bit of a thing my ma used to take
me to quiltings, and I know it took me the long-
est kind of atime to get used to the strangers and
all.”

“This isn’t a quilting,” aud Sweetest Susan,
with a sigh; “I wish it was.’

“T don’t!” exclaimed Buster John plumply.

“Once when I was listening through a key-
hole,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, placing his tiny
knife and fork crosswise on his plate, “I heard
a story about a Talking-Saddle.”

“Tell it! tell it!” cried Buster John and
Sweetest Susan.

“T suppose you have no pie to-day ?”’ said Mr.
Rabbit.







THE TALKING-SADDLE. 63

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Meadows, “well have
the pie and the story, too.”

Mr. Thimblefinger smacked his lips and winked
his eye in such comical fashion that the children
laughed heartily, but they did n’t forget the story.

“JT don’t know that I can remember the best of
it,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “The wind was
blowing and the keyhole was trying to learn how
to whistle, and I may have missed some of the
story. But it was such a queer one, and I was
listening so closely, that I came very near falling
off the door-knob when some one started to come
out. I think we’d better eat our pie first. I
might get one of those huckleberries in my throat
while talking, and there’s no doctor close at hand
to keep me from choking to death.”

So they ate their huckleberry-pie, and then Mr.
Thimblefinger told the story.

‘Once upon a time a farmer had five sons. He
was not rich and he was not poor. He had some
land, and he had a little money. He divided
his land equally among his four oldest sons, giv-
ing each just as much as he could till. To each,
he also gave a piece of money. Then he called
his youngest son, and said : —



64 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“¢ You have sharp eyes and a keen wit. You
want no land. All you need is a saddle. That I
will give you.’

“* A saddle! What will I do with a saddle?’
asked the youngest son, whose name was Tip-
Top.

““Make your fortune with it.’

“
“« A head is better than a horse,’ the father
replied.

“ Not long after, the old man died. The land
was divided up among the four older sons, and
Tip-Top was left with the saddle. He slung it on
his back and set out to make his fortune. It was
not long before he came to a large town. He
rested for a while and then he went into the town.
He remembered that his father had said a head
was better than a horse, so, instead of carrying
the saddle on his back, he put it on his head. At
first the people thought he was carrying the sad-
dle because he had sold his horse for a good price,
or because the animal had died. But he went
through street after street still carrying the saddle
on his head, never pausing to look around or to
speak to anybody, and at last the people began



THE TALKING-SADDLE. 65

to wonder. Some said he was a simpleton, some
said he was a saddle-maker advertising his wares,
and some said he was a tramp who ought to be
arrested and put in the workhouse.

“This talk finally reached the ears of the
Mayor of the town, and he sent for Tip-Top to
appear before him.”

“ What is a Mayor?” asked Sweetest Susan
suddenly.

“ He de head patter-roller,” said Drusilla, be-
fore anybody else could reply.

“That ’s about right,” Mr. Thimblefinger de- |
clared. “Well, the Mayor sent for Tip-Top.
But instead of going to the place where the
Mayor held his court, Tip-Top inquired where his
house was and went there. Now, when Tip-Top
knocked at the Mayor’s door the servant, seeing
the man with a saddle on his head, began to scold
him.

“Do you think the Mayor keeps his harness
in the parlor? Go in the side gate and carry the
saddle in the cellar where it belongs. Hang it on
the first peg you see.’

“Tip-Top tried to say something, but the ser-
vant shut the door with a bang. Then Tip-Top



66 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

did as he was bid. He went through the side
gate, and found the cellar without any trouble,
but instead of hanging the saddle on a peg, he
placed it on the floor and sat on it.

“ After waiting patiently a while, wondering
when the Mayor would call him, Tip-Top heard
voices on the other side of the wall. He listened
closely, and soon found that the housemaid who
had driven him away from the Mayor’s door was
talking to her brother, who had just returned
from a long journey.

“<«The Mayor has gold,’ said the brother.
‘You must tell me where he keeps it. I havea
companion in my travels, and to-night we shall
come and take the treasure.’

“For a long time the housemaid refused to
tell where the Mayor kept his gold, but the bro-
ther threatened and coaxed, and finally she told
him where the treasure lay.

“Tt is in a closet by the chimney in the first
room to the right at the head of the stairs. The
gold is in an iron box and it is very heavy.’

“My companion has long hair and a strong
arm,’ said the brother. ‘He is cross-eyed and
knock-kneed. It wouldn’t do for you to meet



THE TALKING-SADDLE. 67

him in the hallway. Go to bed early and lock
your door, and if you hear any outcry during the
night cover your head with a pillow and go to
sleep again.’

“Then the housemaid and her brother went
away.

“¢ Well, said Tip-Top, ‘this is no place for
me.’

“He waited a while, and then went out of the
cellar into the yard with his saddle on his head.
The cook, seeing him there, told him to carry the
saddle to the stable where the horses were kept.
Tip-Top went to the stable, placed his saddle in
an empty stall, and sat on it.

“ After a while he heard two persons come in
from the street. They went into a stall near by
and began to talk. One was the coachman and
the other was his nephew, who had just returned
from a long journey.

“ nephew. ‘I must have two of them to-night,
otherwise I am ruined forever.’

“The coachman refused to listen at first, but
after a while he consented. He told his nephew
that the stable-boy slept in the manger.



68 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“‘¢T have a companion in my travels,’ said his
nephew, ‘and to-night we shall come and take the
horses away. My companion has short hair and
a heavy hand. Close your eyes and cover your
head with straw if you hear any outcry.’

“ After a while the coachman and his nephew
went out into the street again, and then Tip-Top
came forth from the stable with the saddle on his
head. The Mayor had just come in, and was
standing at his window. He saw the man in the
yard with the saddle on his head, and sent a ser-
vant to call him.

“<¢ What is your name?’ asked the Mayor.

“<¢Tip-Top, your honor.’

“¢T did n’t ask after your health ; I asked for
your name,’ said the Mayor.

“<¢T¢ is Tip-Top, your honor.’

“¢ Your name or your health?’

“¢ Both, your honor.’

“<< What are you doing here?’

“< Fis honor, the Mayor, sent for me, your
honor.’

“¢ What were you doing just now ?’

“¢ Waiting to be sent for, your honor.’

_ “Where is your horse?’ asked the Mayor.



=






ro

(fl



THE TALKING-SADDLE. 69

“
“¢ Why do you carry your saddle?’

“¢ Because no one will carry it for me, your
honor.’

““ Why do you not sell it and be rid of it,
ninny ?’
_ “¢ Few are rich enough to buy it, your honor.’

“¢ How much money is it worth?’

“
“¢ Are you crazy?’ cried the Mayor. ‘Why is
it so valuable ?’

“
“¢ What does it say ?’

“¢ Everything, your honor. It warns, it pre-
dicts, and it gives advice.’

““* Let it talk for me,’ said the Mayor, full of
curiosity.

“¢Your honor would fail to understand its
. language,’ replied Tip-Top.

“Let it talk and do you tell me what it says.’

“Tip-Top placed his saddle on the carpet and.
pressed his foot against it until the leather made
a creaking noise.

“JT am waiting,’ said the Mayor. ‘What does
the saddle say ?’



70 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Tt says, your honor, that you must call the
housemaid.’

“'The Mayor, to humor the joke, did so. The
housemaid came, grumbling. She looked at the
saddle, at Tip-Top, and then at the Mayor.

““¢ Now what does the saddle say?’ asked the
Mayor.

“Tt says, your honor, that this woman has a
brother, who has just returned from a journey in
strange lands. The saddle says, your honor, that
this woman’s brother has a companion who has
long hair and a strong arm.’

“Ts that all?’ asked the Mayor.

“* No, your honor, it is not half.’

“<¢ Tt is very strange,’ said the housemaid.

“ will sit in the closet by the chimney, i in the first
room to the right, where there is an iron box that
is very heavy, you will receive a visit ee
from this woman’s brother and his companion.’

“The Mayor was very much astonished, but
before he could open his lips the woman fell on
her knees and confessed all. The Mayor called
an officer and sent her away. Then he turned to

Tip-Top, and asked : —



THE TALKING-SADDLE. T1

eels thateallin.

“¢ By no means, your honor. The saddle says
send for the coachman.’

“The Mayor did so, and the coachman came,
bowing and smiling.

“¢ How much is the saddle worth?’ the Mayor
asked him.

“¢ Master, it is worthless,’ replied the coach-
man, with a sneer.

“* Let us see,’ said the Mayor. Then, turning
to Tip-Top : ‘ What does the saddle say ?’

“<¢Té says, your honor, that this coachman
here has a nephew, who has just returned from
along journey. It says that the nephew has
a companion who has short hair and a heavy
hand.’

“<¢ What more?’

“«The saddle says, your honor, that if you will
sleep in the manger where your two finest horses
feed, you will receive a visit from the coachman’s
nephew and his traveling companion.’

“The coachman implored his master’s mercy,
and told all. Of course, the Mayor was very
much astonished. He turned his unfaithful ser-
vants over to an officer, and that night had a



72 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

watch set around his house and stable, and caught
the thieves and their companions.”

“ But the saddle didn’t talk,” said Sweetest
Susan. “So the man didn’t tell what was true.”
She made this remark with so much dignity that
Mrs. Meadows laughed.

But Buster John was quite impatient.

“This is n’t a girl’s story,” he exclaimed.

“Oh, yes,” replied Mrs. Meadows. “It is for
girls as well as boys. Sometimes people tell stories
just to pass the time away, and if the stories have
little fibs in ’em, that don’t do anybody any harm,
they just keep them in there. If they didn’t, the
story would n’t be true.”

“Is that the end of the story of the Talking-
Saddle?” asked Buster John.

“No! Oh,no!” Mr. Thimblefinger answered.
“T was just going to tell you the rest.”

But before he could go on with it, the noise of
laughter was heard at the door, and then there
came running in a queer-looking girl and a very

queer-looking boy.



VI.
THE TALKING-SADDLE AND THE THIEF.

Tux queer-looking girl was running from the
very queer-looking ton and both were laughing
loudly. When they saw the children sitting at
the table they both stopped suddenly. The
queer-looking girl turned and made a wry face
at the very queer-looking boy. At this both
burst out laughing, and suddenly stopped again.

“Be ashamed of yourselves!” ae old
Mr. Rabbit, rapping on the floor with his cane.
“Be ashamed! Where are your manners? Go
and speak to our friends and make your best bow,
too, — don’t forget that!” My. Rabbit appeared
to be very indignant.

Mrs. Meadows was in a better humor, “ This,”
ee said, as the queer-looking girl came forward,

“is Chickamy Crany Crow, and this, as the very
ers boy came timidly up, is Tickle-My-
Toes.”

They bowed, and then went off a little way,



74 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

looking very solemn and comical. They didn’t
dare glance at each other for fear they would
begin laughing again. The reason they looked
so queer was because, although they acted like
children, they were old in appearance, —as old as
a person past middle age.

“They are country-raised, poor things! You’ll
have to excuse them. They don’t know any bet- —
ter.” Mr. Thimblefinger sighed as he said this,
and looked thoughtful.

“What about the Talking-Saddle?” Buster
John inquired. “ You said the story wasn’t fin-
ished.”

“To be sure! To be sure!” Mr. Thimble-
finger cried. “ My mind is like a wagon without
a tongue. It goes every way but the right way.
Where was 1? Oh, yes, I remember now.”

“Well, the Mayor was very thankful to Tip-
Top for saving his treasure and his horses, but
he wasn’t satisfied about the saddle. He was
worried. Now, you know when a child is wor-
ried it cries, but when a grown man is worried he
sits down and looks away off, and puts his elbow
in his hand and his finger to his nose — so.”

“Oh, I’ve seen papa do that,” laughed Sweet-
est Susan.



TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. 75

“Yes, that’s the way the Mayor did,’ Mr.
Thimblefinger continued. “There was a great
thief in that country who had never been caught.
He didn’t care for judges and juries and court-
houses. He always sent the Mayor word when
he was coming to the city and when he was go-
ing away.

“Now, the Mayor had received a letter from
this man just the day before Tip-Top came.
The thief said he was coming after a fine race-
horse that was owned by the Mayor’s brother.
So the Mayor sat and thought, and finally he
asked Tip-Top if his Talking-Saddle could catch
a famous thief.

“<¢Tt has just caught four common rogues,
your honor,’ replied Tip-Top, ‘and I think it can
catch one uncommon thief.’

“Then the Mayor told Tip-Top that the most
famous thief in all that country intended to steal
his brother’s race-horse. Tip-Top said he must
see the horse, and together they went to the sta-
ble where it was kept. The horse was already
guarded. Two servants sat in the stall, two sat
outside, and two remained near the door. The
Mayor’s brother was also there.



76 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

““¢ What is this?’ the brother asked.

“¢This fellow wants to sell his saddle,’ re-
plied the Mayor.

“Then arrest him,’ cried the brother, ‘for he
is the thief.’

“Nonsense,” replied the Mayor. ‘He is a
very honest man and I will vouch for him”

Then the Mayor called his brother aside and
told him why the man with the saddle had come
to see the horse.

“Tip-Top talked with the men who had been
set to guard the horse, and he soon found that
one of them was an accomplice of the thief. This
man made a swift sign to Tip-Top, and placed his
finger on his mouth. Tip-Top replied by closing
his eyes with his fingers, as if to show that he
saw nothing. When he had an opportunity he
said to this man : —

“* Tell your master I will be willing to sell the
saddle to-night. I will sleep~with it under my
head on the next corner. It is worth one thou-
sand pieces of gold.’

“Then he returned to the Mayor, and they
went away. ‘Tip-Top laughed as they walked
along. ‘This thief,’ he remarked, ‘is a fool.



TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. TT

It is so easy to steal a horse that he will not buy
a saddle. He will try to steal mine. Then we
shall catch him. He will get the horse —’

“* What!’ cried the Mayor; ‘get the horse?’

“¢Certainly ; nothing is easier,’ replied Tip-
Top. ‘He will get the horse, and then he will
want a saddle. He will be passing the wall here.
He will see me sleeping with my head on my
friend and then he will attempt to steal it, but
the surcingle will be buckled around my body,
and I will awake and cry blue murder. Then
you and your brother can come forward from the
vacant house yonder and seize him.’

““¢ Where did you learn all this?’ asked the
Mayor. He began to suspect that his brother
was right when he said that Tip-Top was the
thief.

“My saddle told me,’ Tip-Top answered.

“¢ Well,’ said the Mayor, ‘ your plan is as good
as any, but how will the thief get the horse that
is so well guarded ?’

“<«Ah!’ Tip-Top exclaimed, ‘if I were to tell
you, we should never catch the thief.’

“So it was all arranged. Tip-Top was to sleep
on his Talking-Saddle, near the wall and the



78 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Mayor and his brother were to watch from the
windows of the vacant house opposite.

“ When night came, the watchers who had been
set to guard the horse were very anxious. They
were ready to arrest any one who might chance
to enter. Whenever they heard footsteps ap-
proaching they seized their clubs and stood on the
defensive. Sometimes a passer-by would pause,
look in, and ask what the trouble was. Then the
watchers would reply that they were waiting for
the great thief who was coming to steal the fine
horse. Thus the hours passed, but no thief came.
Then the watchers began to get tired.

“¢ We are crazy,’ said one. ‘How can a thief
steal this horse, even if he were to come in here?
We are four to one. Two of us should sleep
a while, and thus we can take turns in watching.’
This was agreed to, and two of the guards
stretched themselves on the straw and prepared
tosleep. But just then they heard some one sing-
ing far down the street. It was a jolly song, and
the sound of it came louder and louder. As the
singer was going by, the light in the stable caught
his eye, and he paused and looked in, but still
kept up his singing.



TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. 79

“¢ Friends,’ he said when his song was done,
‘what is the trouble?’

“¢We are watching a horse.’

“ doctored many a horse in my day.’

“¢ He is not sick,’ replied the watchers. ‘He
is well and taking his ease. We are watching to
prevent a thief from stealing him.’

“Then they told him the threat the thief had
made.

“¢ Come, that is too good,’ cried the newcomer.
‘This thief will be worth looking at when four
such stout lads as you get through with him../
When does he show himself ?’

“<« That is what we are to find out,’ replied the
watchers.

“<¢Very well,’ the newcomer said; ‘I'll stay,
by your permission, and see you double him up.’

“The watchers gave their consent gladly, for
the newcomer had a lively manner and a rattling
tongue. He sang songs and told stories for an
hour or more, and then pulled a bottle from un-
der his coat.

“¢ A little wine,’ he said, ‘ will clear the fog
from our throats.’ He passed the bottle around,



80 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

and all drank except the guard who was watchb-
ing in the stall.

“ Now the man who had come singing up the
street was the thief himself, and the guard in the
stall was his companion. The wine was drugged,
and in a very few minutes three of the watchers
were fast asleep. Then the thief and his compan-
ion took the horse from the stall.

“¢T shall have to remain here and pretend to
be asleep,’ said the companion. ‘You will find a
saddle around the corner.’ He then told the thief
about the man with the saddle.

“¢ You are a fool, my friend,’ said the thief.
“Tt is a trick —a trap.’

“ But when he had carried off the horse and
hid it at the house of an acquaintance, the
thought of the man with the saddle worried him
so that he went back to satisfy himself. Tip-Top
and his saddle were there, and Tip-Top had slept
so soundly that his head had rolled from his pil-
low. The thief thought it would be a good
stroke of business to take the saddle along, but
when he tried to lift it, Tip-Top awoke and seized
him, and cried ‘ Murder!’ at the top of his voice.

“ The Mayor and his brother rushed from



TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. 81

their place of concealment, and soon the thief
was bound.

“‘¢ Where is the horse ?’ cried the Mayor.

“What horse?’ exclaimed the thicf. ‘Do
you think I carry horses in my pocket ?’

“¢ What were you doing here, then ?’

“<¢ This fellow’s head had slipped from its pil-
low, and when I tried to put it back he seized
me and yelled that I was murdering him! I
saw no horse under the saddle.’

“<< Wait here a little,’ said Tip-Top. ‘ Hold this
thief till I return.’

“He went to the stable, woke the thief’s ac-
complice, who by this time was really asleep,
and told him his companion had been captured.
‘If I can find the horse and hide it our friend
will be safe, for nothing can be proved on him,’

“The man was so frightened that he told
Tip-Top where he had arranged to meet the
thief the next day. Then Tip-Top returned

_to the Mayor and his brother, who still held the
thief, and took them to the house where the
horse had been stabled.

“When the horse had been found and re-
stored to its owner the Mayor said to Tip-Top



82 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

that he would not only reward him handsomely
but grant any request he might make.

“ this man his liberty.’ —

“¢ Why?’ asked the Mayor, much astonished.

“* Because, your honor, he is my brother.’

“The thief was as much astonished as the
Mayor at this turn in his affairs, but he had no
difficulty in recognizing Tip-Top as his younger
brother.

“« He certainly is a man of talent,’ said the
Mayor, ‘and it is a pity that he should be exe-
cuted.’

“Then the thief fell on his knees and begged
the Mayor to pardon him, promising him to live
and die an honest man. And he kept his prom-
ise. He engaged in business, and, aided by
Tip-Top’s advice and influence, made a large for-
tune.”

“ What became of the Talking-Saddle?” asked
Buster John.

“Well,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, “ Tip-Top
hung the saddle in his front porch, as you have
seen farmers do. He thought a great deal of
Tbs







TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. 83

“T’ve read something about the great thief,”
remarked Buster John. “But the story didn’t
end that way. The thief escaped every time.”

“Oh, well, you know how some people are,”
exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “They want every-
thing to happen just so; even a thief must be a
big man if he’s in a story; but I don’t believe
anybody ever stole anything yet without getting
into trouble about it.” .

“Who is that crying?” Mr. Rabbit suddenly
exclaimed.

“T hear no crying,” said Mrs. Meadows.

“T certainly thought I heard crying,” per-
sisted Mr. Rabbit.

“Tt is Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-
Toes singing. Listen!”

Sure enough the queer-looking boy and the
queer-looking girl were singing a song. One
sang one line and the other the next line, and
this made the song somewhat comical. The
words were something like these : —

CHICKAMY CRANY CROW.

Oh sing it slow,
This song of woe,
Of the girl who went to wash her toe !



LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Her name was Chick —

(Oh run here. quick) —

The word ’s so thick) —
Chickamy — Chickamy Crany Crow!

Chickamy what? and Chickamy which ?
She went to the well and fell in the ditch ;
What o’clock, old Witch ?

_ The clock struck one
And bowed to the sun ;
But the sun was fast asleep you know ;
And the moon was quick,
With her oldtime trick —
To hide from Chick —
Chickamy — Chickamy Crany Crow !

Chickamy what? and Chickamy which ?
She went to the well and fell in the ditch ;
What o’clock, old Witch ?

Oh, sad to tell !
She went to the well —
The time was as close to eve ag to dawn —
To Chickamy Chick,
So supple and slick,
The clock said “ Tick |”?
But when she came back her chicken was gone !

Oh, whatamy, whichamy, chickamy, oh !
Moonery, oonery, tickamy Toe !
Wellery, tellery, gittery go !

Witchery, itchery, knitchery know.”


Mag CHANDLER —
Sep.COCHARRIS


The Baldwin Library

University
RmB dh
Florida






Books bp Joel Chandler Harris.

NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS. Illus-
trated. r2mo, $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. TIllus-
trated. 12mo0, $1.50,

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

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
Boston anp New York.








MR. RABBIT FELL KERTHUMP. PaGE 42.
LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER
AND HIS QUEER COUNTRY

Wihat the Chiloren Satw and Weard there

BY

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

AUTHOR OF ‘‘ UNCLE REMUS,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY OLIVER HERFORD



BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

Che Wivergide press, Cambridge
1894
Copyright, 1894,

By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS AND
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.

All rights reserved.

The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass,.,U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company
A LITTLE NOTE TO A LITTLE BOOK.

Tue stories that follow belong to three cate-
gories. Some of them were gathered from the
negroes, but were not embodied in the tales of
Uncle Remus, because I was not sure they were
negro stories; some are Middle Georgia folklore
stories, and no doubt belong to England; and
some are merely inventions.

They were all written in the midst of daily
work on a morning newspaper, —a fact that will

account in some measure for their crude setting.

die (Oe Jatt

West Enp, AriLanta, GA.
I.
Il.
Iv.

VIL
VII.
VIII.
IX.

AI.
All.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVIT.
XVIII.
XIX.

CONTENTS.

. Tus GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS

Mr. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY .
Mr. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS

Two QurerR STORIES

. Tur TALKING-SADDLE

Tue TALKING-SADDLE AND THE THIEF
Tur Lapper or Lions
Broruer TERRAPIN’S FIDDLE-STRING

Tur Looxrine-GLass CHILDREN

. Mr. Rapsir as A Ratn-MAKER

How BrotTuEer Brar’s Harr WAS COMBED
A Srnerinc-Matcu

Tue STRAWBERRY-GIRL

Tur Wircu or tHE WELL

Tar Bewircuep HuntsMAN

Tur Tourer Ivory Bossins

“ Kren-Pount,” “ Cop-HANDLE,” AND “ Burcu ”

Mrs. MEADOWS RESUMES HER STORY

A Srory or THE RIVER

PAGE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Mr. Rassit FELL KERTHUMP (Page 42) . Frontispiece
RaGc-TsG ROLLING OUT OF THE CORNER f _ :
Tue GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS AND THE BIG BLACK
Cat . A - A 5 5 5 : : :
SweEETEST SUSAN WAKING UP. f é : : ,
Foiiowi1nG Litrrte Mr. THIMBLEFINGER . Fi 5
Mr. Rassir anp Mrs. Meapows . ea : é
Mr. Bruty-Gosat anv Mr. Wotr . é 5 : é
My MorHer WASHING THE OLD Man’s Coat AND WAIST-
COAT . ‘ : 2 ‘ : : 2 : ‘
DrvsILLA WAITING ON Mr. Rassit . : : : :
Trp-Torp AND THE MAyor ; S : 3 5 ;
Tor MAyYorR PARDONING THE THIEF . : : : :
CuickamMy Crany Crow anp Ticxire-My-Tors
Mr. Rapsir BANDAGING BrotHer Lion’s Paw a ‘5
Tur Lapprer or Lions . : ‘ 5 " é
Mr. Rassir FippLinc FoR Brorner TERRAPIN z
BrotuEr TERRAPIN TUMBLING INTO THE CREEK
SWEETEST SUSAN, MEETING HER REFLECTION . . 5
THEY ALL PLUNGED INTO THE Looxinc-GLass .. z
Mr. RABBIT SAYING NOTHING . 3 : 5 a :
Brotuer BEAR ARGUING THE RAIN QUESTION . :
Mrs. Bear HANGING OUT CLOTHES . s 3 : :
Lirrte Mr. THIMBLEFINGER . 5 : a : 3
Tue Srneinc-MatcH . 5 : : ‘ ; :

PAGE

10

14
18
24
36
52

56
62
68
82
84
92
98
104
108
110
118
124
128
134
140
144
vill LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Granny Grim-Eve Finps A Beautirut Lirtte Giri
ASLEEP

Tue Lirrte OLtp MAN DISCOVERS THE STRAWBERRY-
GIRL i ‘ i : 4 5

Tue GoLpEen-Harrep, Beautirut LirtLe Giri

Tue Littte OLtp Man, THREE WITs, AND THE STAG

Tue Stag AND THE WITCH

Tue LirrLe GirL AND THE OLD Man

VALENTINE SLAYING THE SPIDER

VALENTINE TALKING TO THE RIVER . :

Buster JOHN SHAKING Hanps wita Mr. Raspit

. 148

. 150

164

. 174

180

. 192

210

. 220

228
LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER AND
HIS QUEER COUNTRY.

1
THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS.

Once upon a time there lived on a plantation,
in the very middle of Middle Georgia, a little girl
and a little boy and their negro nurse. The little
girl’s name was Sweetest Susan. That was the
name her mother gave her when she was a baby,
and she was so good-tempered that everybody
continued to call her Sweetest Susan when she
grew older. She was seven years old. The little
boy’s name was Buster John. That was the
name his father had given him. Buster John
was eight. The nurse’s name was Drusilla, and
she was twelve. Drusilla was called a nurse, but
that was just a habit people had. She was more
of a child than either Sweetest Susan or Buster
John, but she was very much larger. She was
6 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

their playmate — their companion, and a capital
one she made.

Sweetest Susan had black hair and dark eyes
like her father, while Buster John had golden
hair and brown eyes like his mother. As for
Drusilla, she was as black as the old black cat,
and always in a good humor, except when she
pretended to be angry. Sweetest Susan had
wonderful dark eyes that made her face very
serious except when she laughed, but she was as
full of fun as Buster John, who was always in
some sort of mischief that did nobody any harm.

These children were not afraid of anything.
They scorned to run from horses, or cows, or dogs.
They were born on the big plantation, and they
spent the greater part of the day out of doors,
save when the weather was very cold or very wet.
They had no desire to stay in the house, except
when they were compelled to go to bed, and a
great many times they fretted a little because
they thought bedtime came too soon.

Sweetest Susan had a great many dolls, and
she was very fond of them. She had a China
Doll, a Jip-jap Doll, a Rag Doll, a Rubber Doll,
a White Doll, a Brown Doll, and a Black Doll.
THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 7

Sometimes she and Drusilla would play with the
Dolls out in the yard, and sometimes Buster John
would join them when he had nothing better to
do. But every evening Sweetest Susan and Dru-
silla ‘would carry the Dolls into the bedroom and
place them side by side against the wall. Sweet-
est Susan wanted them placed there, she said, so
she could see her children the last thing at night
and the first thing in the morning.

But one night Sweetest Susan went to bed ery-
ing, and this was so unusual that Drusilla forgot
to put the Dolls in their places. Sweetest Susan’s
feelings were hurt. She had not been very good,
and her mother had called her Naughty Susan in-
stead of Sweetest Susan. Buster John, in the
next room, wanted to know what the matter was,
but Sweetest Susan would n’t tell him, and neither
would she tell Drusilla. After a while Sweetest
Susan’s mother came in and kissed her. That
helped her some, but she lay awake ever so long
sobbing a little and thinking how she must do so
as not to be called Naughty Susan.

Drusilla lay on a pallet near Sweetest Susan’s
bed, but, for a wonder, Drusilla lay awake too.
She said nothing, but she was not snoring, and
8 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Sweetest Susan could see the whites of her eyes
shining. The fire that had been kindled on the
hearth so as to give a light (for the weather was
not cold) flickered and flared, and little blue
flames crept about over the sputtering pine-knot,
jumping off into the air and then jumping back.
The blue flames flickered and danced and crept
about so, and caused such a commotion among the
shadows that were running about the room and
trying to hide themselves behind the chairs and in
the corners, that the big brass andirons seemed
to be alive.

While Sweetest Susan was lying there watching
the shadows and wondering when Drusilla would
go to sleep, she heard a voice call out, —

“Oh, dear! I believe I’ve got smut all over my
frock again!”

It was the queerest little voice that ever was
heard. It had a tinkling sound, such as Susan
had often made when she tied her mother’s gold
thimble to a string and struck it with a knitting-
needle. Just as she was wondering where it came
from, a little old woman stepped from behind one
of the andirons and shook the ashes from her
dress.
THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 9

“T think I’d better stay at home,” said the lit-
tle old woman, “if I can’t come down the chim-
ney without getting smut all over my frock. I
wonder where Mr. Thimblefinger is?”

“Oh, I’m here,” exclaimed another tinkling
voice from the fireplace, “but I’m not coming in.
They are not asleep, and, even if they were, I see
the big Black Cat in that chair there.”

“Much I care!” cried the little old woman
snappishly. “I’ll call you when I want you.”

Then she went around the room where Sweet-
est Susan’s Dolls were scattered, and looked at
each one as it lay asleep. Then she shook her
head and sighed.

“They look as if they were tired, poor things !”
she said. “And no wonder! I expect they have
been pulled and hauled about and dragged around
from pillar to post since I was here last.”

Then the little old woman touched the Dolls
with her cane, one by one. Each Doll called
out as 1t was touched, —

“Ts that you, Granny?”

And to each one she replied : —

“ Reser, roser, rise !
And rib and rub your eyes |”
10 LITTLE MR, THIMBLEFINGER.

Sweetest Susan was not at all alarmed. She
felt as if she had been expecting something of the
kind. The Dolls arose and ranged themselves
in front of the fireplace — all except the Rag Doll.

“Where’s Rag-Tag?” inquired the little old
woman anxiously.

“Here lam, Granny!” replied the Rag Doll.
“T’m lame in one leg and I can’t walk with the
other, and my arm’s out of joint.”

“Tut! tut!” said the little old woman. “ How
_ can you be lame in your legs when there’s no
bone in them? How can your arm be out of
joint when there’s no joint? Get up!”

Rag-Tag rolled out of the corner and tumbled
across the floor, heels over head.

“ Now, then,” said the little old woman, open-
ing her satchel, “ what can I do for you?”

“She’s pulled all my hair out!”
the China Doll.

“‘She’s mashed my nose flat!” cried the Jip-
jap Doll. |

“She’s put one of my eyes out!” whined the
- Brown Doll.

“She ’s put chalk all over me!” blubbered the
Black Doll.

whispered

THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 11

“She has n’t hurt me!” exclaimed the Rubber
Doll.

“She’s made a hole in my back, and the
sawdust is all running out!” whined Rag-
Tag.
“T’ll attend to you first, before you bleed
to death,” said the little old woman, frowning.
Then she rapped on the floor with her cane and
cried out : —

“Long-Legged Spinner,
Come earn your dinner !”

While Sweetest Susan was wondering what
this meant, she saw a big Black Spider swing
down from the ceiling and hang, dangling close
to the little old woman’s face. Its little eyes
sparkled like coals of fire, and its hairy mouth
worked as if it were chewing something. Sweet-
est Susan shivered as she looked at it, but she
didn’t scream.

“A thimbleful of fresh cobwebs, Long-Legged
Spinner!” said the little old woman, in a busi-
nesslike way.

Then the big Black Spider moved his legs
faster than a cat can wink her eyes, and in a few
seconds the fresh cobwebs were spun.
12 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“That is very nice,” said the little old woman.
“ Here’s a fat Bluebottle for you.”

The big Black Spider seized the Fly and ran
nimbly to the ceiling again. The Fly buzzed and
buzzed in a pitiful way, and Sweetest Susan
thought to herself, “Oh, what should I do if
that was poor me!”

Then the little old woman hunted in her
satchel until she found a piece of mutton suet,
and with this and the fresh cobwebs she quickly
stopped the hole in Rag-Tag’s back. This done,
she went around and doctored each one. She
glued more hair on the China Doll. She fixed
the nose of the Jip-jap Doll. She gave a new
blue eye to the Brown Doll.

“There!” she exclaimed when she had fin-
ished, “I think you look a little more like
yourself now. But you would look a great deal
better if you had any clothes fit to wear. Now
pay attention! What is the name of this hor-
rible giantess that drags you about and beats you
sole

“Tt’s no giantess, Granny,” replied Rag-Tag.
“Tt’s a little girl, and sometimes she’s very, very

good.”
THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 138

“ Hush!” cried the little old woman. “Speak
when you are spoken to.”

“She is a giantess, Granny,” said the Brown
Doll. “She’s taller than that chair yonder.”

“Where is she now?” the little old woman
asked fiercely.

““She’s asleep in the bed, Granny,” said the
Brown Doll.

“Pinch her good, Granny!” cried the Wax
Doll. “ Put out her eyes!”

“Scratch her, Granny! Pull out her hair!”
pleaded the Brown Doll.

“Bump her head against the wall, Granny!
Mash her nose!” exclaimed the Jip-jap Doll.

The Rag-Tag Doll said not a word.

All this time the little old woman was search-
ing in her satchel for something, and Sweetest
Susan began to get frightened.

“I’ve come off without my specs,” said the
little old woman, “and I can’t see a stiver with
such a light as this.”

Just then the big Black Cat that had been
sleeping quietly in a chair rose and stretched him-
self and gaped, showing his long white teeth.
He jumped to the floor and walked back and forth
14 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

purring and rubbing against the little old woman
in a friendly way.

“Get out! You'll push me over,” she cried.
“ Oh, will you go away? I’Il stick you with my
needle! I certainly will! Keep your long tail
out of my face! Oh, how can I see to do any-
thing? Will you go away? I’ll hit you as sure
as I am standing here!”

“ Don’t,” said the big Black Cat, stopping and
looking straight at the little old woman. “ Don’t
you know it brings bad luck to hit a black cat?”

“Tf I hit you, you’ll feel it,” cried the little old
woman.

“Stop,” exclaimed the big Black Cat. “I
know what you are here for. Do you see my
eyes? They are as green as grass. Do you see
my teeth? They are as strong as iron. Do you
see my claws? They are as sharp as needles. If
T look at you hard you’ll shiver; if I bite you
youll squall; if I scratch you you’ll bleed.”

The Grandmother of the Dolls looked at the
big Black Cat long and hard.

“ Do I know you?” she asked.

“TT know you,” replied the Black Cat.

“ What is your name?” she asked.

THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS. 15

“ Billy-Billy Blackfoot.”

“Tt is time for you to go hunting,” she said.
She wanted to get him out of the room.

“TI have found what I was hunting for,” said
Billy-Billy Blackfoot.

“ There’s a rat gnawing in the pantry.”

“ Hell be fatter when I catch him.”

“There ’s a piece of cheese in the dining-room.”

“Tt won’t spoil until I eat it.’’

“There ’s a pan of milk in the kitchen.”

“Tt won’t turn sour till I drink it.”

“There ’s catnip in the garden.”

“Tt will grow till I want it.”

The Grandmother of the Dolls then made a
cross-mark on the carpet and waved her cane in
the air. This was done to puta spell on Billy-
Billy Blackfoot, but before the spell could work
Billy-Billy made a circle by chasing his tail
around. Then he glared at the little old woman
and slowly closed one eye. This was too much.
The Grandmother of the Dolls seized her cane
and made a furious attack on Billy-Billy Black-
foot, but he leaped nimbly out of the way and
the cane fell with a whack on the bald head of
the Brown Doll.
16 ' LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

At this there was a tremendous uproar. The
Brown Doll screamed: “Murder!” Billy-Billy
Blackfoot’s tail swelled to twice its natural size ;
the hair-brush fell on the floor; the dustpan
rattled ; the shovel and tongs staggered out from
the chimney-corner and rolled over on the hearth ;
the Dolls scrambled and scurried under the bed,
and the little old woman whisked up the chimney
like a spark from a burning log.

When Sweetest Susan raised up in bed to look
around she saw Drusilla sitting on her pallet rub-
bing her eyes, but Bily-Billy Blackfoot was sit-
ting by the fireplace washing his face as quietly
as if nothing had happened. At first it seemed
to Sweetest Susan that it had all beena dream,
but presently she heard a small voice that came
down the chimney:

“Mr. Thimblefinger! Mr. Thimblefinger! It
is nine minutes after twelve.” There was a pause,
and then the small voice sounded farther away,
like an echo, “ Nine minutes and two seconds
after twelve !”’
If.
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY.

THE next morning Sweetest Susan was awake
early. She wanted very much to turn over and
go to sleep again, for her eyes were heavy and
her body was tired. But the moment she remem-
bered the wonderful events of the night before,
she sat up in bed and looked around. Drusilla
was still asleep and snoring very loudly, but
Sweetest Susan jumped out of bed and shook her
by the shoulder.

“ Drusilla! Drusilla! wake up!” cried Sweet-
est Susan. Drusilla stopped short in her snoring
and turned over with a groan. She kept her
eyes closed, and in a moment she would have
been snoring again, but Sweetest Susan contin-
ued to shake her and called her until she squalled
out :—

“Who dat? What you want? Oh, Lordy!”

“ Wake up, Drusilla,” said Sweetest Susan, “J
want to ask you something.”
18 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“ Ain’t I ’wake? How kin I be any ’waker
when I’m ’wake? Oh, is dat you, honey? I
wuz skeer’d ’t was dat lil’ bit er ol’ ’oman.
Whar she gone? Las’ time I seed her she wuz
des walkin’ ’roun’ here like she wuz gwine ter
tromple on me. I laid low, I did.”

Sweetest Susan clasped her hands together and
cried : “Oh, wasn’t it a dream, Drusilla? Did
it all happen sure enough ?”

Drusilla shook her head wildly. “ How kin
we bofe have de same kind er dream? I seed
de ’oman gwine on, en you seed ’er gwine
on. Uh-uh! Don’t talk ter me ’bout no
dreams.”

The whole matter was settled when Buster John
cried out from the next room: “ What fuss was
that you were making in there last night, squeal-
ing and squeaking ? ”

The matter was soon explained to Buster John,
and after breakfast the children went out and sat
on the big wood-pile and talked it all over. The
boy asked a hundred questions, but still his curi-
osity was not satisfied.

All this time the birds were singing in the
trees and the wood-sawyers sawing in the pine

MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 19

logs. Jo-reeter, jo-reeter, jo-ree! sang the birds.
Craik, craik, craik, went the wood-sawyers.

“There are fifty dozen of them,” said Buster
John.

“ Fifty-five thousand you’d better say,” replied
Sweetest Susan. “ Just listen!”

“No needs ter listen,” cried Drusilla. “ You’d
hear ’em ef you plugged up yo’ years.”

Buster John put his knife-blade under a thick
piece of pine bark and pried it up to find one
of the busy sawyers. The bark was strong, but
presently it seemed to come up of its own accord,
and out jumped the queerest little man they had
ever seen or even heard of except in make-believe
story-books. Buster John dropped his knife,
and down it went into the wood-pile. He could
hear it go rattling from log to log nearly to the
bottom. Sweetest Susan gave a little screech.
Drusilla sat bolt upright and exclaimed : —

“ You all better come en go see yo’ ma. I
want ter see er myse’f.”

But there was nothing to be frightened at. The
tiny man had brushed the dust and trash from
his clothes, and then turned to the children with
a good-humored smile. He was not above four
20 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

inches high. He had on a dress-coat. Drusilla
afterward described it as a claw-hammer coat,
velveteen knickerbockers, and silver buckles on —
his shoes. His hat was shaped like a thimble,
and he had a tiny feather stuck in the side of it.

“T’m much obliged to you for getting me out
of that scrape,” he said with a bow to all the
children. “It was a pretty tight place. I
stayed out last night just one second and a half
too late, and when I went to go home I found
the door shut. So I just crawled under the
bark there for a nap. The log must have turned
in some way, for when I woke up and tried to
crawl out I found I couldn’t manage it. I
wouldn’t have minded that so much, but just
then I saw one of those terrible flat-headed crea-
tures making his way toward me. Why, his
head was a sawmill! He was gnawing the wood
out of his way and clearing a road to me. J
tried to draw my sword, but I couldn’t get it
from under me. Then I felt the bark rising. I
pushed as hard as I could, and here I am.”

“ Ax ’im his name,” said Drusilla in an awe-
stricken tone.

“ Ah, I forgot,” responded the little man. “I
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 21

know you, but you don’t know me. My name is
Mr. Thimblefinger, and I shall be happy to serve
you. Whenever you want me just tap three
times on the head of your bed.”

“ Thank goodness! I don’t sleep in no teal *
exclaimed Drusilla.

“ That makes no difference,” said Mr. Thimble-
finger. “If you sleep on a pallet just tap on the
floor.”

“ Please, Mister, don’t talk dat a-w ay,” Pees
Drusilla, “Ikase I’ll be constant a-projeckin’ wid
dat tappin’, an’ de fus’ time you come Ill holler
fire.”

“Don’t notice her,” said Buster John, “she
talks to hear herself talk.”

“T see,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, tapping
his forehead significantly and nodding his head.

“You kin nod,” said Drusilla defiantly, “but
my head got mo’ in it dan you kin comb out.”

“T believe you!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefin-
ger, “I believe you!” He spoke so earnestly
that Sweetest Susan and Buster John laughed,
and Drusilla laughed with them.

“You dropped your knife,” said Mr. Thimble-
finger. “I’m sorry of it. I can’t bring it up
22 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

to you, but I’ll see if I can’t crawl under and get
it out.”

With that he leaped nimbly from log to log and
disappeared under the wood-pile. The children
went down to see what he would do. They were
so astonished at his droll appearance that they
forgot their curiosity.

“Ts that a fairy, brother?” asked Sweetest
Susan in a low voice.

“No!” exclaimed Buster John with a lofty
air, but not loudly. “Don’t you see he’s nota
bit like the fairies we read about in books? Why,
he was afraid of a wood-sawyer.”

“ That ’s so,” Sweetest Susan rejoined.

“ He’s a witch, dat what he is,” said Drusilla.

“Shucks!” whispered Buster John. He heard
the voice of Mr. Thimblefinger under the wood-
pile.

“ T’ve found it, I’ve found it!” hecried. And
presently he made his appearance, dragging the
knife after him. He tugged at it until he got it
out, and then he sat down on a chip, wiped the
perspiration from his eyes, and fanned himself
with a thin flake of pine bark no bigger than a
bee’s wing.
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 23

“Pick me up and let’s go on top of the wood-
pile, ” said Mr. Thimblefinger after a while. “It’s
suffocating down here. Ouch! don’t tickle me,
if you do I shall have a fit.” Buster John had
lifted him by placing a thumb and forefinger
under his arms. “And don’t squeeze me,
neither,” the little man went on. “I was cramped
under that bark until I’m as sore as a boil all
over. Goodness! I wish I was at home!”

“Where do you live?” asked Sweetest Susan
when they were once more seated on the wood-
pile.

“Not far from here, not very far,” replied
Mr. Thimblefinger, shaking his head sagely, “ but
it is a different country — oh, entirely different.”

Sweetest Susan edged away from the little man
at this, and Drusilla stretched her eyes.

“What is it like?” asked Buster John boldly.

Mr. Thimblefinger reflected a while, and then
shook his head. “I can show it to you,” he
said, “but I can’t describe it.”

“Pick ’im up an’ show ’im to your ma!” ex-
claimed Drusilla suddenly.

“No, no, no!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger, leap-
ing to his feet. “That would spoil everything.
24 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

No grown person living in this country has ever
seen me. No, no! don’t try that. It would
spoil your luck. I wouldn’t be here now if the
Dolls’ Grandmother had n’t begged me to come
with her last night. But I’ll come to see you,”
—he pointed at Drusilla. “Ill come often.”

“TJ des said dat fer ter see what you’d say,”
protested Drusilla. “ You wan’ gwine ter take
’im, wuz you, honey?” This question was ad-
dressed to Buster John, who scorned to answer it.

“Grown people wouldn’t understand me,”
Mr. Thimblefinger explained. “They know a
great deal too much to suit me.” —

“ How do you get to your country?” inquired
Buster John, who was keen for an adventure.

“The nearest way is by the spring,” replied
Mr. Thimblefinger. “That is the only way you
could go.”

“Can I go too?” asked Sweetest Susan. “ And
Drusilla? ”

“Oh, of course,” said Mr. Thimblefinger,
shrugging his shoulders. “One can go or all can

99

go.
“ Do you go down the spring branch ? ” asked
Buster John.

MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 25

“ No, no,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “ Below
the spring and below the branch.”

“Do you mean under the spring?” Sweetest
Susan inquired, with some hesitation.

“That’s it,” cried Mr. Thimblefinger. “ Right
down through the spring and under it.”

“Why, we’d drown,” said Sweetest Susan.
“The spring is deep.”

“Well, you’ll ha’ ter ’skuze me,” exclaimed
Drusilla. “Dat water’s too wet fer me.”

Buster John waited for an explanation, but
none was forthcoming.

“We couldn’t go through the spring, you
know,” he said presently.

“ How do you know?” asked Mr. Thimblefin-
ger slyly. “ Did you ever try it?”

He asked each of the children this, and the
reply was that none of them had ever tried it.

“T put my foot in it once,” said Buster John,
“and the water was just like other spring water.
I know we can’t go through it.”

“Come now!” Mr. Thimblefinger suggested,
“don’t say you know. Sometimes people live to
be very old and don’t know the very things they
ought to know.”
26 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“ But I know that,” replied Buster John con-
fidently.

“Very well, then,” said Mr. Thimblefinger,
pulling out a tiny watch, “did you ever feel of
the water in the spring at precisely nine minutes
and nine seconds after twelve o'clock?”

“‘N-o-o-0,” replied Buster John, taken by sur-
prise, “I don’t think I ever did.”

“Of course not!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger
gayly. “You had no reason. Well, at nine
minutes and nine seconds after twelve o’clock the
water in the spring is not wet. It is as dry as
the air we breathe. It is now two minutes after
twelve o’clock. We'll go to the spring, wait
until the time comes, and then you will see for
yourselves.”

As they went toward the spring — Mr. Thim-
blefinger running on before with wonderful agil-
ity — Drusilla touched Sweetest Susan on the
arm. “Honey,” said she, “don’t let dat creetur
pull you in de spring. Goodness knows, ef he
puts his han’ on me I’m gwine ter squall.”

“Will you hush?” exclaimed Buster John
impatiently.

“Watch out, now,” said Drusilla defiantly.
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 27

“Ef you gits drownded in dar I’ll sho’ tell yo’
ma.”

Fortunately, there was no one near the spring,
so Mr. Thimblefinger advanced boldly, followed
closely by the children, though Drusilla seemed
to hang back somewhat doubtfully. When they
arrived there Mr. Thimblefinger took out his tiny
timepiece and held it in his hand. The children
watched him with breathless interest, especially
Buster John, who was thrilled with the idea of
having an adventure entirely different from any
that he had read of in the story-books.

As the little man stood there holding his watch
and looking at it intently, the dinner-bell rang,
first in the hallway and then in the back porch.
The children remembered it afterward.

“You all better go git yo’ dinner fo’ it git
col’, stidder projeckin’ ’roun’ here wid you dunner
what,” remarked Drusilla.

“Now!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger, “ put
your hand in the spring.”

Buster John did as he was bid, and, to his
amazement, he could feel no water. He could
see it, but he couldn’t feel it. He turned pale
with excitement and withdrew his hand. Then
28 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

he put his other hand in, but the result was the
same. He plunged his arm in up to the elbow,
but his sleeve remained perfectly dry.

“Try it, sis,” he cried.

Sweetest Susan did so, and boldly declared
there was no water in the spring. She wanted
Drusilla to try to wet her hand, but Drusilla sul-
lenly declined.

Mr. Thimblefinger settled the matter by walk-
ing into the spring.

“Now, then, if you are going, come along,”
he cried. “You have just seventeen and a half
seconds.” He waved his hand from the bottom
of the spring and stood waiting. A spring lizard
ran near him, and he drew his sword and chased
it into a hole. A crawfish showed its head, and
he drove it away. Then he waved his hand
again. “Come on, the coast is clear.”

Buster John put his hand in the water again,
and this seemed to satisfy him. He stepped
boldly into the spring, and in a moment he stood
by Mr. Thimblefinger, laughing, but still excited
by the novelty of his experience. He called to
his sister : —

“Come on, sis. It’s splendid down here.”
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 29

“Ts it wet?” she asked plaintively. “Is it
cold?”

“No!” replied Buster John impatiently.
“Don’t be a baby.”

“Come on, Drusilla! You’ve got to come.
Mamma said you must go wherever we went,”
cried Sweetest Susan.

“No, ma’am!” exclaimed Drusilla, with em-
phasis. “She ain’t tol’ me ter foller you in de
fier an’ needer in de water !”

But Sweetest Susan did n’t wait to hear. She
jumped into the spring with a splash and then
stood by her brother very red in the face.

“ive more seconds!” cried Mr. Thimble-
finger in a businesslike way.

Drusilla looked in the spring and hesitated.
She could see the water plain enough, but then
she could also see Sweetest Susan and Buster
John, and they seemed to be very comfortable.

“T’m comin’,” she yelled, “but ef you all
make me git drownded in dry water III ha’nt you
ef it’s de las’ thing I do!”

Then she shut her eyes tight, put her fingers
in her ears, and leaped into the spring. She
floundered around with her eyes still shut, and
30 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

gasped and caught her breath just lke a drown-
ing person, until she heard the others laughing
at her, and then she opened her eyes with as-
tonishment.

Suddenly there was a loud, splashing sound
heard above and around them and under their
feet.

“Watch out!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger.
“Run this way! The water is getting wet
again |”

The way seemed to widen before them as they
ran, and in a moment they found themselves
below the “gum,” or “curb,” of the spring and
beyond it. But as they went forward the bot-
tom of the spring seemed to grow and expand,
and the sun shining through gave a soft light
that was very pleasant to the eye. The grass
was green and the leaves of the trees and the
flowers were pale pink and yellow.

Mr. Thimblefinger seemed to be very happy.
He ran along before the children as nimbly as a
killdee, talking and laughing all the time. Pres-
ently Drusilla, who brought up the rear, sud-
denly stopped in her tracks and looked around.
Then she uttered an exclamation of fright.
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S QUEER COUNTRY. 81

‘Sweetest Susan and Buster John paused to see
what was the matter.

“ Wharbouts did we come in at ?”’ she asked.

Then, for the first time, the children saw that
the bottom of the spring had seemed to expand,
until it spread over their heads and around on all
sides as the sky does in our country.

“Don’t bother about that,” said Mr. Thimble-
finger. “No matter how big it looks, it’s no-
thing but the bottom of the spring after all.”

“But how are we to get out, please?” asked
Sweetest Susan.

“The same way you came in,” said Mr. Thim-
blefinger.

“T tol’ you! I tol’ you!” exclaimed Drusilla,
swinging her right arm up and down vigorously.
“ Kf you kin fly you kin git out, an’ you look
much like flyin’. Dat what you git by not
mindin’ me an’ yo’ ma!”

“Tut! tut!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger.
“T’ll ‘sicc’ the Katydids on you if you don’t
stop scarifig the little girl. Come! we are not
far from my house. Well go there and see
what the neighbors have sent in for dinner.”

Buster John followed him as readily as before,
32 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

but Sweetest Susan and Drusilla were not so
eager. They had no device, however, and Dru-
silla made the best of it.

“T ain’t skeered ez I wuz. He talk mo’ and
mo’ like folks.”

So they went on toward Mr. Thimblefinger’s

house.
III.
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS.

“T HOPE you are not tired,” said Mr. Thim-
blefinger to Sweetest Susan when ey had been
on their way for some little time. “ Because if
you are you can rest yourself by taking longer
steps.”

Buster John was ready to laugh at this, but he
soon discovered that Mr. Thimblefinger was right.
He found that he could hop and j jump ever so far
in this queer countr y, and the first use he made
of the discovery was to jump over Drusilla’s head.
This he did with hardly any effort. After that
the journey of the children, which had grown
somewhat tiresome (though they would n’t say so),
became a frolic. They skimmed along over the
gray fields with no trouble at all, but Drusilla
found it hard to retain her balance when she
jumped high. Mr. Thimblefinger, who had a
reason for everything, was puzzled at this. He
paused a while and stood thinking and rubbing his
B4 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

chin. Then he said that either Drusilla’s head
was too light or her heels too heavy — he could n’t
for the life of him tell which.

There was one thing that bothered the chil-
dren. If Mr. Thimblefinger’s house was just big
enough to fit him (as Buster John expressed it),
how could they go inside? Sweetest Susan was
so troubled that she asked Drusilla about it. But
Drusilla shook her head vigorously.

“Don’t come axin’ me,” she cried. “I done
tol’ you all right pine-blank not ter come. Ef de
house lil’ like dat creetur is, what you gwine do
when night come? En den spozen *pon top er
dat data big rain come up? Oh, I tol’ you ’fo’
you started! Who in de name er sense ever heah
talk er folks gwine down in a spring? You
mought er know’d sump’in gwine ter happen. Oh,
I tol’ you!”

There was no denying this, and Sweetest Susan
and her brother were beginning to feel anxious,
when an exclamation from Mr. Thimblefinger at-
tracted their attention.

“We are nearly there,” he shouted. “ Yon-
der is the house. My! won’t the family be sur-
prised when they see you!”
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. Bd

Sure enough there was the house, and it was
not a small one, either. Drusilla said it looked
more like a barn than a house, but Buster John
said it did n’t make any difference what it looked
like so long as they could rest there and get some-
thing to eat, for they had had no dinner.

“YT hope dey got sho ’nuff vittles — pot-licker
an’ dumplin’s, an’ sump’in you kin fill up wid,”
said Drusilla heartily.

Mr. Thimblefinger, who had been running
a little way ahead, suddenly paused and waited
for the children to come up.

“Come to think of it,’ he remarked, “you
may have heard of some of my family. I call
them my family, but they are no kin tome. We
just live together in the same house for company’s
sake.”

“They are not fairies?” suggested Sweetest
Susan.

Mr. Thimblefinger shook his head. “Oh, no!
Just common every-day people like myself. We
put on no airs. Did you ever hear of Mrs.
Meadows? And Mr. Rabbit? And Mrs. Rab-
bit?”

“ Dem what wuz in de tale?” asked Drusilla.
36 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Yes,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “the very
same persons.”

“ Sho ’nuff! ” exclaimed Drusilla. “ Why, we
been hear talk er dem sence ‘fo’ we wuz knee-
high.”

Sweetest Susan and Buster John said they had
often heard of Mr. Rabbit and Mrs. Meadows.
This seemed to please Mr. Thimblefinger very
much. He smiled and nodded approval.

“Did they ever have you in a story ?” asked.
Buster John.

“No, no!” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “TI was
so little they forgot me.” He laughed at his own
joke, but it was very plain that he didn’t relish
the idea of not having his name in a book.

Presently the children came to the house, but
they hesitated at the gate and stood there in fear
and trembling. What they saw was enough to
frighten them. An old woman was sitting in a
- chair knitting. She was not different from many
old women the children had seen, but near her
sat a Rabbit as big asa man. He was a tremen-
dous creature, grizzly and gray, and watery-eyed
from age. He sat in a rocking-chair smoking a

pipe.

MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 87

“ Te’ ’s go back,” whispered Drusilla. “ Dat
ar creetur bigger dan a hoss. Hf he git a glmp’
us we er gone — gone!”

Sweetest Susan shivered and looked at Buster
John, and Buster John looked at Mr. Thimble-
finger. But Mr. Thimblefinger ran forward, cry-
ing out : —

“ Howdy, folks, howdy! I’ve brought some
friends home to dinner.” He beckoned to the
children. ‘Come on and see Mrs. Meadows and
Mr. Rabbit.”

Mrs. Meadows immediately dropped her knit-
ting in her lap, and threw her hands up to her
head, as if to arrange her hair.

“Come in,” said Mr. Thimblefinger to the
children.

“Yes, come on,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit in a
voice that sounded as if he had a bad cold.

“T’m in no fix to be seen,” said Mrs. Meadows,
“ but I’m glad to see you, anyhow. Come right
in. Take off your things and make yourself at
home. How did you get here? I reckon that
little trick there has been telling tales out of
school.” She pointed at Mr. Thimblefinger and
laughed.
38 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER,

“He brought us,” said Sweetest Susan. “I’m
sorry we came.”

“Now, don’t say that,” remarked Mrs.
Meadows kindly. “What are you afraid of ?”

“Of him,” replied Sweetest Susan, nodding
her head toward Mr. Rabbit.

“Js that all?” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows.
“ Why, he’s as harmless as a kitten.”

“Yes, yes!” said Mr. Rabbit complacently.
“ No harm in me — no harm in old people. Just
give us a little room in the corner — a little place
where we can sit and nod—and there’s no
harm in us. I’m just as glad you’ve come as
T can be. I see you’ve brought the Tar Baby.
She’s grown some since I saw her last.” Mr.
Rabbit looked at Drusilla with considerable curi-
osity. “I hope she’s not as sticky as she used
to be.”

“Hey!” cried Buster John, laughing. “ Mr.
Rabbit thinks Drusilla is the Tar Baby!”

Drusilla tossed her head scornfully. “Huh!
I ain’t no Tar Baby. I may be a nigger, an’
I speck I is, but I ain’t no Tar Baby. My
mammy done tol’ me ’bout de Tar Baby in de
tale, an’ she got it fum her gran’daddy. Hf I’m
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 39

de Tar Baby, I’m older dan my mammy’s gran’-
daddy.”

Mr. Rabbit took off his spectacles and wiped
them on his coat-tail. “My eyes are getting very
bad,” he said, by way of apology. “But you
certainly look very much like the Tar Baby. If
you were both together in the dark, nobody
could tell you apart. Well, well! I’m getting
old.”

“You ain’t no older dan you look,” said Dru-
silla spitefully under her breath.

“Hush ! ” whispered Sweetest Susan. “Hell
eat us up.”

Mrs. Meadows laughed. “ Don’t worry, child.
Mr. Rabbit loves his pipe and a joke, but he ’Il
never hurt you. Never in the world.”

“But this isn’t in the world,” suggested
Buster John. :

“Well, it’s next door, as you may say,” Mrs.
Meadows replied.

Just then Mr. Rabbit slowly raised himself
from his chair and examined the seat closely. “TI
missed Mr. Thimblefinger,” he said, “and I was
afraid I had sat on him.”

“Oh, no!” eried Mr. Thimblefinger, coming
40 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

out from under the steps; “I was just resting
myself.”

“ Mr. Thimblefinger will take care of himself,
I’ll be bound,” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “He’s
little; but is a mountain strong because it is
big tes

“ Why, that puts me in mind of the story —
But never mind! I’m always thinking about old
times.” Mr. Rabbit sighed as he said this.

“Qh, please tell us the story,” pleaded Sweet-
est Susan, anxious to make friends with Mr. Rab-
bit.

He shook his head. “ Mrs. Meadows can tell
it better than I can.”

“Dinner!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger. “ What
about dinner?”

“Dinner “ll be ready directly,” replied Mrs.
Meadows.

“ But the story ?”’ Sweetest Susan said.

THE STRONGEST— WHO? OR WHICH?
“Well,” replied Mrs. Meadows, “it was like
this: One time in the country where we came
from — the country where you live now — there
chanced to be a big frost, and the mill-pond froze
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 41

over. Mr. Rabbit ran along that way and found
that the pond had this bridge across it.”

“ Was it this Mr. Rabbit here?” asked Buster
John.

Mrs. Meadows folded her hands in her lap and
looked at them. “ Well,” she said, “I never talk
about folks behind their backs. You must do
your own guessing. Anyway, Mr. Rabbit found
the ice bridge over the pond, and as he was in
something of a hurry he skipped across it. I
mean he skipped a part of the way. The Ice
was so slippery that when he got about halfway,
his feet slipped from under him and he fell
kerthump! He got up and rubbed himself as
well as he could, and then he thought that the
Ice must be very strong to hit him so hard a lick.
He said to the Ice, ‘ You are very strong.’

“¢T am so,’ replied the Ice.

“< Well, if you are so strong, how can the Sun
melt you?’

“The Ice said nothing, and so Mr. Rabbit
asked the Sun, ‘ Are you very strong ?’

«So they tell me,’ replied the Sun.

“< Then how can the Clouds hide you ?’

“The Sun was somewhat ashamed and had
42 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

nothing to say. So Mr. Rabbit looked at the
Clouds.

“¢ Are you very strong ?’

“¢ We have heard so,’ replied the Clouds.

“How can the Wind blow you?’

“The Clouds sailed away, and Mr. Rabbit
asked the Wind, ‘ Are you very strong ?’

“¢T believe you,’ said the Wind.

“¢Then how can the Mountain stand against
you?’

“The Wind blew itself away, and then Mr.
‘Rabbit asked the Mountain, ‘Are you very
strong ?’

“¢So it seems,’ replied the Mountain.

“ ¢ How can the Mouse make a nest in you?’

“The Mountain was mum. So Mr. Rabbit
asked the Mouse, ‘ Are you very strong ?’

“<<¢T believe so,’ replied the Mouse.

“¢ How can the Cat catch you?’

“The Mouse hid in the grass. Mr. Rabbit
asked the Cat, ‘Are you very strong ?’

“Yes, indeed,’ replied the Cat.

“¢ How can the Dog chase you ?’

“The Cat began to wash her face. Then Mr.
Rabbit said to the Dog, ‘ Are you very strong? :
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 43

“¢T certainly am,’ replied the Dog.

““* Then why does the Stick scare you?’

“The Dog began to scratch the fleas off his
neck, and Mr. Rabbit said to the Stick, ‘ Are you
very strong?’

“« Kverybody says so.’

“¢’'Then how can the Fire burn you?’

“The Stick was dumb, and Mr. Rabbit asked
the Fire, ‘ Are you very strong ?’

“““ Anybody will tell you so,’ the Fire an-
swered.

“¢ How can the Water quench you?’

“The Fire hid behind the smoke. Then Mr.
Rabbit asked the Water, ‘Are you very strong?’
““¢ Strong is no name for it,’ said the Water.

“¢ How can the Ice cover you ?’

“The Water went running down the river, and
after it had gone the Ice said to Mr. Rabbit,
‘You see you had to come back to me at last.

“<¢Yes,’ replied Mr. Rabbit, ‘and now I am
going away. You are too much for me.’ Then
Mr. Rabbit loped off, rubbing his bruises.”

“Was it really you, Mr. Rabbit?” asked Sweet-
est Susan.

Mr. Rabbit rubbed his mustache with the end
44 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER,

of his pipe-stem. “Well, I’ll tell you the truth.
I was mighty foolish in my young days. But
now all I want to do is to eat breakfast, and then
wait until dinner is ready, and then sit and wait
until supper is put on the table.”

Mrs. Meadows winked at the children and then
turned to Mr. Rabbit.

“Now,” said she, “I’ve told the story you
ought to have told, for you know more about it
than anybody else. It’s as little as you can do
to sing the old song that you sung when you used
to go frolicking.”

“Why, it’s about myself!” exclaimed Mr.
Rabbit. “At my time of life it would never
do.”

“ Please make him sing it,” said Sweetest Susan,
who was much given to getting her own way by
the pretty little art of coaxing.

“Oh, he’ll sing it,” replied Mrs. Meadows
confidently. “He can’t refuse.”

Mr. Rabbit shook his head, and then seemed to:
fall into a brown study, but suddenly, seeing that
they were all waiting for the song, he cleared up
his throat, and after several false starts sang this
song : —
MR. THIMBLEFINGER’S FRIENDS. 45

OH, THIS IS MR. RABBIT!

Oh, this is Mr. Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass ;
He courted Miss Meadows, when her ma was away,
He crossed his legs, and said his say.
He crossed his legs, and he winked his eye,
And then he told Miss Meadows good-by.
So it’s good-by, ducky,
And it’s good-by, dear !
I'll never come to see you
Until next year !
For this is Mr. Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass.

And he eried from the gate, so bold and free:
“J know you are glad to get rid of me.”
And then Miss Meadows shook her head —
“Tf you stay too long you'll find me dead.
And it’s good-by, ducky,
And it’s good-by, dear !
You ‘Il find me dead
When you come next year !”
For this is Mr. Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass.

Mr. Owl called out from the top of the tree,
“ Oh, who? Oh, who?” and “He-he-he !”
Mr. Fox slipped off in the woods and cried ;
Mr. Coon’s broken heart caused a pain in his side,
For it’s good-by, ducky,
And it’s good-by, dear !
If you ever come to see me,
Come before next year !
46 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

For this is Mr, Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass.

Mr. Rabbit looked around, and saw all the trouble,
And he laughed and he laughed till he bent over double.
He shook his head, and said his say —
“T?ll come a-ealling when to-morrow is to-day.
For when you have a ducky,
Don’t stay — don’t stay —
Go off and come again
When to-morrow is to-day.”
For this is Mr. Rabbit, that runs on the grass,
So rise up, ladies, and let him pass.
IV.
TWO QUEER STORIES.

TuERE is no doubt the children were very
much surprised to see Mr. Rabbit. They were
astonished to find that he was so large and
solemn-looking. When the negroes on the plan-
tation told them about Mr. Rabbit — or Bro-
ther Rabbit, as he was sometimes called —they
had imagined that he was no larger than the rab-
bits they saw in the sedge-field or in the barley-
patch, but this Mr. Rabbit was larger than a
dozen of them put together.

In one way or another Sweetest Susan and
Buster John and Drusilla showed their amaze-
ment very plainly — especially Drusilla, who took
no pains to conceal hers. Every time Mr. Rab-
bit moved she would nudge Sweetest Susan or
Buster John and exclaim: “ Look at dat!” or,
“We better be gwine!” or, “Spozen Brer Fox
er Brer Wolf come up an’ dey er dat big!”

Mrs. Meadows noticed this; indeed, she could
not help noticing it. And so she said : —
48 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“JT reckon maybe you expected to find Mr.
Rabbit no bigger than the rest of his family that
live in your country.”

Before the children could make any answer,
Mr. Rabbit began to chuckle, and he chuckled
so heartily that Sweetest Susan was afraid he
would choke.

“J don’t wonder you laugh,” said Mrs. Mead-
ows, elevating her voice a little, as if Mr. Rabbit
were a little deaf.

“Tt may not be polite to laugh in company,”
replied Mr. Rabbit, “but I am obliged to do it.”
His voice was wheezy, and he nodded his head
vigorously. “ Yes, I am obliged to do it. Why,
I could put one of those poor creatures in my
coat-pocket. They are not Rabbits. They are
Runts. Yes, Runts. That’s what they are.
And to think, too, that their great-grandparents
might have come here when I did. But, no!
They would n’t hear to it. No new country for
them, they said. And so they stayed where they
were, and the breed has dwindled down to— to
nothing. Ill be bound they have forgotten how
to talk.” He turned to the children with a look
of inquiry.
TWO QUEER STORIES. 49

“ Why, of course, rabbits can’t talk,” said
Buster John.

Mr. Rabbit shook his head sadly and put his
hand to his eyes. “ Well, well, well!” he ex-
claimed after a while. “Can’t talk! But I
might have known it. The family’s gone to
seed. I’m glad I’m not there to see it all.
A neighbor here and there does no harm,
but when people began to crowd in I concluded
to move, and I’m glad I did. I’m old and get-
ting feeble, but, thank gracious, I’m not a
Runt.”

“T don’t see but you’re as nimble as ever you
were,” remarked Mrs. Meadows soothingly.

“T know —I know!” Mr. Rabbit insisted ;
“T may be as nimble, but I’m not as keen for a
frolic as I used to be. The chimney-corner suits
me better than a barbecue.” Mr. Rabbit closed
his big eyes and sighed. “ Well, well —every-
body to his time, everybody to his taste | ”

Mrs. Meadows nodded her head approvingly.
“Yes; between first one thing and then another,
there ’s lots of time and a heap of tastes.”

“They tell me,” remarked Mr. Rabbit sud-
denly, “ that things have got to that pass in the
50 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

country we came from that even Mr. Billy-Goat,
who used to eat meat, has dwindled away in
mind and body till he hangs around the stable
doors and eats straw for a living. That’s what
Mr. Thimblefinger says, and he ought to know.
I suppose Billy is still bob-tailed ? I remember
the very day he had his tail broken off.”
“ Tell us about it,” remarked Buster John.

- S WHY MR. BILLY-GOAT'S TAIL IS SHORT.

“Oh, it doesn’t amount to much,” said he.
“Tt’s hardly worth talking about. I think it
was one Saturday. In those days, you know, we
used to have a half-holiday every Saturday. We
worked hard all the week, and we tried to crowd
as much fun into a half-holiday as possible.
Well, one Saturday afternoon Mr. Billy-Goat and
Mr. Dog were walking arm in arm along the
road, talking and laughing in a sociable way,
when all of a sudden a big rain came up. Mr.
Billy-Goat said he was mighty sorry he left his
parasol at home, because the rain was apt to
make his horns rust. Mr. Dog shook himself
and said he did n’t mind water, because when he
got wet the fleas quit biting.
TWO QUEER STORIES. 51

“But Mr. Billy-Goat hurried on and Mr. Dog
kept up with him until they came to Mr. Wolf’s
house, and they ran into the front porch for
shelter. The door was shut tight, but Mr. Billy-
Goat had on his high-heel shoes that day, and he
made so much noise as he tramped about that
Mr. Wolf opened his window and looked out.
When he saw who it was, he cried out : —

“* Hallo! this is not a nice day to pay visits,
but since you are here, you may as well come in
out of the wet.’

“But Mr. Dog shook his head and flirted up
dirt by seratching on the ground with his feet.
He had smelled blood. Mr. Billy-Goat saw how
Mr. Dog acted, and he was afraid to go in. So
he shook his horns.

““ You'd just as well come in and sit by the
fire,’ said Mr. Wolf, unlatching the door.

“But Mr. Dog and Mr. Billy-Goat thanked
him kindly, and said they didn’t want to carry
mud into the house. They said they would just
stand in the porch till the shower passed over.
Then Mr. Wolf took down his fiddle, tuned it up,
and began to play. In his day and time few
could beat him playing the fiddle. And this
52 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

time he played his level best, for he knew that if
he could start Mr. Billy-Goat to dancing he’d
have him for dinner.”

“I don’t see how,” said Buster John.

“Well,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, « if Mr. Billy-
Goat began to dance he would be likely to dance
until he got tired, and then it would be an easy
matter for Mr. Wolf to outrun him.”

“ Of course,” said Sweetest Susan.

“ Well,” Mr. Rabbit continued, “Mr. Wolf
kept on playing the fiddle, but Mr. Billy-Goat
didn’t dance. Not only that, he kept so near the
edge of the porch that the rain drifted in on his
horns and ran down his long beard. But he
kept his eye on Mr. Wolf. After playing the
fiddle till he was tired, Mr. Wolf asked : —

““How do you get your meat, my young
friends ?’

“Mr. Dog said he depended on his teeth, and
Mr. Billy-Goat, thinking to be on the safe side,
said he also depended upon his teeth.

“¢ As'for me,’ cried Mr. Wolf, my feet!’ and with that he dropped his fiddle
and jumped at Mr. Billy-Goat. But he knocked
the broom down and the handle tripped him. It








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TWO QUEER STORIES. 53

was all very sudden, but by the time Mr. Wolf
had recovered himself Mr. Billy-Goat and Mr.
Dog had gone a considerable distance.

“They ran and ran until they came toa big
ereek. Mr. Billy-Goat asked Mr. Dog how he
was going to get across.

eee Sonne said Mr. Dog.

“¢ Then Ill have to bid you good-by,’ replied
Mr. Billy-Goat, ‘ for I can’t swim a stroke.’

“ By this time they had arrived at the bank of
the creek, and they could hear Mr. Wolf coming
through the woods. They had no time to ieee
Mr. ee looked around on the ground, gathered
some jan-weed, yan-weed, and tan-weed, rubbed
them together, and squeezed a drop of the j juice
on Mr. Bally Coats horns. He had no sooner
done this than Mr. Billy-Goat was changed into
a white rock.

“Then Mr. Dog leaped into the creek and
swam across. Mr. Wolf ran to the bank, but
there he stopped.. The water was so wide it
made tears come in his eyes; so deep that it made
his legs ache; and so cold that it made his body
shiver

“When Mr. Dog arrived safely on the other
&
54 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

side he cried out, ‘ Aha! you are afraid! - You’ve
drowned poor Mr. Billy-Goat, but you are afraid
of me. I dare you to fling a rock at me!’

“This made Mr. Wolf so mad that he seized
the white rock and threw it at Mr. Dog with all
his might. It fell near Mr. Dog, and instantly
became Mr. Billy-Goat again. But in falling a
piece was broken off, and it happened to be Mr.
Billy-Goat’s tail. Ever since then he has had a
very short tail.”

“‘ Were you there, Mr. Rabbit?” asked Sweet-
est Susan bluntly.

“T was fishing at the time,” replied Mr. Rab-
bit. “TI heard the noise they made, and I turned
around and saw it just as I’ve told you.”

Drusilla touched Buster John on the arm.
“We ain’t dreamin’, is we, honey ?”

Buster John looked at her scornfully. “ What
put that in your head ?” he asked.

“Suppose the rock had hit Mr. Dog?” sug-
gested Sweetest Susan.

THE PUMPKIN-EATER.

“ Now, that’s so!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefin-
ger. “And it reminds me of a little accident
TWO QUEER STORIES. 55

that happened in my mother’s family. But it’s
hardly worth telling.”

“ Well, tell it, anyhow,” said Mrs. Meadows.

“Yes,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “the proof of
the pudding is in chewing the bag.”

“ Well,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “as far back
as I can remember, and before that, too, my
mother was a widow, and she had a great many
children to take care of. The reason she had so
many children was because she was poor. I have
noticed all my life that when people are very
poor they happen to have more children than
they know what to do with. This was the way
with my mother. She had a houseful of chil-
dren, and she found it a hard matter to get
along.

“One day she went down to the creek to wash
the clothes, such as she and the children had, and
when she got there she found an old man sitting
on the bank. He said, ‘Howdy,’ and she said,
‘Good-morning,’ and then he asked her if she
would be so good as to wash his coat and his
waistcoat. She said she would be glad to do
so, and the old man said he would be very much
obliged. So my mother washed the coat and
56 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

waistcoat. Then he asked her if she would comb
his hair for him, and she did so.

“The old man thanked her kindly, and took
from his pocket a string of red beads and made
her a present of them. Then he told her to go
out behind the house when she got home, and
there she *d find a pumpkin-tree growing. He
said that she must bury the string of beads at
the foot of the tree.

“ are so beautiful.’

“But the old man declared that she must do
as he said, and after that she was to go to the
pumpkin-tree every day and ask for as many
pumpkins as she wanted.

““ My mother went home and found the pump-
kin-tree where never a tree had been growing
before, and at its roots she buried the string of
beads. Next morning, bright and early, she
went to the pumpkin-tree and called for one
pumpkin. Down it dropped from the tree. For
a long time my mother and her children were
happy and growing fat. Every day a big pump-
kin would be cooked, and as my mother had to
leave us so as to attend to her work, enough

TWO QUEER STORIES. 57

pumpkin would be left in the pot to last us all
day.

“T remember that time very well,” Mr.
Thimblefinger continued, with a sigh, “for I was
getting fat and growing to be almost as large as
the rest of the children. But one day, as my
mother was going out to work she found a ham-
per basket on the gate-post, and in that basket
was a baby. So she carried the baby in the
house, gave it something to eat, and then put it
on the floor to play with the rest. But as soon
as she got out of the yard the baby crawled to
the pot where the cooked pumpkin was, and ate
and ate until there was no pumpkin left. Of
course, the rest of the children had to go hungry.
And when my mother came home she had to go
hungry, too.

“She was very much surprised. She found all
the pumpkin gone and the children crying for
something to eat, and the stray baby was crying
louder than any. She said we were the greediest
children she had ever seen.

“The next day she cooked two pumpkins, but
the same thing happened. The baby went to
the pot and ate both. The children told her how
58 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

it happened, but she wouldn’t believe them.
She said she could n’t be made to believe that one
puny little baby could eat two whole pumpkins —
and it is very queer, when you come to think
about it.

“The next day she cooked three pumpkins, but
the same thing happened. Then four, then five,
then six. But it was always the same. No mat-
ter how many pumpkins were cooked, the stray
baby would eat them all, and the rest of the chil-
dren would have to go hungry. You see how
small I am,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, suddenly
pausing in the thread of his story. “Well, the
reason of it is that I was starved out by that
pumpkin-eating baby. My brothers and sisters
and myself were just as large and as healthy as
any other children until that baby was found on
the gate-post, and from that day we began to
dwindle and shrink away.

“Well, we starved and starved until at last my
mother could very plainly see that something was
the matter. So she set a trap for the baby and
baited it with pumpkins. She had n’t got out of
hearing before the baby put his head in the pot
and got caught in the trap. It stayed there all
IFWO QUEER STORIES. 59

day, and when mother came home at night she
found it there. She was very much surprised,
but she saw she must get rid of the baby. She
said that any creature that could manage to eat
like that was able to take care of itself, and so
she carried it off down the road and left it
there.

“Now this Pumpkin-Eater was a witch baby,
and as soon as it thought my mother was out of
sight and hearing it changed itself into a tall,
heavy man.”

“°T wuz feedin’ de big man all de time,” ex-
claimed Drusilla.

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “ My
mother was watching it, and she followed to see
where it would go. It went down to the bank of
the river. There it found the old man who had
given my mother the string of beads, and asked
him for something to eat.

«Comb my hair for me,’ said the old man.

“ But it refused, and then the old man told it
to go to the pumpkin-tree and ask for twenty
pumpkins. The greedy thing was glad to do this.
Tt went to the tree and called for twenty pump-
kins, and down they fell on its head.”
60 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER,

“What then?” asked Buster J ohn, as Mr.
Thimblefinger paused. “ Was it hurt?”

“Smashed!” exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger.
“Knocked flatter than a pancake! Broke into
jiblets ! ”

“Tt was a great waste of pumpkins,” remarked
Mrs. Meadows.
Vv.
THE TALKING-SADDLE,

Just then Mrs. Meadows smoothed out her
apron and rose from her chair.
“TJ smell dinner,” she said, “and it smells like
it is on the table. Let’s go in and get rid of it.”
She led the way, and the children followed.
The dinner was nothing extra, — just a plain,
every-day, country dinner, with plenty of pot-
liquor and dumplings; but the children were hun-
gry, and they made short work of all that was
placed before them. Drusilla waited on the table,
as she did at home, but she did n’t go close to Mr.
Rabbit. She held out the dishes at arm’s length
when she offered him anything, and once she came
very near dropping a plate when he suddenly
flapped his big ear on his nose to drive off a fly.
Mrs. Meadows was very kind to the children,
but when once the edge was taken off their ap-
petite they began to get uneasy again. There
were a thousand questions they might have asked,
62 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

but they had been told never to ask questions in
company. Mr. Thimblefinger, who had a keen
eye for such things, noticed that they were begin-
ning to get glum and dissatisfied, and so he said
with a laugh : —

“T’ve often heard in my Pa of children
who talked too much, but these don’t talk at all.”

“Oh, theyll soon get over that,” Mrs.
Meadows remarked. “Everything is so strange
here, they don’t know what to make of it. When
I was a little bit of a thing my ma used to take
me to quiltings, and I know it took me the long-
est kind of atime to get used to the strangers and
all.”

“This isn’t a quilting,” aud Sweetest Susan,
with a sigh; “I wish it was.’

“T don’t!” exclaimed Buster John plumply.

“Once when I was listening through a key-
hole,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, placing his tiny
knife and fork crosswise on his plate, “I heard
a story about a Talking-Saddle.”

“Tell it! tell it!” cried Buster John and
Sweetest Susan.

“T suppose you have no pie to-day ?”’ said Mr.
Rabbit.

THE TALKING-SADDLE. 63

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Meadows, “well have
the pie and the story, too.”

Mr. Thimblefinger smacked his lips and winked
his eye in such comical fashion that the children
laughed heartily, but they did n’t forget the story.

“JT don’t know that I can remember the best of
it,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “The wind was
blowing and the keyhole was trying to learn how
to whistle, and I may have missed some of the
story. But it was such a queer one, and I was
listening so closely, that I came very near falling
off the door-knob when some one started to come
out. I think we’d better eat our pie first. I
might get one of those huckleberries in my throat
while talking, and there’s no doctor close at hand
to keep me from choking to death.”

So they ate their huckleberry-pie, and then Mr.
Thimblefinger told the story.

‘Once upon a time a farmer had five sons. He
was not rich and he was not poor. He had some
land, and he had a little money. He divided
his land equally among his four oldest sons, giv-
ing each just as much as he could till. To each,
he also gave a piece of money. Then he called
his youngest son, and said : —
64 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“¢ You have sharp eyes and a keen wit. You
want no land. All you need is a saddle. That I
will give you.’

“* A saddle! What will I do with a saddle?’
asked the youngest son, whose name was Tip-
Top.

““Make your fortune with it.’

“
“« A head is better than a horse,’ the father
replied.

“ Not long after, the old man died. The land
was divided up among the four older sons, and
Tip-Top was left with the saddle. He slung it on
his back and set out to make his fortune. It was
not long before he came to a large town. He
rested for a while and then he went into the town.
He remembered that his father had said a head
was better than a horse, so, instead of carrying
the saddle on his back, he put it on his head. At
first the people thought he was carrying the sad-
dle because he had sold his horse for a good price,
or because the animal had died. But he went
through street after street still carrying the saddle
on his head, never pausing to look around or to
speak to anybody, and at last the people began
THE TALKING-SADDLE. 65

to wonder. Some said he was a simpleton, some
said he was a saddle-maker advertising his wares,
and some said he was a tramp who ought to be
arrested and put in the workhouse.

“This talk finally reached the ears of the
Mayor of the town, and he sent for Tip-Top to
appear before him.”

“ What is a Mayor?” asked Sweetest Susan
suddenly.

“ He de head patter-roller,” said Drusilla, be-
fore anybody else could reply.

“That ’s about right,” Mr. Thimblefinger de- |
clared. “Well, the Mayor sent for Tip-Top.
But instead of going to the place where the
Mayor held his court, Tip-Top inquired where his
house was and went there. Now, when Tip-Top
knocked at the Mayor’s door the servant, seeing
the man with a saddle on his head, began to scold
him.

“Do you think the Mayor keeps his harness
in the parlor? Go in the side gate and carry the
saddle in the cellar where it belongs. Hang it on
the first peg you see.’

“Tip-Top tried to say something, but the ser-
vant shut the door with a bang. Then Tip-Top
66 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

did as he was bid. He went through the side
gate, and found the cellar without any trouble,
but instead of hanging the saddle on a peg, he
placed it on the floor and sat on it.

“ After waiting patiently a while, wondering
when the Mayor would call him, Tip-Top heard
voices on the other side of the wall. He listened
closely, and soon found that the housemaid who
had driven him away from the Mayor’s door was
talking to her brother, who had just returned
from a long journey.

“<«The Mayor has gold,’ said the brother.
‘You must tell me where he keeps it. I havea
companion in my travels, and to-night we shall
come and take the treasure.’

“For a long time the housemaid refused to
tell where the Mayor kept his gold, but the bro-
ther threatened and coaxed, and finally she told
him where the treasure lay.

“Tt is in a closet by the chimney in the first
room to the right at the head of the stairs. The
gold is in an iron box and it is very heavy.’

“My companion has long hair and a strong
arm,’ said the brother. ‘He is cross-eyed and
knock-kneed. It wouldn’t do for you to meet
THE TALKING-SADDLE. 67

him in the hallway. Go to bed early and lock
your door, and if you hear any outcry during the
night cover your head with a pillow and go to
sleep again.’

“Then the housemaid and her brother went
away.

“¢ Well, said Tip-Top, ‘this is no place for
me.’

“He waited a while, and then went out of the
cellar into the yard with his saddle on his head.
The cook, seeing him there, told him to carry the
saddle to the stable where the horses were kept.
Tip-Top went to the stable, placed his saddle in
an empty stall, and sat on it.

“ After a while he heard two persons come in
from the street. They went into a stall near by
and began to talk. One was the coachman and
the other was his nephew, who had just returned
from a long journey.

“ nephew. ‘I must have two of them to-night,
otherwise I am ruined forever.’

“The coachman refused to listen at first, but
after a while he consented. He told his nephew
that the stable-boy slept in the manger.
68 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“‘¢T have a companion in my travels,’ said his
nephew, ‘and to-night we shall come and take the
horses away. My companion has short hair and
a heavy hand. Close your eyes and cover your
head with straw if you hear any outcry.’

“ After a while the coachman and his nephew
went out into the street again, and then Tip-Top
came forth from the stable with the saddle on his
head. The Mayor had just come in, and was
standing at his window. He saw the man in the
yard with the saddle on his head, and sent a ser-
vant to call him.

“<¢ What is your name?’ asked the Mayor.

“<¢Tip-Top, your honor.’

“¢T did n’t ask after your health ; I asked for
your name,’ said the Mayor.

“<¢T¢ is Tip-Top, your honor.’

“¢ Your name or your health?’

“¢ Both, your honor.’

“<< What are you doing here?’

“< Fis honor, the Mayor, sent for me, your
honor.’

“¢ What were you doing just now ?’

“¢ Waiting to be sent for, your honor.’

_ “Where is your horse?’ asked the Mayor.
=






ro

(fl
THE TALKING-SADDLE. 69

“
“¢ Why do you carry your saddle?’

“¢ Because no one will carry it for me, your
honor.’

““ Why do you not sell it and be rid of it,
ninny ?’
_ “¢ Few are rich enough to buy it, your honor.’

“¢ How much money is it worth?’

“
“¢ Are you crazy?’ cried the Mayor. ‘Why is
it so valuable ?’

“
“¢ What does it say ?’

“¢ Everything, your honor. It warns, it pre-
dicts, and it gives advice.’

““* Let it talk for me,’ said the Mayor, full of
curiosity.

“¢Your honor would fail to understand its
. language,’ replied Tip-Top.

“Let it talk and do you tell me what it says.’

“Tip-Top placed his saddle on the carpet and.
pressed his foot against it until the leather made
a creaking noise.

“JT am waiting,’ said the Mayor. ‘What does
the saddle say ?’
70 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Tt says, your honor, that you must call the
housemaid.’

“'The Mayor, to humor the joke, did so. The
housemaid came, grumbling. She looked at the
saddle, at Tip-Top, and then at the Mayor.

““¢ Now what does the saddle say?’ asked the
Mayor.

“Tt says, your honor, that this woman has a
brother, who has just returned from a journey in
strange lands. The saddle says, your honor, that
this woman’s brother has a companion who has
long hair and a strong arm.’

“Ts that all?’ asked the Mayor.

“* No, your honor, it is not half.’

“<¢ Tt is very strange,’ said the housemaid.

“ will sit in the closet by the chimney, i in the first
room to the right, where there is an iron box that
is very heavy, you will receive a visit ee
from this woman’s brother and his companion.’

“The Mayor was very much astonished, but
before he could open his lips the woman fell on
her knees and confessed all. The Mayor called
an officer and sent her away. Then he turned to

Tip-Top, and asked : —
THE TALKING-SADDLE. T1

eels thateallin.

“¢ By no means, your honor. The saddle says
send for the coachman.’

“The Mayor did so, and the coachman came,
bowing and smiling.

“¢ How much is the saddle worth?’ the Mayor
asked him.

“¢ Master, it is worthless,’ replied the coach-
man, with a sneer.

“* Let us see,’ said the Mayor. Then, turning
to Tip-Top : ‘ What does the saddle say ?’

“<¢Té says, your honor, that this coachman
here has a nephew, who has just returned from
along journey. It says that the nephew has
a companion who has short hair and a heavy
hand.’

“<¢ What more?’

“«The saddle says, your honor, that if you will
sleep in the manger where your two finest horses
feed, you will receive a visit from the coachman’s
nephew and his traveling companion.’

“The coachman implored his master’s mercy,
and told all. Of course, the Mayor was very
much astonished. He turned his unfaithful ser-
vants over to an officer, and that night had a
72 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

watch set around his house and stable, and caught
the thieves and their companions.”

“ But the saddle didn’t talk,” said Sweetest
Susan. “So the man didn’t tell what was true.”
She made this remark with so much dignity that
Mrs. Meadows laughed.

But Buster John was quite impatient.

“This is n’t a girl’s story,” he exclaimed.

“Oh, yes,” replied Mrs. Meadows. “It is for
girls as well as boys. Sometimes people tell stories
just to pass the time away, and if the stories have
little fibs in ’em, that don’t do anybody any harm,
they just keep them in there. If they didn’t, the
story would n’t be true.”

“Is that the end of the story of the Talking-
Saddle?” asked Buster John.

“No! Oh,no!” Mr. Thimblefinger answered.
“T was just going to tell you the rest.”

But before he could go on with it, the noise of
laughter was heard at the door, and then there
came running in a queer-looking girl and a very

queer-looking boy.
VI.
THE TALKING-SADDLE AND THE THIEF.

Tux queer-looking girl was running from the
very queer-looking ton and both were laughing
loudly. When they saw the children sitting at
the table they both stopped suddenly. The
queer-looking girl turned and made a wry face
at the very queer-looking boy. At this both
burst out laughing, and suddenly stopped again.

“Be ashamed of yourselves!” ae old
Mr. Rabbit, rapping on the floor with his cane.
“Be ashamed! Where are your manners? Go
and speak to our friends and make your best bow,
too, — don’t forget that!” My. Rabbit appeared
to be very indignant.

Mrs. Meadows was in a better humor, “ This,”
ee said, as the queer-looking girl came forward,

“is Chickamy Crany Crow, and this, as the very
ers boy came timidly up, is Tickle-My-
Toes.”

They bowed, and then went off a little way,
74 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

looking very solemn and comical. They didn’t
dare glance at each other for fear they would
begin laughing again. The reason they looked
so queer was because, although they acted like
children, they were old in appearance, —as old as
a person past middle age.

“They are country-raised, poor things! You’ll
have to excuse them. They don’t know any bet- —
ter.” Mr. Thimblefinger sighed as he said this,
and looked thoughtful.

“What about the Talking-Saddle?” Buster
John inquired. “ You said the story wasn’t fin-
ished.”

“To be sure! To be sure!” Mr. Thimble-
finger cried. “ My mind is like a wagon without
a tongue. It goes every way but the right way.
Where was 1? Oh, yes, I remember now.”

“Well, the Mayor was very thankful to Tip-
Top for saving his treasure and his horses, but
he wasn’t satisfied about the saddle. He was
worried. Now, you know when a child is wor-
ried it cries, but when a grown man is worried he
sits down and looks away off, and puts his elbow
in his hand and his finger to his nose — so.”

“Oh, I’ve seen papa do that,” laughed Sweet-
est Susan.
TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. 75

“Yes, that’s the way the Mayor did,’ Mr.
Thimblefinger continued. “There was a great
thief in that country who had never been caught.
He didn’t care for judges and juries and court-
houses. He always sent the Mayor word when
he was coming to the city and when he was go-
ing away.

“Now, the Mayor had received a letter from
this man just the day before Tip-Top came.
The thief said he was coming after a fine race-
horse that was owned by the Mayor’s brother.
So the Mayor sat and thought, and finally he
asked Tip-Top if his Talking-Saddle could catch
a famous thief.

“<¢Tt has just caught four common rogues,
your honor,’ replied Tip-Top, ‘and I think it can
catch one uncommon thief.’

“Then the Mayor told Tip-Top that the most
famous thief in all that country intended to steal
his brother’s race-horse. Tip-Top said he must
see the horse, and together they went to the sta-
ble where it was kept. The horse was already
guarded. Two servants sat in the stall, two sat
outside, and two remained near the door. The
Mayor’s brother was also there.
76 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

““¢ What is this?’ the brother asked.

“¢This fellow wants to sell his saddle,’ re-
plied the Mayor.

“Then arrest him,’ cried the brother, ‘for he
is the thief.’

“Nonsense,” replied the Mayor. ‘He is a
very honest man and I will vouch for him”

Then the Mayor called his brother aside and
told him why the man with the saddle had come
to see the horse.

“Tip-Top talked with the men who had been
set to guard the horse, and he soon found that
one of them was an accomplice of the thief. This
man made a swift sign to Tip-Top, and placed his
finger on his mouth. Tip-Top replied by closing
his eyes with his fingers, as if to show that he
saw nothing. When he had an opportunity he
said to this man : —

“* Tell your master I will be willing to sell the
saddle to-night. I will sleep~with it under my
head on the next corner. It is worth one thou-
sand pieces of gold.’

“Then he returned to the Mayor, and they
went away. ‘Tip-Top laughed as they walked
along. ‘This thief,’ he remarked, ‘is a fool.
TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. TT

It is so easy to steal a horse that he will not buy
a saddle. He will try to steal mine. Then we
shall catch him. He will get the horse —’

“* What!’ cried the Mayor; ‘get the horse?’

“¢Certainly ; nothing is easier,’ replied Tip-
Top. ‘He will get the horse, and then he will
want a saddle. He will be passing the wall here.
He will see me sleeping with my head on my
friend and then he will attempt to steal it, but
the surcingle will be buckled around my body,
and I will awake and cry blue murder. Then
you and your brother can come forward from the
vacant house yonder and seize him.’

““¢ Where did you learn all this?’ asked the
Mayor. He began to suspect that his brother
was right when he said that Tip-Top was the
thief.

“My saddle told me,’ Tip-Top answered.

“¢ Well,’ said the Mayor, ‘ your plan is as good
as any, but how will the thief get the horse that
is so well guarded ?’

“<«Ah!’ Tip-Top exclaimed, ‘if I were to tell
you, we should never catch the thief.’

“So it was all arranged. Tip-Top was to sleep
on his Talking-Saddle, near the wall and the
78 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Mayor and his brother were to watch from the
windows of the vacant house opposite.

“ When night came, the watchers who had been
set to guard the horse were very anxious. They
were ready to arrest any one who might chance
to enter. Whenever they heard footsteps ap-
proaching they seized their clubs and stood on the
defensive. Sometimes a passer-by would pause,
look in, and ask what the trouble was. Then the
watchers would reply that they were waiting for
the great thief who was coming to steal the fine
horse. Thus the hours passed, but no thief came.
Then the watchers began to get tired.

“¢ We are crazy,’ said one. ‘How can a thief
steal this horse, even if he were to come in here?
We are four to one. Two of us should sleep
a while, and thus we can take turns in watching.’
This was agreed to, and two of the guards
stretched themselves on the straw and prepared
tosleep. But just then they heard some one sing-
ing far down the street. It was a jolly song, and
the sound of it came louder and louder. As the
singer was going by, the light in the stable caught
his eye, and he paused and looked in, but still
kept up his singing.
TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. 79

“¢ Friends,’ he said when his song was done,
‘what is the trouble?’

“¢We are watching a horse.’

“ doctored many a horse in my day.’

“¢ He is not sick,’ replied the watchers. ‘He
is well and taking his ease. We are watching to
prevent a thief from stealing him.’

“Then they told him the threat the thief had
made.

“¢ Come, that is too good,’ cried the newcomer.
‘This thief will be worth looking at when four
such stout lads as you get through with him../
When does he show himself ?’

“<« That is what we are to find out,’ replied the
watchers.

“<¢Very well,’ the newcomer said; ‘I'll stay,
by your permission, and see you double him up.’

“The watchers gave their consent gladly, for
the newcomer had a lively manner and a rattling
tongue. He sang songs and told stories for an
hour or more, and then pulled a bottle from un-
der his coat.

“¢ A little wine,’ he said, ‘ will clear the fog
from our throats.’ He passed the bottle around,
80 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

and all drank except the guard who was watchb-
ing in the stall.

“ Now the man who had come singing up the
street was the thief himself, and the guard in the
stall was his companion. The wine was drugged,
and in a very few minutes three of the watchers
were fast asleep. Then the thief and his compan-
ion took the horse from the stall.

“¢T shall have to remain here and pretend to
be asleep,’ said the companion. ‘You will find a
saddle around the corner.’ He then told the thief
about the man with the saddle.

“¢ You are a fool, my friend,’ said the thief.
“Tt is a trick —a trap.’

“ But when he had carried off the horse and
hid it at the house of an acquaintance, the
thought of the man with the saddle worried him
so that he went back to satisfy himself. Tip-Top
and his saddle were there, and Tip-Top had slept
so soundly that his head had rolled from his pil-
low. The thief thought it would be a good
stroke of business to take the saddle along, but
when he tried to lift it, Tip-Top awoke and seized
him, and cried ‘ Murder!’ at the top of his voice.

“ The Mayor and his brother rushed from
TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. 81

their place of concealment, and soon the thief
was bound.

“‘¢ Where is the horse ?’ cried the Mayor.

“What horse?’ exclaimed the thicf. ‘Do
you think I carry horses in my pocket ?’

“¢ What were you doing here, then ?’

“<¢ This fellow’s head had slipped from its pil-
low, and when I tried to put it back he seized
me and yelled that I was murdering him! I
saw no horse under the saddle.’

“<< Wait here a little,’ said Tip-Top. ‘ Hold this
thief till I return.’

“He went to the stable, woke the thief’s ac-
complice, who by this time was really asleep,
and told him his companion had been captured.
‘If I can find the horse and hide it our friend
will be safe, for nothing can be proved on him,’

“The man was so frightened that he told
Tip-Top where he had arranged to meet the
thief the next day. Then Tip-Top returned

_to the Mayor and his brother, who still held the
thief, and took them to the house where the
horse had been stabled.

“When the horse had been found and re-
stored to its owner the Mayor said to Tip-Top
82 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

that he would not only reward him handsomely
but grant any request he might make.

“ this man his liberty.’ —

“¢ Why?’ asked the Mayor, much astonished.

“* Because, your honor, he is my brother.’

“The thief was as much astonished as the
Mayor at this turn in his affairs, but he had no
difficulty in recognizing Tip-Top as his younger
brother.

“« He certainly is a man of talent,’ said the
Mayor, ‘and it is a pity that he should be exe-
cuted.’

“Then the thief fell on his knees and begged
the Mayor to pardon him, promising him to live
and die an honest man. And he kept his prom-
ise. He engaged in business, and, aided by
Tip-Top’s advice and influence, made a large for-
tune.”

“ What became of the Talking-Saddle?” asked
Buster John.

“Well,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, “ Tip-Top
hung the saddle in his front porch, as you have
seen farmers do. He thought a great deal of
Tbs

TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. 83

“T’ve read something about the great thief,”
remarked Buster John. “But the story didn’t
end that way. The thief escaped every time.”

“Oh, well, you know how some people are,”
exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “They want every-
thing to happen just so; even a thief must be a
big man if he’s in a story; but I don’t believe
anybody ever stole anything yet without getting
into trouble about it.” .

“Who is that crying?” Mr. Rabbit suddenly
exclaimed.

“T hear no crying,” said Mrs. Meadows.

“T certainly thought I heard crying,” per-
sisted Mr. Rabbit.

“Tt is Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-
Toes singing. Listen!”

Sure enough the queer-looking boy and the
queer-looking girl were singing a song. One
sang one line and the other the next line, and
this made the song somewhat comical. The
words were something like these : —

CHICKAMY CRANY CROW.

Oh sing it slow,
This song of woe,
Of the girl who went to wash her toe !
LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Her name was Chick —

(Oh run here. quick) —

The word ’s so thick) —
Chickamy — Chickamy Crany Crow!

Chickamy what? and Chickamy which ?
She went to the well and fell in the ditch ;
What o’clock, old Witch ?

_ The clock struck one
And bowed to the sun ;
But the sun was fast asleep you know ;
And the moon was quick,
With her oldtime trick —
To hide from Chick —
Chickamy — Chickamy Crany Crow !

Chickamy what? and Chickamy which ?
She went to the well and fell in the ditch ;
What o’clock, old Witch ?

Oh, sad to tell !
She went to the well —
The time was as close to eve ag to dawn —
To Chickamy Chick,
So supple and slick,
The clock said “ Tick |”?
But when she came back her chicken was gone !

Oh, whatamy, whichamy, chickamy, oh !
Moonery, oonery, tickamy Toe !
Wellery, tellery, gittery go !

Witchery, itchery, knitchery know.”

of the spring — there was a huge shado

TALKING-SADDLE AND THIEF. 8D

“What kinder gwines on is dat?” exclaimed
Drusilla, whose mind had never been quite easy
since she walked through the dry water in the
spring without getting drowned. “ Weall better
be makin’ our way to’rds home. Time we git
dar—ef we ever is ter git dar—it’ll be dark
good. Den what yo’ ma gwine to say? She
gwine ter talk wid de flat er her han’ — dat what
she gwine ter talk wid. Come on!”

“Can’t you be quiet?” cried Buster John.
“]Té’s nothing but a song.”

“Oh, you kin stay, an’ I'll stay wid you,” said
Drusilla ; “but when Mistiss git you in de wash-
room, don’t you come sayin’ dat I would n’t fetch
you home.”

“T want to see everything,” said Buster John.

“T done seed much ez I want ter see,” replied
Drusilla, “ an’ now I want ter live ter tell it.”

Before Buster John could say anything more
everything suddenly grew a little darker, and in
the middle of the sky — or what ought to have
been the sky, but which was the enlarge



a





ad bettem





children looked at it in silenee.
VII.

THE LADDER OF LIONS.

Tue shadow that seemed to fall over everything
caused Buster John and Sweetest Susan and Dru-
silla to run to the door. It was not a very dark
shadow, but it was dark enough to attract their
attention and excite their alarm. They were not
yet used to their surroundings, for, although a
great many things they saw and heard were fa-
miliar to them, they could not forget that they
had come through the water in the spring. They
could not forget that Mr. Thimblefinger was the
smallest grown person they had ever seen, — even
if he were a grown person, — nor could they for-
get that they had never seen a rabbit so wonder-
fully large as Mr. Rabbit. Drusilla expressed the
feelings of all when she remarked that she felt
“skittish.” They were ready to take alarm at any-
thing that might happen. Therefore they ran to
the door to see what the shadow meant. Finally
they looked up at the sky, or what seemed to be
THE LADDER OF LIONS. 87

the sky, and there they saw, covering a large part
of it, the vague outline of a huge jug. The
shadow wobbled about and wavered, and ripples
of light and shadow played about it and ran
down to the horizon on all sides.

An astronomer, seeing these fantastic wobblings
and wavering of light and shadow in our firma-
ment, would straightway send a letter or a cable
dispatch to the newspapers, declaring that an un-
heard-of convulsion was shaking the depths of
celestial space. And, indeed, it was all very puz-
zling, even to the children, but Drusilla, who had
less imagination than any of the rest, accounted
for it all by one bold stroke of common sense.

“Sbhuh! *Tain’t nothin’ ’t all!” she exclaimed.
“Dey done got froo wid dinner at home, an’ ol’
Aunt ’Cindy done put de buttermilk-jug back in
de spring.”

Sweetest Susan caught her breath with a gasp,
and laughed hysterically. She had been very
much alarmed.

“T expect that’s what it is,” said Buster John,
but there was some doubt in his tone. He turned
to Mr. Thimblefinger, who had followed them.
“ What time is it, please?”
88 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Mr. Thimblefinger drew his watch from his
pocket with as much dignity as he could assume,
and held his head gravely on one side. “It is
now — let me see — ahem / — it is now precisely
thirteen minutes and eleven seconds after one
o'clock.”

“Ts that the jug in the spring?” asked Sweet-
est Susan, pointing to the huge black shadow that
was now wobbling and wavering more slowly.

Mr. Thimblefinger shaded his eyes with his
hand and examined the shadow critically. “ Yes,
that is the jug—the light hurts my eyes — yes,
certainly, that is the jug.”

Presently a volume of white vapor shot out from
the shadow. It was larger than the largest comet,
and almost as brilliant.

“ What is that?” asked Sweetest Susan.

Mr. Thimblefinger felt almost as thoughtful as
a sure-enough man of science.

“That,” said he, “is an emanation — an exha-
lation, you might say — that we frequently witness
in our atmosphere.”

“A which?” asked Buster John.

“Well,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, clearing

his throat, “it’s — er — an emanation.”
THE LADDER OF LIONS. 89

“Auh!” cried Drusilla, “’tain’t no kind er
nation. It’s des de milk leakin’ out’n dat jug.
I done tol’ Aunt ’Cindy bout dat leakin’ jug.”

Mr. Rabbit and Mrs. Meadows had come out
of the house in time to hear this, and they laughed
heartily. In fact, they all laughed except Mr.
Thimblefinger and Drusilla.

“Tt happens every day,” said Mrs. Meadows.
“ We never notice it. I suppose if it happened
up there where you children live, everybody would
make a great to-do? I’m glad I don’t live there
where there ’s so much fussing and guessing going
on. I know how it is. Something happens that
does n’t happen every day, and then somebody ‘Il
guess one way and somebody another way, and
the first thing you know there’s a great rumpus
over nothing. I’m truly glad I came away from
there in time to get out of the worst of it. You
children had better take a notion and stay here
with us.”

“Oh, no,” eried Sweetest Susan. “ Mamma
and papa would want to see us.”

“'That’s so,’ said Mrs. Meadows. “ Well, I
just came out here to tell you not to get too near
the Green Moss Swamp beyond the hill yonder.
90 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

There’s an old Spring Lizard over there that
might want to shake hands with you with his tail.
Besides it’s not healthy around there; it is too
damp.”

“ Oh, we are not going anywhere until we start
home,” Sweetest Susan remarked.

“ How large is the Spring Lizard?” inquired
Buster John.

“ He’s a heap too big for you to manage,” re-
plied Mrs. Meadows. “I don’t know that he’d
hurt you, but he’s slept in the mud over there _
until he’s so fat he can’t wallow scarcely. He
might roll over on you and hurt you some.”

“ Are there any lions over there?” inquired
Sweetest Susan.

“No, honey, not a living one,” said Mrs. Mead-
ows.

By this time Mr. Rabbit had come out on the
piazza, bringing his walking-cane and his pipe.
He presently seated himself on the steps, and
leaned his head comfortably against one of the
posts.

“Well, well, well,” he exclaimed. “It has
been years and years since I’ve heard the name of
Brother Lion. Is he still living and doing well?”
THE LADDER OF LIONS. 91

Mr. Rabbit turned an inquiring eye on Sweetest
Susan.

“She doesn’t know anything about lions,”
said Buster John.

“ Why, Ido!” cried Sweetest Susan. “I saw
one once in a cage.”

“In acage? Brother Lion ina cage?” Mr.
Rabbit raised his hands and rolled his eyes in
astonishment. “ What is the world coming to?
Well, I’ve said many and many a time that
Brother Lion was not right up here.’ Mr. Rab-
bit tapped his forehead significantly. “In a
cage! Now, that pesters me. Why, he used to
go roaring and romping about the country, scar-
ing them that didn’t know him mighty nigh to
death. And so Brother Lion is ina cage? But
I might have known it. I wonder how the rest
of the family are getting on? Not that they are
any kin to me, for they are not. I called him
Brother Lion just to be neighborly. Oh, no!
He and his family are no kin to me. They are
too heavy in both head and feet for that.”

Mr. Rabbit closed his eyes as if reflecting, and
patted the ground softly with his foot.

“Well, well! I remember just as well as if it
92 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

were yesterday the day I told Brother Lion that
if he wasn’t careful, Mr. Man would catch him

and put him in a cage for his children to look at.

But he just hooted at it —and now, sure enough,

there he is! I mind the first time he began his

pursuit of Mr. Man. That was the time he got

his hand caught in the split of the log.”

“T done hear my daddy tell dat tale,” re-
marked Drusilla,

“Yes,” said Mr. Rabbit, “it soon became
common talk in the neighborhood. Brother Lion
had come a long way to hunt Mr. Man, and as
soon as he got his hand out of the split in the
log he started to go home again. I went part of
the way with him, and then it was that I told
him he’d find himself in a cage if he wasn’t
careful. I made a burdock poultice for his hand
the best I could —”

“And it’s mighty good for bruises, I tell you
now!” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows.

“ And then Brother Lion went on home, feel-
ing better, but still very mad. Crippled as he
was, he was a quick traveler, and it was not long
before he came to his journey’s end.

“Well, when his mother saw him she was very
THE LADDER OF LIONS. 93

sorry. But when he told her what the matter
was she was vexed. ‘Aha!’ said she, ‘how
often have I told you about meddling with some-
body else’s business! How often have I told
you about sticking your nose into things that
don’t concern you! I’m not sorry for you one
bit, because if you had obeyed me you would n’t
be coming home now with your hand mashed all
to flinders. But, no! daddy-like, you ’ve got to
go and get yourself into trouble with Mr. Man,
and now you see what has come of it. I’m not
feeling at all well myself, but now I’ve got to go
to work and make a whole parcel of poultices and
and I declare



tie your hand up and nurse you
somebody ought to be nursing me this very min-
ute.’

“That was what Brother Lion’s mother said,”
continued Mr. Rabbit, “but Brother Lion did n’t
say anything. He just lay on the sheepskin
pallet she made him and studied how he would
be revenged on Mr. Man. After a while his
hand got well, but still he said very little about
the matter. The more he thought about the way
he had been treated, the madder he got. He
gnashed his teeth together and waved his long
94 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

tail about until it looked like a snake. Finally
he sent word to all his kin — his uncles and his
cousins — to meet him somewhere in the woods
and hold a convention to consider how they
should catch the great monster, Mr. Man, who
had caused ‘a log of wood to mash Brother Lion’s
hand. x

“Well, it wasn’t long before the uncles and
cousins began to arrive. They came from far
and near, and they seemed to be very ferocious.
They shook their manes and showed their tushes.
They went off in the woods and held their con-
vention, and Brother Lion laid his complaint be-
fore them. He told them what kind of treatment
he had received from Mr. Man, and asked them if
they would help to get his revenge. He made
quite a speech, and when he sat down, his uncles
and cousins were very much excited. They
roared and howled. They said they were ready
to tear Mr. Man limb from limb. They declared
they were ready to go where he was, and gnaw
him and claw him on account of the scandalous
way he had treated their blood-kin.

“ But when Brother Lion’s mother heard what
they proposed to do she shut her eyes and shook
THE LADDER OF LIONS. 95

her head from side to side, and told the uncles
and the cousins that they had better go back
home, all of them. She said that before they
got through with Mr. Man they ’d wish they had
never been born. But go they would and go
they did.

“So they started out soon one morning, and
traveled night and day for nearly a week. They
were getting very tired and hungry, and some
of the younger blood-cousins wanted to stop and
rest, and some wanted to turn around and go
back home. But one morning while they were
going through the woods, feeling a little shaky
in head and limb, they suddenly came in sight of
Mr. Man. He was cutting down trees and split-
ting them into timber. He had his coat off, and
seemed to be very busy.

“ But he was not so busy that he didn’t hear
Mr. Lion and his uncles and blood-cousins sneak-
ing through the woods over the dry leaves, and
he wasn’t so busy that he could n’t see them
moving about among the trees. He was very
much astonished. He wondered where so many
of the Lion family came from, and what they
were doing there, but he didn’t stop to ask any
96 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

questions. He dropped his axe and climbed a
tree.

“Brother Lion and his uncles and his blood-
cousins were very much pleased when they saw
Mr. Man climb the tree. ‘ We have him now,’
said Brother Lion, and the rest licked their jaws
and smiled. Then they gathered around the
tree and sat on their haunches and watched Mr.
Man. This didn’t do any good, for Mr. Man
sat on a limb and swung his legs, just as content-
edly as if he was sitting in his rocking-chair at
home.

“Then Brother Lion and his uncles and his
blood-cousins showed their teeth and growled.
But this didn’t do any good. Mr. Man swung
his feet and whistled a dance-tune. Then
Brother Lion and his blood-cousins opened their
mouths wide and roared as loud as they could.
But this didn’t do any good. Mr. Man leaned
his head against the trunk of the tree and pre-
tended to be nodding.

“This made Brother Lion and his blood-kin
very mad. They ran around the tree and tore
the bark with their claws, and waved their tails

back and forth. But this didn’t do any good.
THE LADDER OF LIONS. OT

Mr. Man just sat up there and swung his feet
and laughed at them.

“Brother Lion and his blood-kin soon found
that if they intended to capture Mr. Man they ’d
have to do something else besides caper around
the foot of the tree. So they talked it over, and
Brother Lion fixed up a plan. He said that he
would stand at the foot of the tree and rear up
against the trunk, and one of his blood-cousms
could climb on his back and rear up, and then
another cousin or uncle could climb up, and so
on until there was a ladder of bloodthirsty Lions
high enough to reach Mr. Man.

“ Brother Lion, mind you, was to be at the bot-
tom of the Lion ladder,” remarked Mr. Rabbit,
with a chuckle, “and he had a very good reason
for it. He had had dealings with Mr. Man, and
he wanted to keep as far away from him as pos-
sible. But before they made the Lion ladder,
Brother Lion looked up at Mr. Man and called
out : —

“«¢ What are you doing up there?’

“¢You’ll find out a great deal too soon for
your comfort,’ replied Mr. Man.

“‘ Brother Lion said, ‘Come down from there.’
98 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Mr. Man answered, ‘1I’ll come down much
sooner than you want me to.’

“Then Brother Lion, his uncles, and his blood-
cousins began to build their ladder. Brother
Lion was the bottom round of this ladder, as you
may say,” continued Mr. Rabbit. “He reared
up and placed his hands against the tree, and
one of his uncles jumped on his shoulders, and
put his hands against the tree. Then a cousin,
and then another uncle, and so on until the lad-
der reached a considerable distance up the tree.
Tt was such a high ladder that it began to wob-
ble, and the last uncle had hard work to make
his way to the top. He climbed up very carefully
and slowly, for he was not used to this sort of
business. He was the oldest and the fiercest of
the old company, but his knees shook under him
as he climbed up and felt the ladder shaking and
wobbling.

“Mr. Man saw that by the time this big Lion
got to the top of the ladder his teeth and his
claws would be too close for comfort, and so he
called out in an angry tone : —

“¢ Just hold on! Just stand right still! Wait!
I’m not after any of you except that fellow at





THE LADDER OF LIONS. 99

the bottom there. I’m not trying to catch any
of you but him. He has bothered me before.
I let him go once, but I’ll not let him get away
this time. Just stand right still and hold him
there till I climb down the other side of the
tree.’

“With that Mr. Man shook the limbs and
leaves and dropped some pieces of bark. This
was more than Brother Lion could stand. He
was so frightened that he jumped from under the
ladder, and his uncles and his blood-cousins came
tumbling to the ground, howling, growling, and
fighting. :

“ They were as sorry-looking a sight as ever
you saw when they came to their senses. Those
that didn’t have their bones broken by the fall
were torn and mangled. They had acted so
foolishly that out of the whole number, Mr.
Man did n’t get but three lion-skins that could be
called perfect.

“Brother Lion went home to his mother as
fast as he could go and remained quiet a long
time. And now you tell me he’s in a cage.”

Mr. Rabbit paused and shook his head until
his ears flopped.
100 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

The children seemed to enjoy the story very
much; so much so, indeed, that Mrs. Meadows
wanted Mr. Rabbit to tell some of his own queer
experiences, but Mr. Rabbit laughed and said
that it did n’t seem exactly right to be telling his
own stories. He said if he told the stories just
as they happened, he’d have to talk about him-
self a good deal, and people would think he was
boastful. He declared he did n’t feel like mak-
ing his young friends think he was bragging.

“ Oh, we shan’t mind. that,” said Sweetest Su-
san, “ shall we, brother ?”

““ Why, of course not,” replied Buster John.

“Ta! we all done hear folks brag, till we got
hardened ter braggin’!”’ exclaimed Drusilla.

So the children, aided by Mrs. Meadows,
coaxed Mr. Rabbit until he finally consented to
tell some of his queer adventures.

249
VIll.
BROTHER TERRAPIN’S FIDDLE-STRING.

Mr. Rassir moved his body uneasily about,
and scratched his head, and crossed and uncrossed
his legs several times before he began.

“T declare it isn’t right!” he exclaimed after
awhile. “TI don’t mind telling about other folks,
but when it comes to talking about myself, it is
a different thing.”

“Don’t you remember the time you tried to get
Brother Terrapin to give you a fiddle-string?”
asked Mrs. Meadows, laughing a little.

“Oh, that was just a joke,” replied Mr. Rab-
bit.

“Call it a joke, then,’ said Mrs. Meadows.
“You know what the little boy said when the
man asked him his name. He said, says he,
‘You may call it anything, so you call me to din-
ner.”

“He wasn’t very polite,” remarked Sweetest
Susan.
102 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“No, indeed,” Mrs. Meadows answered ; “but
you know that little boys can’t always remember
to be polite.”

“] think we were at your house,” suggested
My. Rabbit, rubbing his chin.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Meadows. “In the little
house by the creek. The yard sloped from the
front door right to the bank.”

“To be sure,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, bright-
ening up. “Iremember the house just as well
as if I had seen it yesterday. There was a little
shelf on the left-hand side of the door as you
came out, and there the water-bucket sat.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Meadows; “and there was
just room enough up there by the bucket for
Brother Terrapin.”

“That ’s so,” Mr. Rabbit replied, laughing,
“and when he used to go to your house to see
the girls they ’d set the bucket on the table in the
house and lift Brother Terrapin to the shelf so he
could see and be seen. I remember it used to
make him very mad when Id tell him he would
be a mighty man if he wasn’t so flat-footed.”

“Oh, you used to talk worse than that,” cried
Mrs. Meadows, laughing heartily at the remem-
2

- BROTHER TERRAPIN’S FIDDLE-STRING. 1038

brance of it. ‘ You used to tell him he was the
only man you ever saw that sat down when he
stood up. I declare! Brother Terrapin’s eyes
used to get right red.”

“Well,” said Mr. Rabbit, after a pause; “TI re-
member I went to your house one day and I car-
ried my fiddle. When I got there, who should
I see but old Brother Terrapin sittimg up on the
shelf. I expected to find the girls by themselves,
but there was Brother Terrapin. So I began to
joke him.

““¢ Howdy, Brother Terrapin?’ saysI. ‘If
you had a ladder handy you could come down-
stairs and shake hands, could n’t you?’

“He began to get sullen and sulky at once.
He would n’t hardly make any reply. But I
didn’t care for that. Says I: ‘Cross your legs
and look comfortable, Brother Terrapin; don’t
be glum in company. I’ve got my fiddle with
me, and I’m going to make your bones ache if
you don’t dance.’

“Then I whirled in,” said Mr. Rabbit, “and
played the liveliest tunes I could think of, —
‘Billy in the Low Grounds,’ ‘’Possum up the
Gum-Stump,’ ‘Chicken in the Bread-Tray,’ and
e
104 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

all those hoppery-skippery, jiggery-dancery tunes
that make your feet go whether or no. But there
Brother Terrapin sat, looking as unconcerned as
if the fiddle had been ten miles away. He didn’t
even keep time to the music with his foot. More
than that, he did n’t even wag his head from side
to side.”

“‘T always knew Brother Terrapin had no ear
for music,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “If that
was a fault, he certainly had more than his share
of it.”

“T ought not to talk about people behind their
backs,”” Mr. Rabbit continued, trying to shake a
fly out of his ear, “but I must say that Brother
Terrapin was very dull about somethings. Well,
I played and played, and the girls danced and
seemed to enjoy it. I believe you danced a round
or two yourself?” Mr. Rabbit turned to Mrs.
Meadows inquiringly.

“T expect I shook my foot a little,” said No
Meadows with a sigh. “I was none too good.”

“They danced and danced until Ane were
tired of dancing,” Mr. Rabbit resumed; “ but
there sat Brother Terrapin as quiet as if he were
asleep. Well, I was vexed—I don’t mind say-





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BROTHER TERRAPIN’S FIDDLE-STRING, 105

ing so now —I was certainly vexed. But I
didn’t let on. And between tunes I did my best
to worry Brother Terrapin.

“<¢Tadies,’ says I, ‘don’t make so much fuss.
Let Brother Terrapin get his nap out. You’ll
turn a chair over directly, and Brother Terrapin
will give a jump and fall off the shelf and break
some of the furniture in his house.’ This made
the girls laugh very much, for they remembered
the old saying that Brother Terrapin carries his
house on his back. ‘Don’t laugh so loud,’ says
I, ‘Brother Terrapin has earned his rest. He’s
been courting on the other side of the creek, and
he has no carriage to ride in when he goes back
and forth. Sh-h!’ says I, ‘don’t disturb him.
When a person sits down when he stands up, and
hes down when he walks, some allowance must be
made.’

“ Brother Terrapin’s eyes grew redder and red-
der, and the skin on the back of his head began
to work backward and forward. What might
have happened I don’t know, but just as the girls
were in the middle of a dance one of my fiddle-
strings broke, and it was the treble, too. I
would n’t have minded it if it had been any of
106 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

the other strings, but when the treble broke I had
to stop playing.

“ Well, the girls were very much disappointed
and so was I, for I had come for a frolic. T
searched in my pockets, but I had no other string.
I tried to play with three strings, but the tune
would n’t come. The girls were so sorry they
did n’t know what to do.

“ Just then an idea struck me. Ladies,’ says
I, ‘it’s a thousand pities I did n’t bring an extra
treble, and I’m perfectly willing to go home and
fetch one, but if Brother Terrapin was a little
more accommodating the music could go right on.
You could be dancing again in a little or no time.’

“< Oh, is that so?’ says the girls. < Well, we
know Brother Terrapin will oblige us.’

“
“ voice sounded as if he had the croup.

““ Ladies,’ says I, “you may believe it or not,
but if Brother Terrapin hasa mind to he can lend
me a treble string that will just fit my fiddle.’

“* Brother Rabbit,’ says he, ‘ you know I have
no fiddle-string. What would I be doing with

one?’
BROTHER TERRAPIN’S FIDDLE-STRING. 107

“¢Don’t mind him, ladies. He knows just as
well as Ido that he has a fiddle-string in his neck.
I can take my pocket-knife and get it out in half
‘a minute,’ says I.

“ This made Brother Terrapin roll his eyes.

“<¢ Be ashamed of yourself, Brother Terrapin,’
says the girls. ‘And we were having so much
fun, too.’

“ Brother Terrapin’s, I’d take one of the leaders
out and make a fiddle-string of it, just to oblige
the ladies,’ says I.

“The girls turned up their noses and tossed
their heads. ‘Don’t pester Brother Terrapin,’
says they. ‘We'll not ask him any more.’

“¢ Ladies,’ says I, ‘ there is a way to get the
fiddle-string without asking for it. Will you
please hand me a case-knife out of the cupboard
there ?’

“T rose from my chair with a sort of a frown,”
continued Mr. Rabbit, laughing heartily, “but
before I could lift my hand Brother Terrapin
rolled from the shelf and went tumbling down the
slope to the creek, heels over head.”

“ Did it hurt him much ?” asked Sweetest Susan,
with a touch of sympathy.
108 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Tt didn’t stop his tongue,” replied Mr. Rab-
bit. “He crawled out on the other side of the
creek and said very bad words. He even went so
far as to call me out of my name. But it is all
over with now,” said Mr. Rabbit, with a sigh.
“T bear no grudges. Let bygones be bygones.”

“T never heard before. that Brother Terrapin
had a fiddle-string in his neck,” said Buster J ohn,
after he had thought the matter over a little.

“Tn dem times,” said Drusilla, as if to satisfy
her own mind, “you could n’t tell what nobody
had skacely.”’

“Why, as to that,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “ the
fiddle-string in his neck was news to Brother
Terrapin.”

There was a pause here and the children seemed
to be somewhat listless.

“T’ll tell you what I think,” remarked Mts.
Meadows to Mr. Rabbit; “these children here
are lonesome, and they "ll be getting homesick
long before the time comes for them to go. Oh,
don’t tell me!” she cried, when the children
would have protested. “I know howI’d feel if
I was away from home in a strange country and
had nobody but queer people to talk to. We are



BROTHER TERRAPINS FIDDLE-STRI NG. 109

tooold. Even Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-
My-Toes are too old, and Mr. Thimblefinger is
too little.”

“Well, what are we going to do about it?”
asked Mr. Rabbit, running his thumb in the bowl
of his pipe.

“Twas just thinking,” responded Mrs. Mead-
ows. “Had n’t we better bring out the Looking-
Glass family ?”

“Well,” said Mr. Rabbit, “I leave that to
you.” To hide the smile that gathered around
his mouth Mr. Rabbit leaned his head over and
scratched his left ear lazily with his left foot.

“That ’s what I’ll do,” Mrs. Meadows declared
decisively. “ These children want company they
can appreciate, poor things! ”

She went into the house, and presently came
out again, bringing a mirror about three feet wide
and five feet high.
IX.
THE LOOKING-GLASS CHILDREN.

Tue frame of the mirror was of dark wood, cu-
riously carved, and it was set on pivots between
two small but stout upright posts, made of the
same kind of wood. As Mrs. Meadows brought
the looking-glass out, it swung back and forth be-
tween these posts, and its polished surface shone
with great brilliancy. The children wondered
how they were to amuse themselves with this
_ queer toy. Mrs. Meadows placed the looking-
glass a little way from them, but not facing them.
The frame was in profile, so that they could see
neither the face nor the back of the mirror.

“ You come first,” she said to Buster John.

He went forward, and Mrs. Meadows placed
him in front of the looking-glass. As he turned
to face it, his reflection (as it seemed) stepped
from the mirror and stared at him. Buster John
looked at Mrs. Meadows for an explanation, but
at that moment she beckoned to Sweetest Susan.



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\ Skea ae ———S ———
\ ee \S we —— eS ee S
; =a aes Ey (eae
THE. LOOKING-GLASS CHILDREN. 111

When Buster John moved, his image moved.
Mrs. Meadows pushed him gently aside to make
room for Sweetest Susan, and it seemed that
some invisible hand pushed his reflection gently
aside.

Sweetest Susan stepped before the looking-
glass, and her reflection walked out to meet her.
Drusilla now came forward, and her image
stepped forth, looking somewhat scared and
showing the whites of its eyes. Mrs. Meadows
went to the looking-glass, gave it a sudden turn
on its pivots, and carried it into the house.

All this happened so rapidly that the children
hardly had time to be surprised, but now that the
looking-glass had been carried away and they
were left with their reflections, their shadows,
their images (or whatever it was), they didn’t
know what to do, or say, or think. They could
only look at each other in dumb astonishment.
Drusilla was the first to break the silence. In
her surprise’ she had moved quickly back a few
steps, and her image, which had come out of the
looking-glass, had as quickly moved forward and
toward her a few steps.

“ Don’t come follerin’ atter me!” she cried ex-
112 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

citedly. “Kaze ef you do, you’ll sho’ git hurted.
I ain’t done nothin’ ’t all ter you. I ain’t gwine
ter pester you, an’ I ain’t gwine ter let you pester
me. I tell you dat now, so you’ll know what ter
*pen’ on.”

“Don’t move! Please don’t move!” cried
Sweetest Susan to Buster John. “If you do I
can’t tell you apart. I won’t know which is
which. That would n’t be treating me right nor
mamma, either.”

Naturally, the children were in a great predic-
ament when Mrs. Meadows came back. She saw
the trouble at once, and began to laugh. It was
funny to see Buster John and Sweetest Susan and
Drusilla standing there staring first at the Look-
ing-Glass children and then at themselves, not
darmg to move for fear they would get mixed
up with their doubles. The Looking-Glass chil-
dren stared likewise, first at themselves and then
at the others.

“What is the matter?” Mrs. Meadows asked.
“Why don’t you go and play with one another
and make friends? It isn’t many folks that have.
the chance you children have got.”

“TI don’t feel like playing,” said Sweetest
THE LOOKING-GLASS CHILDREN. 118

Susan. “I’m afraid we'll get mixed up so that
nobody will know one from the other.”

“ Why, there ’s all the difference in the world,”
exclaimed Mrs. Meadows, trying hard not to
laugh. “The Looking-Glass children are all left-
handed. You have a flower on the left side of
your hat, the other Susan has a flower on the
right side of hers. Your brother there has
buttons on the right side of his coat; the other
John has buttons on the left side. There is
a flaw in the looking-glass, and Drusilla, being a
little taller than you two, was just tall enough
for the end of her nose to be even with the
flaw. That’s the reason the other Drusilla’s
nose looks like it had been mashed with a ham-
mer.”

“Yes’m, it do!” exclaimed Drusilla. She in-
voluntarily took a step forward to take a nearer
view of the flawed nose, and of course the other
Drusilla took a step forward as if to show the
flawed nose. “Don’t you dast ter come "bout
me!” exclaimed Drusilla. “Goodness knows, I
don’t look dat away. Goon, now! Go ’ten’ ter
yo’ own business ef you got any.”

“T don’t want to play with you,” said the other
114 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Drusilla. “You’ve got smut on your face. I
don’t like to play with dirty-faced girls.”

“ My face cleaner ’n yone dis blessed minnit,”
retorted Drusilla.

“And your hair is not combed,” said the other
Drusilla. “It is wrapped with strings, and you
could n’t comb it if you wanted to. I think it is
a shame.”

“Look at yo’ own head!” retorted Drusilla
angrily. “It’s mo’ woolly dan what mine is.
‘Tain’t never been kyarded much less combed.
An’ who got any mo’ strings roun’ der hair dan
you got on yone?”

“How could I help it?” the other Drusilla
asked. “ You came and looked at me in the glass
and I had to be just like you, smutty face and all.
I don’t think it is right. I know I never looked
like this before, and I hope I never shall again.”

“Tut, tut!” said Mrs. Meadows; “don’t get
to mooning around here. You might look better,
but you don’t look so bad. It will all come right
on wash-day, as the woman said when she put her
dress on wrong side outwards. Here comes Chick-
amy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes. They “I
be glad to see you, no matter how you look.”
THE LOOKING-GLASS CHILDREN. 115

And they were. They ran to the Looking-
Glass children and greeted them warmly. Tickle-
My-Toes stared at the other Drusilla in surprise,
but he did n’t laugh at her. “You look as if
you had fallen down the chimney,” he said, “ but
that does n’t make any difference. So long as
you are here, we are satisfied.”

“Oh, I don’t mind it,” said the other Drusilla.

“Now, then,” remarked Mrs. Meadows, “ you
could n’t please us better than to sing us a
song. You have n’t practiced together for a
long time.”

The other children looked at one another in a
shamefaced way, and then, without a word of ob-
jection or explanation, they began to sing as with
one voice, the most plaintive song that ever was
heard. It may be called : —

THE LOOKING-GLASS SONG.

It’s oh! and it’s ah! It’s alack! and alas!
Just imagine you lived in a big looking-glass !

Oh, what could you say and what could you do

If you lived all alone in the toe of a shoe ?

You could hop, you could skip, you could jump, you could dance,
And you’d hear very little of ‘should n’ts ” and “shan’ts.”

You could stump your big toe, and it would never get hurt ;
You could kick up the sand, you could play in the dirt.
116 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

But it’s oh! and it’s ah! It’s alack ! and alas!
Just imagine you lived in a big looking-glass !

Oh, what could you do, and what would you say

If you lived in the pantry all night and all day ?

You could say it was jolly, and splendid, and nice ;

You could eat all the jelly, and frighten the mice.

You could taste the preserves, you could nibble the cheese —
You could smell the red pepper, and sit down and sneeze.

But it’s oh ! and it’s ah! It’s alack ! and alas!
Just imagine you lived in a big looking-glass !

Oh, what could you do if you lived under ground ?

You could ride Mr. Mole and go galloping round ;

You could hear the black cricket a-playing his fife,

For to quiet the baby and please his dear wife.

You could hear the green grasshopper frying his meat,

Near the nest of the June-Bug under the wheat.

You could get all the goobers and artichokes, too —

You could peep from the window the grub-worm went through.

But it’s oh! and it’s ah! It’s alack ! and alas!
Just imagine you lived in a big looking-glass !

“Oh, I think that is splendid,” cried Sweetest
Susan.

“Mr. Rabbit doesn’t like it much,’ replied
Mrs. Meadows, “but I tell him it is pretty good
for children that were raised in a Looking-Glass.”

“Tt will do very well,” remarked Mr. Rabbit,
THE LOOKING-GLASS CHILDREN. 117

“but you ’ll hear nicer songs by the time you are
as ‘old as Iam.”

“Dem ar white chillun done mighty well,”
said Drusilla, “but I don’t like de way dat ar nig-
ger gal hilt her head.”

“Do they have to stay in the looking-glass ?”
asked Buster John. “If they do I’m sorry for
them.”

“TY ain’t sorry fer dat black gal,” said Drusilla
spitefully. “She too ugly ter suit me.”

“Whose fault is it but yours ?” cried Chickamy
Crany Crow.

“Yes, whose fault is it ?”” cried Tickle-My-Toes.

“Come, come!” cries Mrs. Meadows. “ We
want no trouble here.”

“ We ’ll not trouble her,” answered Tickle-My-
Toes. “ Old Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones will do
the troubling.”

“ Now you all heah dat!” exclaimed Drusilla,
in some alarm. “T ain’t pesterin’ nobody, an’ I
ain’t doin’ nothin’ ’t all. Ef I can’t talk I des ez
well quit livin’. I’m gwine home, I am, an’ ef I
can’t fin’ de way, den I’ll know who’ll have ter
answer fer it.”

“Well, if you go,” said Mrs. Meadows, “ youll
118 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

have cosa The other black girl will have
to go too.”

“ How come dat?” exclaimed Drusilla.

“Tt would take me too long to tell you,” re-
pled Mrs. Meadows. “ Why does your shadow
in a looking-glass make every motion that you
make? Because it’s obliged to —that’s all.
That ’s just the reason the other black girl would
follow you.”

“Don’t mind Drusilla,” said Buster John.
“She just talks to hear herself talk. Her mouth
flies open before she knows it.”

“Well, the poor things won’t trouble you
long,” said Mrs. Meadows. “ They ’ll want to go |
back home presently.”

“Do they have to stay in the looking-glass ?”
inquired Buster John, repeating a question he
had already asked.

“Well, they were born and raised there,” re-
plied Mrs. Meadows. “ It is their home, and, al-
though they are glad to get out for a little while,
ae would n’t be very happy if they had to stay
out.

The children and the Looking-Glass children
played together a little while, or made believe to

THE LOOKING-GLASS CHILDREN. 119

play, but they didn’t seem to enjoy themselves.
Mrs. Meadows noticed this and asked Mr. Rabbit
the reason.

“Simple enough, simple enough,” Mr. Rabbit
answered. “They are so much alike in their
looks and ways and so different in their raising
that they can’t get on together. How would I
feel if my double were to walk out of the side of
the house and sit here facing me and mimicking
my every motion ? : al n’t feel very comfort-

able, I can tell you.”

“T reckon not,” said Mrs. Meadows. Pres-
ently she called the children, brought out the
looking-glass and told them it was time to bid the
others good-by. At this the other children seemed
to be very well pleased. The other Buster John
and the other Sweetest Susan shook hands all
round, and the other Drusilla made a curtsey
to the company. Then, with a run and a jump,
they plunged into the big looking-glass as you
have seen youngsters plunge into a pond of water.

“Ho!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger, “they jumped
in with a splash, but they never made a ripple.”

“They haven’t room enough in there to turn
around,” said Sweetest Susan.
120 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Why not?” inquired Mr. Thimblefinger.
“To them the world is a looking-glass, and a
mighty little one at that. If you were to peep in
their glass now they ’d peep back at you; but, as
they look at it, you are in a looking-glass and
they are out of it. And I would n’t be surprised
if they are a great deal sorrier for you than you
are for them.”

“When are we to go home?” asked Sweetest
Susan plaintively.

“Qho! you want to get back into your look-
ing-glass!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger merrily.
“Well, you won’t have long to wait. By rights,
you ought to stay here twelve hours, but the old
Spring Lizard and I have put our heads together,
and we ’ve fixed it so that you can get back be-
fore sundown.”

“Isn’t it night at home now?” inquired Bus-
ter John.

“Why, they are hardly through washing the
dinner dishes,” replied Mrs. Meadows.

“Tt is just half past two,” said Mr. Thimble-
finger, looking at his watch.

“ Well, it look so dark all dis time dat I done
got hungry fer supper,” remarked Drusilla.
X.
MR. RABBIT AS A RAIN-MAKER.

“J Hops it won’t rain,” said Sweetest Susan,
“for then the spring would fill up so we could n’t
get out, and we should get wet down here.”

“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger, “the
water is never wet down here. It is a little
damp, that ’s all.”

“Well, that’s enough, I’m sure,” remarked
Mr. Rabbit. “It’s enough to give me the
wheezes when I first get up in the morning, and
it’s not at all comfortable, I can tell you.”

“There is one funny thing about spring's,”
said Mrs. Meadows, “no matter how much it
rains, they never get any fuller. They may run
a little freer, but they never get any fuller.
Speaking of rains,” she continued, turning to
Mr. Rabbit and laughing, “don’t you remember
the time you set yourself up as a rain-maker ?”

Mr. Rabbit chuckled so that he bent nearly
double.
122 LITTLE MR.

“T don’t remember that,”

im
finger.



Mr. Rabbit fingered his pipe
“when he put on his | thinkine-cap
and present ly

eq ub






dows expre:



jud or

THIMBLEFINGER.

sighed Mr. Thimble-

“You two have more jokes between you
than you can shake a stick at.
me bemg small and puny.

That comes of
Tell us about it,



‘away he had
as Mrs. Mea-

aid: —




ot such a joke azter all, but I'll let you

a

>Onee 1 upon a time, when all

of us ved 1 next ae on the other side of the

oa wT. vs
sprme, there



been livmg a long time,

dt ape ell.



m such a long









Wl
lag

hot cere watin it.
rile, 1

/ cotton was










weel



: all





got so ee the silly had

and even I had planted a

One month,

ras a tremendous drouth. I had

but never before had
Everybody was farm-
small

there was a big rain about planting-
that came the dro




th, and the
weeks, two

al

A stall no sign of rain,



me Fem eed

te oe


MR. RABBIT AS A RAIN-MAKER. 123

that when Brother Bear tried to carry me across
the ferry his flatboat ran aground in the middle
of the river, and the water was so low we found
we could wade out.

“The drouth got so bad that everybody was
complaining — everybody except me. Brother
Wolf and Brother Bear would come and sit on
my front porch and do nothing but complain ;
but I said nothing. I simply smoked my pipe
and shook my head, and said nothing. They no-
ticed this, after so long a time, and one day, while
they were sitting there complaining and declaring
that they were ruined, I went in to get a drink
of water. I came back gently and heard them
asking each other how it was that I didn’t join
in their complaints. When I came out, Brother
Wolf says, says he: ‘ Brother Rabbit, how are
your craps?’ I remember he said ‘ craps.’

“< Well,’ says I, ‘my eraps are middling good.

They might be better, and they might be worse
but I have no cause to grumble.’

“They looked at each other, and then Brother
Bear asked if I had had any rain at my house.
‘None,’ says I, ‘to brag about— a drizzle here
and a drizzle there, but nothing to boast of.’


124 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“They looked at each other in great surprise,
and then Brother Wolf spoke up. ‘Brother
Rabbit,’ says he, ‘how can you get a drizzle and
the rest of us not a drop?’

“* Well,’ says I, ‘some folks that know me
call me the rain-maker. They may be right.
They may be wrong. I’m not going to squabble
about it. You can call me what you please. I
shall not dispute with you.’

. “Presently they went away, but it was n’t long

before they came back, bringing with them all
the neighbors for miles around. They gathered
in the porch and in the yard and outside the gate,
and begged me, if I was a rain-maker, to make it
rain there and then to save their crops. They
begged me and begged me, but I sat cross-legged
and smoked my pipe —this same pipe you see
here. Brother Fox, who had done me many a
mean trick (though he was always well paid for
it), got on his knees and begged me to make it
rain for them.

“Finally I told them that I’d make it rain for
the whole settlement on two conditions. The

first condition was that every one was to pay
toll.”





MR. RABBIT AS A RAIN-MAKER. 124

“Toll is the pay the miller takes out at the
mill,” remarked Buster John.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “you take your
turn of meal to the mill and the miller takes his
payment out of the meal. Well, I told them
they ’d have to pay toll. They agreed to that,
and then asked what else they ’d have to do, but
I said we ’d attend to one thing ata time. First
let the toll be paid.

“They went off, and in due time they came
back. Some brought corn and some brought
meal; some brought wheat and some brought
flour; some brought milk and some brought
butter; some brought honey in the clean, and
some brought honey in the comb; some brought
one thing and some brought another, but they all
brought something.

“Then they gathered around and asked what
else they had to do. ‘ Well,’ says I, ‘you cer
tainly act as if you wanted rain —all of you —
there’s no disputing that. You have paid the
toll according to agreement. You have surely
earned the rain, and now there’s nothing for





want.’
126 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“ With that they all began to talk at once, es-
pecially Brother Bear, who lived in the upland
district, where the drouth had been the worst,
but I put an end to that at once.

““* Hold on there!’ says I, just wait! Don’t
get into any dispute around here. You are on
my grounds and at my house. Let’s have no
squabbling. I’m not feeling so mighty well,
anyhow, and the least fuss will be enough to
upset me. But the world is wide. Just go on
yonder hill and fix up the whole matter to suit
yourselves. Just come to some agreement as to
how much rain you want, and as soon as you
agree send me word, and then go home and hoist
your parasols, for there "ll surely be a sprinkle.’

“Well,” Mr. Rabbit continued, “ this was such
a sensible plan that they could n’t help but agree
to it, and presently they all went to the hill and
began to talk the matter over, while I went into
the house.

“This was in the morning. Well, dinner-time
came, but still no word had come from the con-
vention on the hill. I went out into the porch,
flung my red handkerchief over my face to keep
the flies off, and took my afternoon nap, but still
MR. RABBIT AS A RAIN-MAKER. 127

no word came from the hill. Then I fell to
laughing, and laughed until I nearly choked my-
self.”

“But what were you laughing at?” Buster
John inquired, with a serious air.

Mr. Rabbit paused, looked at the youngster
solemnly, and said, “ Well, I’ll tell you. I didn’t
laugh because anybody had hurt my feelings. I
just laughed at circumstances. I sat and waited
until the afternoon was half gone, and then
slipped up the hill to see what was to be seen and
hear what was to be heard. Everything was very
quiet up there. Those who had gone up there to
decide what sort of rain they wanted were sitting
around under the pine-trees, looking very sour
and saying nothing. The ground was torn up a
little in spots, and I thought I could see scattered
around little patches of hair and little pieces of
hide. I judged from that that the arguments
they had used were very serious. I watched them
from behind the bushes a little while, and then
Brother Bear walked out into the open and de-
clared that any one who didn’t want the rain to
be a trash-mover was anything but a nice fellow.
At this Brother Coon, who lived in the low
128 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

grounds, remarked that anybody who wanted
anything more than a drizzle was not well raised
at all.

“ Then I soon found out what the trouble was.
Brother Bear, living on the uplands, wanted a big -
rain ; Brother Coon, who lived in the low grounds,
wanted a little rain; Brother Fox wanted a tol-
erably heavy shower; and Brother Mink just
wanted a cloudy night to coax the frogs out.
Some wanted a freshet, some wanted a drizzle,
and some wanted a fog.

“They would n’t agree because they could n’t
agree,” continued Brother Rabbit, “and finally
they slunk off to their homes one at a time. So
I did n’t have to make any rain at all.”

“But you couldn’t have made it rain,” said
Sweetest Susan placidly.

“T didn’t say I could,” replied Mr. Rabbit.
“TY told them I would make the rain if they
would agree among themselves.”

“But you took what they brought you?” sug-
gested Sweetest Susan in a tone that was intended
for a rebuke.

“Well,” Mr. Rabbit answered, “you know
what the old saying is — ‘Fools have to pay for

MR. RABBIT AS A RAIN-MAKER. 129

their folly. They might as well have paid me as
to pay somebody else. That’s the way I looked
at it in those days. I don’t know how I’d look
at it now, because I’m not so nimble footed as I
used to be, nor so full of mischief.”

“Tf there had been many more such fools in
your neighborhood,” remarked Mr. Thimblefin-
ger, “ you could have set up a grocery-store.”

There was a little pause, and then Mrs. Mead-
ows, looking around, exclaimed : —

“Just look yonder, will you?”

Chickamy Crany Crow had two sticks, and with
these she was playing on an imaginary fiddle.
Tickle-My-Toes had the broom, and this, he pre-
tended, was a banjo.

The two queer-looking creatures wagged their
heads from side to side and patted the ground
with their feet, just as though they were making
sure-enough music, and presently Tickle-My-Toes
sang this song to a very lively tune : —

OH, LULLYMALOO!

Ill up and I’ll grin if you tickle my chin,
And Ill sneeze if you tickle my nose ;
I'll up and I'll ery if you tickle my eye —
But Il squeal if you tickle my toes !
1380

Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla
laughed so heartily at this that Chickamy Crany
Crow and Tickle-My-Toes did n’t wait to repeat
the chorus of the song, but ran away, pretending
to be very much frightened. This made the
children laugh still more, and for the first time
they felt thoroughly at home in Mr. Thimblefin-

LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Ob, grin with your chinnery in,
And sneeze with your nosery oze,
And cry with your wipery eye,
But please don’t tickle my toes !

I'll grin and I'll sneeze, I’ll ery and Ill squeal,
And scare you with ouches! and ohs !

You may tickle my head, you may tickle my heel,
But please don’t tickle my toes !

Oh, grin with your innery chin,
And sneeze with your ozery nose,
And ery with your wipery eye,
But please don’t tickle my toes !

I'll grin, tee-hee / and I’ll ery, boo-hoo!
And I'll sneeze, icky chow ! icky-chose !
And Ill squeal just as loud, Oh, Lullymaloo!
Whenever you tickle my toes |”

ger’s queer country.
XI.
HOW BROTHER BEAR'S HAIR WAS COMBED.

Wuite Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Dru-
. silla were watching Chickamy Crany Crow and
Tickle-My-Toes run away, and laughing at them,
suddenly the sky in Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer
country grew brighter. The dark shadow of the
buttermilk-jug had disappeared, and there were
wavering lines of white light flashing across, as
though the sun were trying to shine through.
Along. with these flashing lines there were waver-
ing lines of shadow that rippled and danced about
curiously. There seemed to be some tremendous
commotion going on. If some person with the
learning and wisdom of an astronomer had seen
this wonderful display, he would have been over-
come with awe and fear. He would have con-
cluded that the sky was about to go to pieces,
and ten to one he would have left his unreflect-
ing telescope swinging in the air, and crawled
under the bed.
182 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

But there was no astronomer in Mr. Thimble-
finger’s queer country, and the children had seen
too many strange sights to be very much alarmed.
Besides, Drusilla solved the mystery before they
had time to gather their fears together.

“Shuh!” she exclaimed; “’tain’t nothin’ ’t all.
When dey tuck de jug outin’ de spring de water
*bleedge to be shuck up.”

And it was true. The rippling and wavering
in the sky of Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer country
were caused by lifting the buttermilk-jug from
the spring. As soon as the commotion ceased, it
was seen that across the sky, from horizon to
horizon, dark lines and shadows extended. They
were irregular, and branched out here and there
in every direction. Drusilla gazed at them for
some moments without venturing to explain them.
Suddenly a shadow that seemed to have life and
motion made its appearance, and darted about
among the dark lines. Drusilla laughed.

“La! Hit’s dat dead lim’ ober de spring, an’
dere’s a jay-bird hoppin’ about in it right now.
Ain’t I done heah yo’ pa say dat Jim’ ’ll hafter be
cut off *fo’ it fall an’ break somebody’s head ?”

“Well, well! She ain’t so bad off up here as
BROTHER BEARS HAIR COMBED. 133

T thought she was,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, tap-
ping his forehead significantly.

“ Ain’t I done tell you dat dey’s mo’ in my
head dan what you kin comb out?” exclaimed
Drusilla indignantly.

“Speaking of combing and things of that
sort,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, turning to Mrs.
Meadows, “ did I ever tell you how Brother Bear
learned to comb his hair?”

Mrs. Meadows reflected a moment, or pre-
tended to reflect. “ Now, I’m not right certain
about that. Maybe you have and maybe you
haven't; I don’t remember. How did you teach
Brother Bear to keep his hair roached and
parted? Mostly when I used to know hin, he
‘ went about looking mighty ragged and shabby.”

-—~ Mr. Rabbit chuckled for several moments and
then said: “ Well, in my courting-days, you
know, I used to go around fixed up in style.
Many and many a time I’ve heard the girls
whisper to one another and say, ‘Oh, my! Ain’t
Mr. Rabbit looking spruce to-day?’ There was
one season in particular that I was careful to
primp up and look sassy. I put bergamot oil on
my hair, and kept it brushed so slick that a
134 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

fly would slip up and cripple himself if he lit
on it.

“It so happened that my road took me by Bro-
ther Bear’s house every day — right by the front
gate. Sometimes Mrs. Bear would be hanging
out clothes on the fence, sometimes she would be
sweeping off the front porch, and sometimes she
would be working in the garden; but no matter
what she was doing I’d cough and catch her eye,
and then I’d bow just as polite as you please.”

“What were you doing all that for?” asked
Buster John.

“Well, I'll tell you,” Mr. Rabbit replied. “T
had a grudge against Brother Bear, and I wanted
to work a little scheme. Along at first I just
went on by the back of Brother Bear’s house,
and around through the woods home, but in a
few days I’d pass by the house and then get over
the fence and creep back to hear what Mrs. Bear
had to say. One morning I heard her talking.
She was out in the yard fixing to do her week’s
washing while Brother Bear was in the house
dozing. I could hear what Mrs. Bear said, but I
was too far off to hear what answer Brother Bear
made.

BROTHER BEAR'S HAIR COMBED. 185

“ Mrs. Bear says, says she: ‘Honey, you ain’t
asleep, are you? Brother Rabbit has just gone
along by the gate dressed to kill’ A grum-
bling sound came from the house. Mrs. Bear
says, says she, ‘I wonder where he goes every
day, with his hair combed so slick?’ Grumble
in the house. ‘You’d better wish you looked
half as nice,’ says Mrs. Bear. Grumble in the
house. ‘Well, I don’t care if he is a grand
rascal, he looks nice and clean, and that’s
more than anybody can say about you,’ says
Mrs. Bear. Growl in the house. Mrs. Bear says,
says she, ‘Oh, you can rip and rear, but Brother
Rabbit goes about with his head combed, and he
looks lots better that way than them that go
about with rat nests in their hair — lots better.’ ”

Here Brother Rabbit chuckled again. “I
thought to myself, thinks I, that I’d better be
getting on toward home, and so I crept back up
the fence and went on my way.

“The next day as I was going along the road,
who should I meet but old Brother Bear himself.
Well, here’s a row, thinks I, but it didn’t turn
out so. Brother Bear was just as polite to me as
I had been to his old woman.
136 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“ We passed the time of day and talked about
the crops a little while, but I could see that
Brother Bear had something serious on_ his
mind. Finally, he shuffled around and sat down
on a stump beside the roadside.

“Brother Rabbit,’ he says, says he, ‘how in
the world do you manage to keep your hair so
slick and smooth all the time? My old woman
sees you passing by every day, and she’s been
worrying the life out of me because I don’t keep
my hair combed that way. So I said to myself
I’d ask you the very next time I met you.’

“ Brother Bear was looking pretty rough and
tough, and so I says, says I, ‘ You look as if she
had been tousling you about it.’

“ He hung his head at this, and shuffled around
and changed his seat. Says he: ‘ No, it’s not so
bad as all that, but I want to ask you plump and
plain, if it’s a fair question, how you comb your
hair so it will stay nice?’

“T looked at him and shook my head. Says
I, ‘Brother Bear, I don’t comb my hair.’

“Te was so much surprised that he opened his
mouth, and his tongue hung out on one side —a
big, red tongue that had known the taste of inno-
cent blood.”
BROTHER BEAR’S HAIR COMBED. 187

“That ’s the truth!” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows.

Sweetest Susan shuddered.

“Says he, ‘ Brother Rabbit, if you don’t comb
your hair, how in the wide world do you keep
it so smooth ?’

“Says I, ‘Easy enough. Every morning my old
woman takes the axe and chops my head off —’”

“Oh!” cried Sweetest Susan.

“<¢ Takes the axe and chops off my head,’” Mr.
Rabbit continued, as solemn as a judge, “ ‘and car-
ries it out in the yard, where she can have light
to see and room to work, and then she combs it
and combs it until every kink comes straight and
every hair is in its place. Then she brings my
head back, puts it where it belongs, and there it
is — all combed.’

“ Brother Bear seemed to be very much aston-
ished. Says he, ‘ Doesn’t it hurt, Brother Rab-
bit ?’

“Says I, ‘Hurt who? I’m no chicken.’

“Says he, ‘ Does n’t it bleed?’

“ Says I, ‘No more than enough to make my
appetite good.’”

Mr. Rabbit paused and looked up at the rip-
ples of light and shade that were chasing each


188 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

other across the sky in Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer
country. Then he looked at the children.

“The upshot of it was,” he continued, “that
Brother Bear went home and told Mrs. Bear how
I had my head combed every day. Woman-like,
she wanted to try it at once; so Brother Bear
laid his head on a log of wood, and Mrs. Bear got
the axe and raised it high in the air. Brother
Bear had just time to squall out, ‘ Cut it off easy,
old woman !’ when the axe fell on his neck, and
there he was!”

“ Oh, did it kill him?” cried Sweetest Susan.

“ That ’s what the neighbors said,” replied Mr.
Rabbit placidly.

Sweetest Susan didn’t seem to be at all pleased.
Seeing this, Mrs. Meadows exclaimed : —

“To think of the poor little pigs Brother Bear
killed and ate!”

“ Yes,” said Mr. Rabbit, “and the lambs! ”

“ Worse than that!” cried Mr. Thimblefin-
ger. “ Think of the little children he devoured !
Think of it!”

“T’m glad he had his head cut off,” said Bus-
ter John heartily.

“ Me too, honey,” assented Drusilla.
XII.
A SINGING-MATCH.

Arter telling how Brother Bear learned to
comb his hair, Mr, Rabbit closed his eyes and
seemed to be about to fall into a doze, as old peo-
ple have been known to do. During the pause
that followed, Sweetest Susan saw what appeared
to be a bird of peculiar shape sailing around in
the sky of Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer country.

It was long of body and seemed to have no
wings, and yet it sailed about overhead as majes-
tically and easily as an eagle could have done.

“ What sort of a bird is it?” inquired Sweetest
Susan, pointing out the object to Mrs. Meadows.

“Now, really, I don’t know,” was the reply.
“ They are so high in the sky and I’ve seen them
so often that I’ve never bothered my head about
them.”

Mr. Thimblefinger climbed on the back of a
chair, so as to get a better view of the curious
bird, but he shook his head and climbed nimbly
140 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

down again. The queer bird was too much for
Mr. Thimblefinger. Mr. Rabbit opened his eyes
lazily and looked at it.

“Tf I’m not much mistaken —” he ented to

say, but Drusilla broke in without any cere-
mony :— |

“°T ain’t nothin’ ’t all, but one er dem ar meller
bugs what swims roun’ in de spring.”

“Why, I expect it is a mellow bug,” said Mrs.
Meadows, laughing. “I used to catch them
when I was a girl and put them in my handker-
chief. They smell just like a ripe apple.”

“T thought it was a buzzard,” said Buster
John.

“No,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “I used to be
well acquainted with Brother Buzzard, and when
he’s in the air he’s longer from side to side than
he is from end to end. I don’t know when I’ve
- thought of Brother Buzzard before. I never liked
him much, ‘but I used to see him sailing around
on sunshiny days, or sitting in the top of a dead
pine drying his wings after a heavy rain. He
cut a very funny figure sitting up there, with
his wings spread out and drooping like a sick
chicken.

A SINGING-MATCH. 141

“T remember the time, too, when he had a
singing-match with Brother Crow, and I nearly
laughed myself to death over it.”

“Oh, tell us about it,” cried Buster John.

“There’s nothing in it when it is told,” re-
plied Mr. Rabbit. “There are some things that
are funny when you see them, but not funny at

{ all when you come to tell about them.”

\. ©We don’t mind that,” said Sweetest Susan.
—"“T don’t know exactly how it came about,”
resumed Mr. Rabbit, after a pause, “but as near
as I can remember, Brother Buzzard and Brother
Crow met with each other early one morning in
a big pine-tree. They howdied, but there was a
sort of coolness between them on account of the
fact that Brother Buzzard had been going about
the neighborhood making his brags and his boasts
that he could outfly Brother Crow. They had n’t
been up in the tree very long before they began
to dispute. Brother Buzzard was not a very loud
talker in those days, whatever he may be now,
but Brother Crow could squall louder than a
woman who has been married twenty-two years.
And so there they had it, quarreling and disput-
ing and disturbing the peace.”
142 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER,

“What were they quarreling about?” Buster
John inquired.

“Well,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “you know the
road that leads to Brag is the shortest route
to Bluster. Brother Buzzard and Brother Crow
were quarreling because they had been bragging,
and a little more and they ’d have had a regular
pitched battle then and there.

“< Maybe you can outfly me, Brother Buzzard,’
says Mr. Crow, ‘but I’ll be bound you can’t out-
sing’ me.’

“¢] have never tried,’ says Brother Buzzard,
says he.

“<¢Well, suppose you try it now,’ says Brother
Crow. ‘Ill go you a fine suit of clothes, and a
cocked hat to boot, that I can sit here and sing
longer than you can,’ says he.

“Oh, ho!’ says Brother Buzzard, ‘you may
sing louder, but you can’t sing longer than I ean,’
says he.

“<]Ts it a go?’ says Brother Crow.

“¢Tt’s a go,’ says Brother Buzzard, says he.

“ cause you are a bigger man than I am, and it
stands to reason that you have got more wind in
A SINGING-MATCH. 148

your craw than I have, but I shall give you one
trial if I split my gizzard,’ says he.

“Yes,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, scratching his
head thoughtfully, “those were the very words he
used — ‘if I split my gizzard,’ says he. Well,
they shook hands to ratify the bet, and then Bro-
ther Crow, without making any flourishes, raised
the tune, —

“ Oh, Milly, my Molly, langloo !’
“Then Brother Buzzard flung his head back
and chimed in, —
“ Oh, Milly, my Molly, langloo !’
and such another racket as they made I never
heard before, and have never heard since.”

“Why, what kind of asong was it?” inquired
Sweetest Susan. “I’m sure I never heard such
a song.”

“Well,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “you are young
and I am old, but you know just as much about
that song as I do, and maybe more than I do, for
you haven’t been pestered with it as long as I
have. It is a worse riddle to me than it was the

day I heard it.”
144 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“What did they do then?” asked Buster
John.

“Well,” Mr. Rabbit replied, “they sat there
and sang just as I told you. Brother Buzzard
would stop to catch his breath and then break
out, —

“¢Oh, Susy, my Susy, gangloo !
Oh, Milly, my Molly, langloo !’
and then Brother Crow would squall out, —

“¢ Oh, Susy, my Susy, gangloo !’
Oh, Milly, my Molly, langloo !’

“They sang on until they began to get hungry,
and as Brother Buzzard seemed to be the big-
gest and fattest of the two, everybody thought
he would hold out the longest. But Brother
Crow was plucky, and he sang right along in
spite of the emptiness in his craw. He didn’t
squall as loud as he did at first, but every time
Brother Buzzard sang, Brother Crow would sing,
too. By and by, they both began to get very
weak.

“ At last, as luck would have it, Brother Crow
saw his wife flying over, and he sang out as loud
as he could : —

“Oh, Susy!—Go tell my children — my





A SINGING-MATCH. 145

Susy, — to bring my dinner — gangloo ! — and
tell them —oh, ‘Milly, my Molly, — to bring it
quickly — langloo!’

“Tt wasn’t very long after that before all Bro-
ther Crow’s family connections came flying to
help him, and as soon as they found out how
matters stood they brought him more victuals
than he knew what to do with. Brother Buzzard
held out as long as he could, but he was obliged
to give up, and since that time there has ian
mighty little singing in the Buzzard family.

“ But that is n’t all,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, as
solemnly as if he were pointing a moral. “ Since
that time Brother Crow, who was dressed in
white, has been wearing the black suit that he
won from Brother Buzzard.”

“Speaking of singing birds,” said Mr. Thim-
blefinger, turning to Mrs. Meadows, “what is
that song I used to hear you humming about a
little bird ?”

“Oh, it’s just a nonsense song,” replied Mrs.
Meadows. “It has no beginning and no end-
ing.

But the children said they wanted to hear it,
anyhow, and so Mrs. Meadows sang about —
146 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

THE LITTLE BIRD.

There was once a little Bird so full of Song
That he sang in the Rose-Bush the whole N: ight long.

And ‘“ Oh,” said the Redbird to the Jay,
“Don’t you wish you could sit and sing that way ? ”
“Mercy, no!” said the Jay ; “ for he sings too late ;
I sing well enough for to please my Mate.”

There was once a little Bird so full of Song
That he sang in the Rose-Bush the whole Night long.

Then “Oh,” said the Redbird to the Crow,

“Don’t you wish you could sit and sing just so? ”

“ Do hush,” said the Crow, “or I’ll start for to weep,
Be — caw — caw — cause he’s a-losing of his sleep.”

There was once a little Bird so full of Song
That he sang in the Rose-Bush the whole Night long.

And “Oh,” said the Redbird to the Wren,
“ Don’t you wish you could sing so now and then ? ”
“Not me,” said the Wren as she shook her Head ;
“T think his Mamma ought to put him to Bed.”

But the Singing Bird was so full of Glee
' That he sang all night in the Rose-Bush Tree.
XII.
THE STRAWBERRY-GIRL.

_ “Isy’r it almost time for us to start home?”
said Sweetest Susan, turning to Mr. Thimblefin-
ger.

“Why, you’ve got all the afternoon before
you,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “Besides it
will be downhill all the way. I was just going
to tell you a story, but if you really want to go
I'll put off the telling of it until some of your
grandchildren tumble in the spring when the
wet water has run out and the dry water has
taken its place.”

“Tell the story, please,” said Buster John.

“It’s about a girl,” remarked Mr. Thimble-
finger. “She was called the Strawberry-Gul.
My mother knew the girl well, and I’ve heard
her tell the story many a time. But if you want
to go home —”

“Qh, please tell the story,’ cried Sweetest
Susan.
148 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Well,” said Mr. Thimblefinger ; “ once there
was an old woman who lived in the woods. She
lived all alone, and people said she was a witch.
She was so old that the skin on her forehead had .
deep wrinkles in it, and these wrinkles caused
everybody to think that the old woman was
frowning all the time. People called her Granny
Grim-Eye. ‘

“Whenever Granny Grim-Eye got hungry she
went to a strawberry-patch in the field near
where she lived, and gathered a basket of straw-
berries. One day when she went after straw-
berries she found a beautiful little girl asleep in
the patch.

“¢ Fity-tity!’ said Granny Grim-Hye, ‘ what
are you doing here? Where did you come from,
and where are you going ?’

“The little girl awoke and stared at Granny
Grim-Eye. She was tied to a blackberry-bush
by a silver chain so fine that the links of it could
hardly be seen with the naked eye. ‘Who are
you?’ asked Granny Grim-Eye.

. “* Nothing nor nobody,’ replied the little girl,
and that was all the answer Granny Grim-Eye
could get from the child.

THE STRAWBERRY-GIRL. 149

“ strawberry-patch, and everything I find in it be-
longs to me. I'll take you home and see what I
can make out of you.’

“So she took the girl home and cared for her,
giving her the name of the Strawberry-Gil. In
the course of time the Strawberry-Girl grew to
be the most beautiful young woman in the coun-
try, but her mind was not bright. In fact, I
have heard my mother say that the Strawberry-
Gil was as stupid and as silly as she could be,
but she was so beautiful that people were inclined
to forgive her for being stupid.

“Granny Grim-Eye used to send her with
strawberries to sell to the rich man who owned
nearly all the land in that part of the country.
Now, this rich man fell in love with the Straw-
berry-Girl, but when he found that she was both
stupid and silly he gave up all thought of marry-
ing her. He was very fond of her, nevertheless,
and bought all the berries she had for sale. But
when she began to talk he would turn away with
a sigh, for everything she said was stupid.

“Tt so happened one day that Granny Grim-
Eye was too sick to pick the strawberries her-
150 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

self, as she always had done, and she was afraid
to. trust the Strawberry-Girl to pick them. But
the rich man sent word that he was to have a
company of friends te dinner and he must have
some strawberries. There was nothing for Granny
Grim-Eye to do but to send the Strawberry-Girl
to the patch. Granny Grim-Eye called her up
and cautioned her not to pick anything but good,
ripe strawberries, and then sent her off to the
patch.

“But on the way the Strawberry-Girl saw
some red berries growing on bushes, and these
she picked and put in the basket until it was full.
‘These are just as red as ripe strawberries,’ she
said, ‘and they will do just as well. Besides,
they are a great deal easier to pick.’

“The way to the rich man’s house led through
a very thick wood, and while the Strawberry-Girl
was going through this wood a little old man
stepped from a hollow tree and stood in the path
before her.

“¢ Aha!’ says he, ‘I find you alone at last.
Where are you going, and what have you
got?’

“<‘T am carrying some strawberries to your
THE STRAWBERRY-GIRL. 151

master,’ says the Strawberry-Girl, who imagined
that the rich man was everybody’s master.

“My master!’ cries the little old man; ‘my
master! But if he were my master, and I wanted
to get rid of him, I’d not get in your path, for
every berry in your basket is rank poison.’

“¢¢ Well, anyhow, they are red,’ says the stupid
Strawberry-Girl.

“¢So they are,’ says the little old man. ‘ But
if you want to kill your master carry them to him.’

“*Oh, I don’t want to kill him,’ says the
Strawberry-Girl. ‘He pays too well.’

“< Once you belonged to me,’ says the little old
man. ‘I tied you to a blackberry-bush with a fine
silver chain, and left you there until I could at-
tend to some business in the city. When I came
back you were gone. I hunted for you high and
low only to hear that you had been found by
Granny Grim-Eye. What is the result? You
have grown up beautiful and stupid. After all
these years you don’t know a strawberry from a
dragon’s-apple. If you had remained with me
you would have grown to be the most beautiful
as well-as the wittiest woman in the world. You
would have known everything that is hidden in
152 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

nature — everything that has been stored between
the lids of all the books. It is a great pity!’

“< Yes,’ says the stupid Strawberry-Girl, ‘I ex-
pect it is; but what must I do with these berries?
I have n’t time to pick more ?’

“<¢ Well,’ says the little old man, ‘I’ll make a
bargain with you, I’Il fill your basket with the
finest berries that were ever seen, and Ill make
you the wittiest woman in the world if at the end
of one year you will marry me.’

“The stupid Strawberry-Girl gave her promise,
and then the little old man touched her on the
forehead with his left thumb, pointed at a bright
star with his right forefinger, and then went
back to his hollow tree, warning the girl not to
forget her promise.

“When she looked in the basket the red
dragon’s-apples had disappeared, and in their
place she saw the finest strawberries that had
ever been grown. These she carried to the rich
man, who was as much surprised at the size and
lusciousness of the berries as his guests were at
the extraordinary beauty of the young girl. They
praised her beauty to their host, who shook his
head and said that beauty ceased to be beautiful
THE STRAWBERRY-GIRI. 153

when it was tied to stupidity. The guests, how-
ever, would not believe that so beautiful a crea-
ture could be stupid, and to satisfy them the rich
man sent for the girl and engaged her in conver-
sation. Her replies were so wise, so apt, and so
witty, as to astound all the company, while the
rich man was dumfounded with astonishment.

“ After that, when the Strawberry-Girl came
with berries for sale, the rich man always sent for
her, and her wit and intelligence were so pleasing
to him that he finally asked her to be his wife.
But she remembered the bargain she had made
with the little old man who had met her in the
wood, and she told the rich man that she would
have to take time to consider his proposal.

“She was very much worried. She fretted
until she began to lose some of: her beauty, and
when Granny Grim-Eye saw this she began to
ask questions, and it was not long before she
found out all about the bargain the Strawberry-
Girl had made with the little Old Man of the
. Wood.

“*Oho!’ she cried. ‘He is up to his old
tricks, is he? Well, we shall see!’

“So she went to her chest and got the silver
154 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

chain with which the Strawberry-Girl had been
fastened to the blackberry-bush, and wrapped
and twined it in the shape of a star. This star
she fixed on the Strawberry-Girl’s forehead by
means of a velvet band, and told her to wear it
constantly.

“Tt happened that on the very day the year
expired the Strawberry-Girl was walking through
‘the wood. The little old man jumped from his
hollow tree and ran forward to claim his bride.
But when he saw the star shining on her fore-
head he gave a loud cry, threw his hands be-
fore his eyes, and turned and fled through the
wood faster than any deer could have done. No-
body ever saw him again, and the Strawberry-Girl
married the rich man and lived happily for many
long years.”

“T think that is a nice story,” said Sweetest
Susan. :

“T’m glad you do,” remarked Mr. Thimble-
finger. “My mother knew all the facts in the
case, and I’ve heard her tell it many a time. I
may have left out some of the happenings, but

these and many others you can supply for your-
self,”
XIV.
THE WITCH OF THE WELL.

Wuite Mr. Thimblefinger was telling the story
of the Strawberry-Gil, Chickamy Crany Crow
and Tickle-My-Toes had drawn near to listen.
Chickamy Crany Crow stood near Mrs. Meadows,
and seemed to be very much interested. When
Mr. Thimblefinger had concluded, she would have
gone away, but Mrs. Meadows detained her.

“No,” said Mrs. Meadows, as Chickamy Crany
Crow tried to pull her hand away; “you must .
stay right here and tell the children the story of
the Witch of the Well.”

“They know it already,” said Chickamy Crany
Crow, trying to hide behind Mrs. Meadows’s
chair.

“ No, we don’t,” exclaimed Buster John. “ We
know the old rhyme about

“¢Chickamy, Chickamy Crany Crow,

Went to the well to wash her toe,
And when she came back her chicken was gone.’
156 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

That’s the rhyme we say in the game, but we
never heard the story.”

“T can’t tell it to so many,” said Chickamy
Crany Crow.

“ Well, tell it to me, then,” replied Mrs. Mead-
ows coaxingly. “The rest won’t listen any more
than they can help.”

“Well,” said Chickamy Crany Crow, “one
time there was an old woman that lived near a
_well. Fora long time nobody thought she was
a witch, but after a while people began to have
their suspicions. There was a quagmire in the
road right in front of the old woman’s house, and
every traveler passing that way was sure to get
mud on his feet. No matter whether he was
riding horseback or in a buggy, it was all the
same. He was sure to get his feet muddy. And
the mud was so black, and thick, and heavy,
that he was anxious to get it off as soon as pos-
sible.

“It happened, too, that every time a traveler
crossed the quagmire, after getting the black,
heavy mud on his feet, the old woman would be
sitting im her door smoking a cob pipe.

“¢ Howdy, dearie!’ she would say. ‘ Why,
THE WITCH OF THE WELL. 157

you’re full of nasty mud! Go to the well yon-
der, dearie, and wash it off.’

“ The traveler would leave his buggy and horse,
or his horse and saddle, or his bundle at the old
witch’s door, and go to the well to wash his feet.
When he came back everything would be gone,
—witch, horse, buggy, saddle, or bundle. The
quagmire would be dried up, and the road itself
would seem to be a different road. Sometimes it
would be days and days before the traveler could
find his way to the place where he started.

“ One day a traveler came along the road in a
fine carriage. With him he had a beautiful little
girl with long golden hair. She had eyes as blue
and as clear as the water in the spring when the
sunshine slants through, and her skin was as white
as milk. When the carriage had crossed the
quagmire, the traveler found that his feet were
covered with the black, heavy mud. He could n’t
imagine how it had happened. There was no
hole in the bottom of the carriage, the door was
shut tight, and there was no way for the mud to
get in. He said to the little girl: —

“¢ Daughter, are your feet muddy ?’

“¢ Not a bit, father.’
158 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“When the carriage crossed the quagmire,
there sat the old woman in the door.

““¢ Howdy, dearie!’ says she. ‘And how did
you get the nasty mud on your feet? Yonder is
awell; leave your carriage here and go wash it
off,’

“So the traveler kissed his daughter, for he
was very fond of her, and went to the well to
wash his feet. When he came back, daughter,
carriage, and old woman had all disappeared. He
wandered around like a crazy man for many days,
and at last came to where my mother lived and
told his story. This wasn’t the first time she had
heard such a tale, and she concluded to see what
the matter was. So she called me and gave me
a black chicken and told me to go by the old
woman’s house and see what happened.

“T took the chicken, which was tied by the
legs, and went along the road until I came to the
quagmire. I tried to pick my way around it, but
the black mud bubbled up and flew at my feet,
and finally it became so thick and heavy I could
scarcely walk. When I got across, there sat the
old woman smoking her cob pipe and grinning.

“¢ Howdy, dearie!’ says she.
THE WITCH OF THE WELL. 159 |

“ «Howdy, granny !’ says I.

“¢ Leave your fat chicken here,’ says she, ‘and
go to yonder well and wash your toe.’

“<«Thanky, granny; that I will,’ says I.

“So I went to the well, but when I came back
my chicken was gone. And so was the old wo-
man, and the quagmire. But I didn’t get
frightened. I went back to the well and began
to sing, —

“*Chickamy, Chickamy Crany Crow,
I went to the well to wash my toe,

But when I came back my chicken was gone —
What o’clock, old witch ??

“T had n’t been there long before the mud_be-
gan to bubble up again, and out of it came the
old witch. And then what seemed to be a thick
mist cleared away, and there was the old witch’s
house, and inside I could see the beautiful little
gwl crying for her father. I intended to run
home and tell what I had seen, but before I could
move out of my tracks I heard the old woman
coming to the well. In coming up out of the
quagmire she had got mud on her feet. She had
pulled off her shoes for comfort, and had been go-
ing about in her stocking-feet, and of course when
_ 160 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

she disappeared in the quagmire, and came up
through it again, her stockings were full of mud;
and so she came to the well to wash them.

“T didn’t know whether to run or stay, but I
stayed, and as soon as the old woman got in sight,
I sat on the ground and began to rock my body
backwards and forwards, erymg, —

“ I can’t get the black mud off of my shoe !’

“The old woman seemed to be very angry when
she first saw me, but I pretended to pay no atten-
tion to her. I just-rocked backwards and for-
wards, and cried that I couldn’t get the black
mud off of my shoe. The old woman sat down
and pulled off her stockings, and began to wash
them. When she had finished one, she threw it
behind her on the grass to dry. Being wet and
heavy it fell farther from her hand than she in-
tended. It fell close to me, and I picked it up
and stuffed it in my pocket.”

“What for?” asked Buster John bluntly.

“Well, I hardly know,” replied Chickamy



Crany Crow, somewhat embarrassed at the sud-
denness of the question. “I wanted to get even
THE WITCH OF THE WELL. 161

with her for stealing my fat chicken. I hardly
knew what I was doing, and I certainly didn’t
know how it would turn out. Well, I stuffed the
old woman’s wet stocking in my pocket, and kept
on erying out that I didn’t know how to get the
black mud off of my shoe.

“ went and sat on the grass in front of her, and
washed the mud from my shoe.

“For the first time I saw what a horrible-look-
ing creature the old woman was. Her eyes were
sunk in her head, her nose was hooked over her
mouth, and she had two long upper teeth that
hung lower than her under lip. I says to myself,
‘Well, old lady, if you are not a witch, there
never was one.’ She washed her stocking, mum-
bling and chewing, and when she had finished
she threw it behind her, and sat hugging her
knees, and glaring at me in a way that made my
flesh crawl.

“<¢ What is your name?’ says she.

“*Chickamy Crany: Crow,’ says I.

“* What are you doing here?’ says she.

“Says I, ‘I went to the well to wash my toe,
but when I came back my ehicken was gone.’
162 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

~ “Then the old woman began to laugh like a
cackling hen, and she laughed so loud and laughed
so long that it scared me. I got up and pre-
tended to be going home, but when I had gone
a little way I hid behind a big tree, and watched
the old woman’s antics. She kept on laughing
for some time, and then she reached out for her
stockings. She found the only one she had left,
and put it on. Then she reached around for the
other, but failed to find it, because I had it
in my pocket. This seemed to puzzle her. She
stood up and looked all around for her missing
stocking, but it was n’t there. Then she sat
down again, pulled off the stocking she had on,
and put it on the other foot.

“ But she still lacked astocking. This seemed
to puzzle the old witch worse than ever. Once
more she pulled off the stocking and put it on the
other foot, and appeared to be very much aston-
ished because one foot was still bare.”

“ She couldn’t ’a’ had much sense!” exclaimed
Drusilla.

“Not about stockings and things like that,”
said Chickamy Crany Crow. “Well, she sat
there, pulling the stocking from one foot and
THE WITCH OF THE WELL. 163

putting it on the other, until she seemed to for-
get about everything else. I watched her until
I got tired, and then I thought I would take her
missing stocking and throw it in the quagmire.

“The moment I did this, the quagmire began
to bubble, and hiss, and roll, and toss and tumble
about, and soon it disappeared altogether. A lit-
tle fog arose when the quagmire sank out of
sight, and when this cleared away, there stood the
carriage that had brought the beautiful little gil
with the golden hair, and the little eul herself
was sitting in it, ready to go to her father. But
this wasn’t all. All around, there were numbers
of horses and buggies, and all sorts of bundles
and money-purses, and everything that travelers
carry along with them.

“ Well, I got in the carriage with the beautiful
little girl, clucked to the horses, and drove to my
mother’s house. All the horses with saddles, and
all the horses hitched to buggies, followed along
after us, and there was great rejoicing among the
people as we went by.”

“What became of the old witch?” asked Bus-
ter John.

“She stayed there, trying to make one stock:
164 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

ing do for two feet, until the well dried up, and
after that I don’t know what became of her.”

“ You ought to have been a young man,” said
Sweetest Susan, who had been reading fairy sto-
ries, “so that you could have married the beau-
tiful girl with golden hair, after rescuing her.
Besides, your name would have been in the
books.”

“ Oh,” answered Chickamy Crany Crow, smil-
ing for the first time, “there are plenty of names
in the books that you never hear of ; but now,
wherever little children get together to play
games, you will hear them saying the rhyme that
tells a part of my story, —

“¢Chickamy, Chickamy Crany Crow,
Went to the well to wash her toe,
But when she got back her chicken was gone,’ ”

XV.
THE BEWITCHED HUNTSMAN.

“TueERs used to be a great many more witches
than there are now,” remarked Mr. Thimble-
finger. “T reckon it’s because folks have more
business of their own to attend to; or, it may
be a change in the climate. I hear old people
say that the winters are colder now than they
used to be, and the summers hotter. Maybe that
has something to do with it. Anyhow, something
has happened to thin the witches out.”

“ Yes,” said Mr. Rabbit; “I’ve noticed that
they are scarcer than they used to be, but I never
inquired into the whys and wherefores. They
never bothered me, and I never bothered them.”

“ Well, when I first came here,” said Mr. Thim-
blefinger, “TI noticed Jimmy Jay-Bird bringing
sand and mortar every Friday, and it occurred to
me that he was preparing to lay the foundations
of a witch’s house in this country. So I says to
myself, says I, ‘Ill keep an eye on Jimmy, and see
166 LITTLE MR THIMBLEFINGER.

where he gets in and out; for, surely, he doesn’t
come by way of the spring.’ But Jimmy Jay-Bird
was pretty slick, and it was some time before I
found out where he came down and went out. By
some means or other, he had discovered the big
hollow poplar on the spring branch, and he was
coming and going that way.”

“J know where it is,’”’ said Buster John.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “It is the
oldest and the biggest tree in the whole country
next door. But as soon as I found that Jimmy
Jay-Bird was using it as a passageway, I drove a
peg in the hole and put an end to his schemes,
whatever they may have been. I don’t know
where he carries his sand and mortar now, and
I don’t care.

“ But I didn’t start out to tell anything about
Jimmy Jay-Bird,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger,
after pausing a moment. “TI was thinking about
the way a witch was caught by a boy no bigger
and not much older than our young friend here.”

“Teli us about it, please!” cried Buster John
enthusiastically.

“Well,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “it’s not
much of a story. You can’t take a handful of
THE BEWITCHED HUNTSMAN. 167

facts and make a story of them unless you know
how to fling them together. The best I can do
is to tell it just as it happened as near as I can
remember.

“When I was a little bit of a fellow — now
don’t laugh!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger, seeing
Mr. Rabbit wink at Mrs. Meadows, — “I mean
when I was in my teens. Well, when I was
younger than I am now, an old witch lived not
far from our house. Her eyes were red around
the rims, and her eyeballs looked as if they had
been boiled. Everybody called her Peggy Pig-
Kye, and she answered to that name about as well
as she did to any other. Near her house there
lived a man who had a wife anda son. He was
a tolerably well-to-do man, and all the neighbors
thought very well of him. But he used to go to
town every sale-day, and at night he would come
home feeling very gay. I don’t know what there
was in town to make him feel so gay, but I know
that he used to come by our house singing at the
top of his voice and cutting up all sorts of shines.

“Well, one night when he was going back
home whooping and yelling, he saw something
dark in the road before him, and he rode his
168 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

horse at it full tilt. The horse seemed to have
little taste for such sport, for he snorted and
wanted to shy around the dark object. But the
man clapped spurs to the horse and drove him
right at it. The black thing ran, and the man
spurred his horse after it. It ran down the road,
then across an old field and back into the road
again, the man pursuing it as hard as he could
make his horse go. Finally it ran into Peggy
Pig-Eye’s yard and under her house, and the man
went clattering after it. Just as he pulled ‘his
horse up (to keep the animal from running broad-
side into the house) the door opened, and Peggy
Pig-Eye put her head out.

“¢QOh, it’s you, is it?’ she cried. ‘And you
are after me, are you? Very well!’ With that
she clapped the door to, and the man rode on
home, not feeling as lively as he had felt.

“Now, it happened that this man was a great
hunter. He had a pack of fine dogs, and he was
very fond of them. He hunted deer with them
by day, and raccoons and ’possums by night.
The first time he went hunting after riding into
Peggy Pig-Hye’s yard was at night. He did n’t
go very far from his house before his dogs struck
THE BEWITCHED HUNTSMAN. 169

a warm trail and went scurrying towards the big
swamp at a great rate. A negro, who went along
to carry the light and cut the tree down, shook
his head and declared the dogs were not barking
to suit him. He said there was more whine than
growl to the noise they were making.

“ Anyhow, the dogs went scurrying to the big
swamp, and the man and the negro followed as
fast as they could. The dogs treed right at the
edge of the swamp, and when the man and the
negro got there, they were barking up a big pop-
lar. The negro held his torch behind him so as
to ‘shine’ in the raccoon’s eyes,
raccoon, — but he could see nothing.

“< Cut the tree down,’ said the man.

The negro shook his head, but he whacked
away at the poplar with his axe, and cut it so
that it would fall away from the swamp. The
tree fell with a tremendous crash, and the dog's
rushed into the top limbs, followed by the man
and the negro. But before they could wink
their eyes, something tall and white walked out,
and cried : —

“
“The negro threw down the torch and the axe,

if it was a


170 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

and ran home as fast as hecould. The dogs tried
hard to catch the white thing, whatever it was,
but as soon as they got near enough to bite it,
they tucked their tails between their legs and ran
howling back to their master.

“This happened every time the man went out
to hunt raccoons and "possums. The dogs would
_ strike a warm trail not far from the house, run to
the edge of the swamp, and bay up a tree, and then
when the tree was cut down, something tall and
white would walk from the top limbs, and ery out:

“
“The man thought it was very queer, but he
wasn’t frightened. He said to himself that if he
could n’t catch raccoons and ’possums, maybe he
could catch a fox. So he called up his dogs one
morning just about day, mounted his horse, and
started out to catch a fox. Before they had gone
a hundred yards from the house, the dogs found
a warm trail and began to follow it in lively style.
The man spurred his horse after them and harked
them on. They ran around in a wide circle,
and presently something white flitted by the man,
with the dogs after it in full ery. As it went by
it screamed out : —
THE BEWITCHED HUNTSMAN. 171

“
“Then it disappeared, and after a while the
dogs came back, panting as hard as if they had run
forty miles. The man went back home and sat
by the fire and studied about it, and the more he
studied the worse he was troubled. He sat so
long without saying anything that his little boy
asked him what the matter was, but the man shook
his head, and said there were some things that
children ought not to know. The boy was four-
teen years old, and very small for his age, but
he had plenty of sense, and was very brave. He
told his mother that his father was in some deep
trouble, and begged her to find out what it was,
and tell him about it.

“So the little boy’s mother set herself to work
to find out what was troubling her husband.
She pressed him so hard with questions that he
finally told her about his strange adventures while
out hunting. The wife was so frightened that
she begged her husband not to go hunting any
more, but to give up his dogs and attend to busi-
ness that was not so dangerous.

“The man promised that he would hunt no
more raccoons or "possums or foxes, but he said
172 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

he needed his dogs to hunt deer. The woman
told her son all that her husband had said to
her, and after that the little boy made it a habit
to go off in the woods and sit at the foot of a big
chestnut-tree, and wonder what it was that ran
before his father’s dogs.

“Matters went on this way until finally one
day the man said he would go out and catch a
deer. He called his dogs, especially Old Top, the
oldest one of all. Top was a big hound, and hunted
nothing else but deer, and he was never known
to fail to run down and catch the deer he got after.
Old Top went along when he was called, but it
was very plain to the little boy, who was watching,
that he didn’t go willmgly. Anyhow, Old Top
went, though he looked back at the little boy and
wagged his tail knowingly more than once.

“Before the hunter got out of hearing, the
dogs struck a trail and pursued it in the direc-
tion of the big woods beyond the creek. For
a long time the little boy listened to the dogs run-
ning. Sometimes they seemed to come nearer,
and then they would go farther, and finally the
sound of their trailing died away altogether.

“ After waiting and listening for some time,
THE BEWITCHED HUNTSMAN. 1738

the little boy went into the woods and sat at the
foot of the chestnut-tree. While he was sitting
there thinking, and watching the big black ants
chase each other up and down the tree, he heard
the bushes shake, and suddenly a little old man
appeared before him.

“¢ Heyday!’ said the little old man. ‘You
are too young to be thinking. Leave thoughts
for old people; you should be at play.’

“““ But sometimes,’ replied the little boy, ¢ chil-
dren have to think, too. It does n’t make my
headache to think.’

“¢T see, I see!’ exclaimed the little old man ;
é your name is Three Wits. Three Wits, how are
you? TI hope you are well. You ought to have
come here a little sooner. There is a famous
hunt going on in these woods. It passed here
awhile ago—a fool on a frightened horse and
seven crazy dogs galloping after Satan’s sister.
Oh, it is jolly! Stay where you are, Three Wits.
This famous hunt will pass this way again directly,
and you will have a plain view of it.’

“After a while the little boy heard the dogs
coming, and presently he saw the strangest sight
his eyes had ever beheld. Going through the


174 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

woods as swift as the wind, he saw a great white
Stag. On the back of the Stag, and holding to
its antlers, was an old woman. She was grinning
horribly, and her gray hair was streaming out be-
hind her like a ragged banner. The Stag, bear-
ing the old woman, rushed through the woods
and disappeared. Then came the dogs in full
ery, and after the dogs came the little boy’s
father, spurring his horse and pene in the ex-
citement of the chase.

“ asked the little old man, laughing.

“¢J don’t like it,’ replied the boy. ‘That man
is my father.’

“Your father!’ cried the little old man.
‘Oho! That alters the case. Well, well! Let’s
see — let ’s see!’

“The little old man took from the wallet he
had on his back a thick book with a red cover.
Then he sat at the foot of the chestnut-tree and
turned the well-thumbed leaves until he found the
place he was hunting for. He closed the book,
but kept his forefinger between the leaves, and
took the little boy’s hand ih his.



Ww i Ss we TESS =
ES
‘ Aon eae :
XVI.
THE THREE IVORY BOBBINS.

“Tue little old man took the boy’s hand in his,
but before he could say anything, a rustling was
heard in the bushes. Presently, Old Top, the deer-
hound, made his appearance. He went up to the
boy, smelt of him, wagged his tail as a sign of
satisfaction, and then curled up in the leaves as
if to take a nap. But he didn’t go to sleep.
Every once in awhile, Old Top raised his head
and listened wistfully to the running dogs that
could be heard in the distance.

“«A very sensible dog!’ exclaimed the little
old man. ‘He knows something is wrong.’

“¢ What is it ?’ asked the boy.

“Well, Three Wits,’ said the little old man,
‘T’ll tell you. The man, the horse, and the dogs,
are under a spell. They are bewitched, and they
will continue to be bewitched until doomsday,
unless the spell is broken. They will go round
and round on the trail until they exhaust them-
176 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

selves, and then they will gradually grow thinner
and thinner until they disappear; and then no-
thing will be heard but the barking of the dogs,
and the sound of that will grow fainter and
fainter, until no human ear can hear it. Now,
the question is, Three Wits, do you wish the spell
broken ?’

“ sake.’

“ “Now that is well spoken,’ said the old man,
rising and laying his hand gently on the boy’s
head. ‘For, behold, Three Wits, what is written
m the book.’

“The old man opened the red volume and read
as follows, pointing to each word with his fin-
ger: —

““¢ Whoever shall, for the sake of his mother,
earnestly desire to break the spells worked by
Paggia Paggiola, the Hunting-Witch, is in a way
to have his desire fulfilled. For this is the indis-
pensable condition. Moreover, he who hopes to
succeed must have the innocence of youth and
the courage of manhood. On his left arm there
should grow a mole, and in this mole are three
white hairs.’
THE THREE IVORY BOBBINS. 177

“ vest.

“Sure enough, there was the mole, and on the
mole were growing three long white hairs as fine
as silk. With a pair of silver tweezers that he
found in his wallet, the little old man pulled the
long white hairs from the mole. One by one he
pulled them. One by one he ran them through
his fingers, and one by one they seemed to grow
longer and stronger, each time they were pulled
through the little old man’s swift-moving fin-
gers.

“Then, searching in his wallet, he found three
ivory bobbins; and on these he wound the long,
strong, and silken hairs. He wound and wound,
and as he wound he sang : —

“ «Now on this bobbin I wind a hair,
White, and silken, and long ;
I wind it slow, I wind it fair,
Glossy, and white, and strong.

“¢T wind it here in shade and sun,
For one, one, one are three —
Three and no more where the stag shall run,
Close by the chestnut-tree.

“¢ And one shall catch, and two shall hold,
And three shall clamp and kill ;
178 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Just say to your hand, Be steady and bold ;
And say to your heart, I will.’

“ The boy was surprised to see, as the old man
sang and wound, that the white hairs spun out
into silver wires hundreds of feet long, and
stronger than steel.

“ after he had finished winding the bobbins. ‘Take
these, and when the hunt runs this way again,
fling one at the Stag, and one at the dogs, and
one at the horse the huntsman rides. You must
fling them quickly, one after the other. It is
easy enough to miss the Stag, but you must not
fail to catch the dogs. You may fail on the Stag
and horse, but you must not fail on the dogs.
Be strong. Brace yourself for three quick and
hard throws.’

“Then they stood there listening; and pres-
ently Old Top, the deerhound, raised his head and
whistled through his nose, the whistle ending in
a whine.

“<«They are coming now, Three Wits!’ ex-
claimed the little old man. ‘ Get ready! Throw
quick and hard! Don’t be afraid !’

“In the distance, the baying of the dogs could
THE THREE IVORY BOBBINS. 179

be heard, and Old Top rose and shook himself
and growled. In another moment the Stag,
ridden by the grinning old woman, flitted past ;
but, quick as a flash, Three Wits threw the first
bobbin, and he threw it so hard that it made 4
zooning sound in the air. The Stag made one
tremendous bound and disappeared. The dog's
came next, and Three Wits threw the second bob-
bin. It zooned through the air, and the silver
Wire unwound with a twanging sound, and fell
full upon the panting and baying pack. It fell
upon them, and wound itself about them, and
smothered their cries, and held them fast in its
glistening meshes.

“Then came the rushing horse and its furious
rider. Three Wits threw the third bobbin, but the
horse shied at the motion of the boy’s hand, and
flew through the woods in the direction taken by
the Stag. When Three Wits saw both the Stag
and the horse escape, he fell upon the ground
and began to weep.

“¢ Hity-tity !’ exclaimed the little old man,
coming from behind the tree where he had
concealed himself. ‘What ’s this? Why, I was
about to cry “Bravo!” and here I find you pre
180 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

tending to be a baby. Get up. Hf I am not
mistaken you have accomplished even more than
I expected you would. Let’s see.’

“ He lifted Three Wits to his feet, and then the
two went to where the hunt had passed. At one
point the dogs were entangled in the silver wire, -
and were unable to free themselves. A little
farther in, they found a thick wisp of gray hair
which the wire had cut from the head of the
grinning old woman who rode the Stag. The
little old man clapped his hands with delight and
cut some joyful capers, for he was very nimble.

“<¢ Good!’ he exclaimed. ‘ Another half inch
and you would have cut off her head instead
of her hair! But where is the bobbin? I don’t
see the bobbin! We must have the bobbin!’

“ Three Wits hunted, but he could find no
bobbin. Then he caught hold of the wire, and
found that it led into the woods the way the Stag
had gone. He caught hold of it and followed it
along, calling to the little old man. They fol-
lowed the silver wire far into the woods, and
finally they came to the end of it, and there was
the Stag, strangled and dead. The weight of the
bobbin had carried the wire around his body



THE THREE IVORY BOBBINS. 181
and around his neck, and the bobbin itself had

caught in the fork of one of his antlers.

“The little old man seemed to be very happy.
He patted Three Wits on the shoulder, and de-
clared that he was a good boy, a fine boy. ‘But
there is more to be done,’ said the little old man,
— ‘a great dealmore. And you will have to go
alone. I can help you, but I can’t be with you.’

“Then he found the ivory bobbins, rewound
the silver wire, which seemed to spin out still
longer, and gave them to Three Wits. ‘Take
these,’ he said, ‘and go to the witch’s house.’

“*Do you mean Peggy Pig-Eye’s house ?’ asked
Three Wits.

“ ‘Her right name, as you saw by the book, is
Paggia Paggiola, but ‘people call her Peggy
Pig-Kye for short. Go to her house, throw one
of the bobbins over the roof, and then throw
one around each end. Throw quick and hard,
and, as you throw, cry out, —

“* Bibbity bobbity bobbin,
Go hibbity hob hobnobbin.’

““¢ But wait!’ cried the little old man. ‘ You
182 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

may need these dogs.’ He took a wisp of the
witch’s hair, and whipped them back to life.
And maybe you’ll need a horse to ride. So he
went into the woods where the Stag lay dead, and
whipped him to his feet with the witch’s hair.

«This is your horse,’ he said to Three Wits.
But the boy was afraid to mount the Stag. ‘ Be
bold!’ cried the little old man ; ‘all depends on
that! Give me your foot. There you are! Loop
the silver wire over his horns, and touch him
with the bobbin the way you want him to go.
He'll carry you safely. Good-by! Be bold!’

“Following the little old man’s directions,
Three Wits was soon cantering down the road on
the Stag’s back. The dogs seemed to take every-
thing for granted, and followed along after the
Stag as readily as if he had been their master’s
horse. But travelers who chanced to be going
along the road went into the wood when they
saw a boy riding a big Stag. They were not
used to such a queer sight.

“The spirits of Three Wits rose as he went
along. Everything had turned out so happily,
and the Stag moved along so gracefully and
easily that Three Wits felt quite like a hero.
THE THREE IVORY BOBBINS. 183

“He went ambling along the road, the people
staring at him, until he came to the witch’s house.
Everything was quiet there. The windows and
doors were closed, and the only sign of life about
the place was a big black cat that sat on the
water-shelf. Three Wits rode the Stag around the
house three times. Then over the roof he threw
a bobbin. To the right he threw another, and to
the left another. The silver wire seemed to whirl
until it became a tangle of wire all over the house.
The big black cat made an attempt to escape, but
it was caught in the wire asa fly is caught in a
spider’s web, and it hung helpless by the water-
shelf.

“ And then a very wonderful thing happened.
The silver wire seemed to become so heavy that
the roof of the house could n’t bear its weight.
The cabin swayed, and finally the roof fell in
with a crash. Out of the dust and wreck walked
the father of Three Wits, leading his horse, and,
following him, came a dozen or more elegantly
dressed gentlemen whom Three Wits had never
seen before. They shook hands with the boy and
thanked him for coming to their rescue, and each
gave him a large sum of gold, so that when they
184 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

started on their way home, Three Wits found that
he was very rich. As for the father, he seized
Three Wits in his arms and embraced him again
and again, and declared that even a king might
be proud to have such a brave son.

“While they were talking, the little old man
came out of the wood. He went straight to
Three Wits, placed his hand on the boy’s head,
and seemed to be blessing him. Then he lifted
Three Wits from the Stag’s back, mounted in his
place, waved his hand twice, and, in a twinkling,
had disappeared in the wood. That was the end
of the witch, and this is the end of the story.”

“Well, I think it is a very good story,” said
Buster John.

“T think so, too,” remarked Sweetest Susan ;
“but I’m sorry there was no little girl in it.”
XVII.
“ KEEN-POINT,” “ COB-HANDLE,” AND “BUTCH.”

“TE three bobbins,” said Mrs. Meadows, “ re-
mind me of a circumstance — ”

“Is a circumstance a story ?” interrupted
Sweetest Susan.

“Oh, you must n’t mind my country talk,” re-
plied Mrs. Meadows, laughing. “It was a trick
of my tongue. I didn’t want to say ‘story’ be-
cause you might be disappointed. But I reckon
T may as well call it a story. Well, as I was say-
ing, the three bobbins remind me of a story that
was partly about a little gil.”

“T know it must be a nice story,” cried Sweet-
est Susan enthusiastically.

But Mrs. Meadows shook her head. “From
all I can hear,” she said, “matters and things in
general are a great deal nicer in books than they
are outside of books. Folks are folks, anyway
you can fix them, I don’t care what the books
say. But I'll not deny that in my day and time
186 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

I have seen folks mighty near as nice and as
pretty as those you read about in the books, and
one of these was the little girl I am going to tell
you about.

“Once upon a time, in the country where I
then lived, — and I’ve lived in a good many coun-
tries, for wherever you find mountains, hills, and
rivers, there you'll find the Meadows family, —
there was a little girl who was both beautiful and
good. She was not as good nor as beautiful as
those you read about in the books, but she was
good enough for the people who knew her. For
a wonder she didn’t have long golden hair. Her
hair was black, and curled about her head in the
loveliest way ; and her eyes were large and brown,
and her skin creamy white, with just the shadow
of rose color in her face. Her parents were rich
and proud, but they were prouder of their little
girl than they were of their money, as well they
might be, seeing that she was the smartest and
most beautiful child to be found in all the coun-
try round.”

“Were there no princes and castles in that
country ?”” inquired Sweetest Susan.

“Oh, dear, no!” replied Mrs. Meadows.
KEEN-POINT, COB-HANDLE, ETC. 187

“The folks were just plam, common, every-day
people. Those that were fortunate enough to
be honest and contented were much better off
than any princes you ever heard of; and a hut
where happiness lives is a much finer place than
the finest castle.

“ Well, as I was telling you, the parents of
this little girl with black curly hair were very
proud of her. They watched over her very care-
fully, and neglected nothing that would make her
happy and contented. Some little girls that I
have known would have been spoiled by so much
kindness and attention, but this little girl with the
black curly hair wasn’t spoiled at all. She was
as good as she was beautiful.

“ One day, when this little girl was walking
in the flower garden, she heard the gardener
talking to his wife through the iron fence. The
woman’s voice was so pleasant and her laugh so
cheerful that the little girl ran to the fence and
peeped through to see who it was. ‘The gardener’s
wife saw her, and at once began to pet her and
make much of her. The little girl wanted the
woman to come into the garden, and seemed to
be so much in earnest about it that the woman
188 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

promised she would come and be the child’s nurse
some day.

“No sooner had the gardener’s wife gone about
her business than the little girl ran and told her
mother that she must have a nurse. At first her
mother paid little attention to her, thinking that
it was the passing whim of a child, but the little
d, until finally her mother said : —

“* Who shall be your nurse? You know, my
h:

‘Ask the gardener,’ the little girl replied.



girl insiste:

ae

at you can’t have everybody and an ybody?’





‘He knows.’

«¢ And how does he know?’ the mother asked.

“<7 saw him talking with her,’ the little girl
replied.

«So, after a time, the gardener was called, and
then it was found that his wife was the person the
little girl had selected to be her nurse. The fa-
1 for some time before











ADE



and moth
| ad for the woman, but



were so much struck

‘ul disposition
to employ her.

tle girl and her



nw it when the nurse
KEEN-POINT, COB-HANDLE, ETC. 189

would go home to see her husband and her son,
who was a handsome boy about fourteen years old.
The little girl used to grieve so when her nurse
left her that on one occasion, when the woman was
going home for only an hour or so, she carried
the child with her. There the little gil saw the
handsome son of her nurse, and they were both
very much pleased with each other. In the little
time she stayed, the boy showed her a hundred
new games, and told her a great many stories she
had never heard before.”

“‘ How old was the little girl?’ Mr. Thimble-
finger inquired.

“Between seven and eight,” replied Mrs.
Meadows “Just old enough to be cute. Well,
in the little time they were together the boy and
gul grew to be very fond of each other. The
boy thought she was the daintiest and_ prettiest
creature he had ever seen, and the little girl
thought the boy was all that a boy should be.

“Of course, when the little girl went back
home again she talked of nothing else but the
boy who had proved to be such a wonderful play-

mite, s set the child’s mother to thinking,



and she made up her mind that it wouldn’t do
190 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

for these children to see so much of each other.
So she sent for the nurse and told her very kindly
that she did n’t think it would be prudent to carry
the little girl to her house any more.

“ The nurse agreed with the little girl’s mother,
but somehow she didn’t relish the idea that her
brave and handsome son was n’t good enough to
play with anybody’s daughter. She thought the
matter over for several days, and finally decided
that it would be better to give up her place as
nurse. She was very fond of the little girl, but
she was still fonder of her boy. So she ceased
to be the child’s nurse, and went to her own home.

“The little girl grieved day and night for
her kind nurse. Nothing would console her. Her
mother bought her a little pony, but she would n’t
ride it; wonderful dolls, but she would n’t look
at them; the finest cakes and candies, but she
would n’t eat them; the most beautiful dresses,
but she would n’t wear them. Matters went on in
this way for I don’t know how long, until, finally,
one day the little girl’s mother concluded to send
for the nurse.

“ Now it happened that on that particular day
the little girl had made up her mind to go after
KEEN-POINT, COB-HANDLE, ETC. 191

her nurse. One day in each week, the gardener
would open the big gates of the park in order to
trundle away the trash and weeds that he had
raked up. The little girl watched him open the
gate, and then, when the gardener went for his
wheelbarrow, she slipped out at the gate and
went running across the fields.

“For a time the little girl was perfectly happy.
She gave herself up to the pleasure of being
alone, of being able to do as she chose, with no
one to tell her not to do this or do that, or to
say ‘come here,’ or ‘go yonder.’ So she went
running across the fields, looking at the birds, and
trying to catch butterflies, and singing to herself
some of the beautiful songs that her nurse’s ‘son
had taught her.

“ Now it happened that when she ran out of
the garden gate, in her haste to keep out of sight
of the gardener, she went away from her nurse’s
house instead of going towards it. She had been
kept so closely at home that she had no idea of
the great world beyond the garden gate. She
thought that all she had to do to get to her dear
nurse’s house was to go out at the gate and keep
on going until she came to the place where there
192 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

were two big trees, with a swing between them,
and a little white house on the other side.

“So she went on her way, singing and skip-
ping. When she grew tired she sat down to rest.
When she grew thirsty she drank of the clear,
cold water that ran through the fields. When
she became hungry, she ate the berries that grew
along the way. She was perfectly satisfied that
she would soon come to her nurse’s house. But
the sun doesn’t stop for grown people, much
less for children, and the little girl soon found
that night was coming on. The only thought she
had was that her nurse’s house had been moved
farther away, and that by going straight ahead
she would find it after a while.

“So she trudged along. When the sun was
nearly down she saw an old man sitting in the
shade of a tree. The little girl went straight
towards him, made him a curtsey, as she had been
taught to do, and said : —

“<< Please, sir, where is my nurse’s house ?’

“The old man raised his head and glanced all
around. ‘I see no nurse’s house,’ he replied.

“Then, after a little while the old man said:
‘ My dear, give me a drink of water.’

KEEN-POINT, COB-HANDLE, ETC. 198

“The little girl looked all around. ‘I see no
water,’ she replied.

“ ¢ Well said, well said! ’ exclaimed the old man.
‘You are very bright and very beautiful, there-
fore Ill give you some advice. There is a spring
by yonder tree, but you must not drink the
water. There is a pomegranate-tree growing by
the spring, but you must eat none of the fruit.’

“ Having said this, the old man slung his wal-
let over his back and went on his way. The little
gil went to the spring and looked at the water.
Then she looked at the beautiful red fruit orow-
ing on the pomegranate-tree. She was very
thirsty, very hungry, and very tired. She thought
to herself that the old man was very mean and
stingy. ‘He’s afraid I’ll muddy the water,’ she
suid, ‘and he wants all the pomegranates for
himself.’

“Then she drank from the spring, and the
water was very sweet and cool. She ate the fruit
of the pomegranate-tree, and it was delicious.
Then being tired, she stretched herself out on the
grass and was soon sound asleep.

“Now it so happened,’ continued Mrs.
Meadows, pretending to examine the stitches in
194 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

Sweetest Susan’s frock “that the spring and
the pomegranate-tree were under a spell. They
belonged to an old Conjurer who lived in a cave
close by. In this cave he had a large bowl
of water on a shelf, and near it, growing in a
box, was a little pomegranate-bush. Whenever
anybody drank from the spring, the water in
the bowl would shake and tremble and become
muddy ; and whenever a pomegranate was pulled
from the big bush by the spring, the little bush
in the Conjurer’s cave would bend and wave its
limbs as if a gale were blowing.

“ All this occurred when the little girl drank
from the spring and pulled and ate one of the
pomegranates ; and by the time she was sound
asleep, the Conjurer had come out of his cave and
discovered her. He waited a little while, and
then took the child and carried her to his cave,
and it was many a long day before anybody,
except the Conjurer himself, saw her again.”

At this point Mrs. Meadows paused.
XVIII.
MRS. MEADOWS RESUMES HER STORY.

THE pause was occasioned by Mr. Rabbit.
He had fallen into a doze while Mrs. Meadows
was telling her story, and just as she came to the
point where the Conjurer had lifted the little gurl
in his arms and carried her into his cave, Mr.
Rabbit had dreamed that he was falling. His
chair was tilted back a little, and he made such
a mighty effort to keep himself from falling in
his dream that he lost his balance and went over
sure enough.

“T declare!” he exclaimed. “Iought to be
ashamed of myself to be falling heels over head
this way without any reason in the world, and
right before company too. Wasn’t there some-
thing in your story about falling ?”

“Not a word!” replied Mrs. Meadows firmly.

“Well, well, well!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit.
“T’ll try and keep my eyes open hereafter.”

The children tried their best to keep from
196 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

laughing at Mr. Rabbit’s predicament, but Dru-
silla was finally compelled to give way to her
desire, and then they all joined in, even Mr.
Rabbit smiling somewhat grimly.

“Let me see,” said Mrs. Meadows, after a
while; “ the last we heard of the little girl 1 was
telling you about, the Conjurer had carried her
into his cave ?”

“ Yes,” answered Sweetest Susan; “and now
T want to know what became of her.”

“ Well,” said Mrs. Meadows, “the shortest
way to tell you that is the best way. It hap-
pened that on the very day the little girl ran
away to visit her nurse, the nurse had concluded
to visit the little girl. So she put on her best
things and went to the little girl’s home. When
the woman came to the garden she saw the gate
open, and presently her husband, the gardener,
came out trundling a load of weeds and trash
in his wheelbarrow. She asked about the little
gurl.

“She was playing under the trees yonder
awhile ago,’ said the man. ‘Ihave n’t seen her
since.’

“The woman went into the garden and searched
THE STORY CONTINUED 197

among the trees and arbors, but no little girl
could she find.

“¢ Having come so far,’ she said to herself,
‘I’ll not go back without seeing the precious
little creature.’ So she went towards the house,
searching for the child. She inquired of every
servant she met where the little girl was, and
finally went into the house searching for her.
At last she came to the room where sat her former
mistress. But the child was not there.

“Tn a very short while there was a tremendous
uproar in the place. The maid servants and
the men servants went running about through
the house, through the yard, and through the
garden, calling the little girl. They hunted in
every hole and corner, and in every nook and
cranny, but the child was not to be found.

“The kind-hearted nurse wept almost as_bit-
terly as the mother. ‘Oh, if I had been here,’
she cried, ‘this would never have happened.’

“The little girl’s father came in just in time
to hear this, and he immediately suspected that
the nurse had stolen his daughter and would
pretend to find her again in the hope of se-
curing a reward. He said nothing of his suspi-
198 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

cions, but he determined to have the nurse closely
watched.

“He was so firmly convinced that his suspicion
was correct that he treated his daughter’s dis-
appearance somewhat lightly, and this helped to
console the mother. When it became certain
that the little girl was not to be found in the
house or on the place, her father called one of
his trusty clerks (for he was a rich and powerful
merchant), and told him to disguise himself as a
peddler, go to the nurse’s house, and there dis-
cover, if possible, where the nurse had bestowed
the child.

“The clerk did as he was directed, but when
he arrived at the nurse’s house, disguised as a
peddler, he was surprised to find as much grief
under that humble roof as there was at his
master’s house. He knocked at the door and
inquired the cause of the trouble, hoping to dis-
cover that the display of grief was a mere sham.
But he soon saw it was genuine. Both the
woman and her handsome son were weeping bit-
terly over the disappearance of the little girl.

“*May I get a bite to eat?’ asked the peddler.

““That you may!’ exclaimed the woman, ‘for
THE STORY CONTINUED. 199

we shall need nothing ourselves, until we hear
some news of that precious child.’ Then she
told the peddler about the strange disappearance
of the little girl she used to nurse, and the ped-
dler, in order to carry out his purpose, asked a
great many questions. When he was told that
the parents of the little girl were very rich he
laughed, and said that if they had plenty of
money they could get along very well without a
little girl, but this made the woman and her son
so angry that they were on the point of showing
the peddler the door. They were ready to dis-
miss him with many hard words, when they heard
some one calling.

“The son went into the yard, and found that
an old man had fallen not far from their gate and
was unable to rise. The woman went to help her
son bring the old man in, and while they were
gone the peddler took his leave without so much
as saying good-by.

“With a good deal of trouble the old man
was brought into the house, and made comfort-
able, but no sooner had he been placed upon the
woman’s bed than he leaped to his feet and stood
on the floor, laughing.
200 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“*T have fallen at a dozen doors to-day,’ he
eried, ‘and this is the first that has been opened
to me.’

“¢ Well,’ replied the woman, ‘if we had known
you were playing pranks on us I don’t think this
door would have opened to you. We are having
too much trouble ourselves to pester with other
people’s troubles.’

“Then she went on to tell of the disappearance
of the little girl she used to nurse. The old man
tried to get in a word of consolation, now and
then, but the woman talked too fast for that.
But presently she had told about all she had to
tell.

“See how it turns out!’ cried the old man.
“How can it be accident that brings to your door
the only person in the world that can give you
any tidings of the little girl? I saw a child to-

lay some miles








from here who asked me to show



gre y, said the old
man. s just about to enter the domain
THE STORY CONTINUED. 201

“¢Ah, why didn’t you bring her away with
you?’ eried the woman.

“ ‘T did what I could. I warned her not to drink
of the waters of the spring nor to eat of the
pomegranate-seed. I could do no more.’

“<¢Oh, what will become of the dear child?’
exclaimed the woman, wringing her hands.

“<¢Tf she drinks of the waters of the spring,’
responded the old man, ‘ or eats of the pomegran-
ate-seed, she will fall into a deep sleep. Then
will come Rimrak, the Conjurer, and convey her
to his cave, and there she will be held captive
until she forgets she is a captive, or until she has
been rescued by some bold youth who loves her
well enough to remember the color of her eyes.’

“*T yemember! I remember!’ cried the wo-
man’s handsome son.

“‘* Be not too sure,’ replied the old man. ‘Sit
down and think it over.’

“‘«No need for that,’ said the boy. ‘ Her eyes
once seen can never be forgotten.’

“¢Qho!’ exclaimed the old man. ‘Then per-
haps you can tell me the color of the little girl’s

at >
eyes Y
\
202 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

““Certainly,’ said the boy. ‘They are brown
when she lifts them to your face and dark when
she looks away from you.’

“The old man nodded his head with a greater
display of good humor than he had yet shown.

“ ingly ; io think you know, but be not too
sure.’

““Why, I can see her now!’ exclaimed the
boy.

“¢ Where?’ eried his mother; ‘oh, where?’

“The boy fell back in his seat and covered his
face with his hands.

“ old man. ‘Tf he can trust it, well and good.’

“You should have brought the child home
with you,’ said the matter-of-fact woman.

“ man. ‘She had gone too far. She had already
entered the domain of Rimrak, the Conjurer.
All that I could doI did. I warned her not to
drink of the waters of the spring. I warned her
not to eat of the seed of the pomegranate. But
now that I am here, let us see what can be
done.’
THE STORY CONTINUED. 203

“He went to his wallet, which he had placed
on the table, opened it and took from it three
knives. One was a clasp-knife with a long, slim
blade, the next was a common case-knife, and the
third was a big butcher’s-knife. The case-knife
had once had a horn or wooden handle, but this
had dropped off, and the iron that held the knife
in place had been run into a corneob. The old
man took these knives from his wallet, one by
one, and placed them on the table.

““¢ Now listen to me,’ he said to the boy. ¢ All
will go well with you if you are bold, and if you
really remember the color of the little girl’s eyes.
Here are your arms. This,’ taking up the clasp-
knife, ‘is Keen-Point. This,’ taking up the case-
knife, ‘is Cob-Handle. And this is Butch. Re-
member their names, — Keen-Point, Cob-Handle,
and Butch. Keen-Point is to show you the way,
Cob-Handle is to warn you of danger, and Butch
is to protect you. But they will all fail you —
they will all go wrong — if you do not remember
the color of the little girl’s eyes.’

“The boy took Keen-Point, Cob-Handle, and
Butch, and stowed them away in a wallet, in
which his mother placed a supply of food. Then
204 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

he set out on his journey, with a light heart.
He was not.afraid, for he knew that he loved the
little girl well enough to remember the color of
her eyes. He went on his way till he came to the
open fields where no one lived. He had been
there many a time before, but now it seemed to
him that he had never seen so many paths and
by-ways. They led im all directions and crossed
each other almost at every turn.

“ He stopped and looked all around, and then
he took Keen-Point from his wallet, and said : —

“¢ Keen-Point can, Keen-Point may,
Point keen and true, and show me the way.’

“ As soon as he said this, the knife tumbled
from his hand and fell to the ground, the end
of the keen blade pointing towards one of the
many footpaths. The boy picked it up, and it
tumbled from his hand again, pointing in the
same direction. He picked it up the second
time, and again the knife fell from his hand and
pointed to the footpath. For the third time he
lifted the knife from the ground, and as it fell
no more, he placed it in his wallet, and went on
his way.
THE STORY CONTINUED, 205

“Thus he continued for many hours. When
he was in doubt about the way, Keen-Point would
show him. When he grew hungry, he ate the
food his mother had placed in his wallet. It was
late in the day when he started, and before he
came to the spring and the pomegranate-tree, the
sun went down and night came on. The boy
stopped under a wide-spreading tree, said his pray-
ers, placed his wallet under his head for a pillow,
and went to sleep.

“¢ Bright and early the next morning he was
up and going. Whenever he had any doubt
about the way, Keen-Point would show him, and
before the sun was up very high, he came in sight
of the pomegranate-tree, with its red and golden
fruit, and he knew the spring was close by.

“ As he went on he grew thirstier, and thirstier,
and when he came to where the cool, clear waters
of the spring were bubbling from the ground with
a sort of gurgling sound, his throat and mouth
seemed to be as dry as paper. More than that,
when he came to the spring, a traveler was sitting
on one of the stones that lay around, drinking the
water from a silver cup and peeling the rind from
a pomegranate with a silver knife. The traveler
206 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

hada very pleasant face and manner, and he spoke
to the boy in the kindest’ way.

“ drink from my silver cup. If you are hungry,
you may peel a pomegranate with my silver knife.’

“The boy thanked the traveler and said that he
would eat and drink later inthe day. He thought
to himself that a man who could drink from a
silver cup and eat with a silver knife ought to be
able to travel in a carriage or on horseback, but
there was no horse nor carriage in sight.

“<¢ Well,’ said the traveler, ‘if you will neither
eat nor drink, you can at least rest yourself.’

“So the boy seated himself on one of the big
rocks close by the spring, and the traveler began
to ask him all sorts of questions. What was his
name, and where did he come from, and where
was he going.”

“What was his name?” asked Sweetest Susan
suddenly.

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows,
“have n’t I told you his name?”

“Tf you did, we didn’t hear you,” said Buster
John.

Mrs. Meadows raised her hands above her head
THE STORY CONTINUED. 207

and let them fall helplessly in her lap. “1 told
you I didn’t know how to tell stories!” she cried.
“You had fair warning. Well, well, well! And
T never even told you his name!” She paused
and stared at the children as if she wanted them
to pity her weakness. “To think that I should
forget to call his name! Everybody knew it in
my day and time, and they knew about his won-
derful adventures.

“‘ His name was Valentine, because he was born
on St. Valentine’s Day, and the little girl’s name
was Geraldine.

“ Well, the traveler asked Valentine all sorts
of questions, and tried hard to persuade him to
drink some of the water and eat the pomegranate-
seed.

“¢T have heard,’ said the traveler, ‘that all
this country around here is ruled by a cruel Con-
jurer, and that he has power over all except those
who may chance to find this spring and this pome-
granate-tree in passing, and drink of the water
and eat of the fruit.’

“ But Valentine shook his head. He said he
would rather have milk than water any day, and
as for pomegranates, he had no taste for them.
208 ' LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“¢Then I would advise you to go no farther,’
said the traveler. ‘If you fall into the hands of
the Conjurer, you will never escape.’

“¢T have heard of this great Conjurer,’ replied
Valentine, ‘and I should like nothing better than
to see him.’

“ He took Keen-Point from his wallet and pre-
tended to be playing with it, letting it fall and
picking it up. The knife pointed beyond the
spring and the pomegranate-tree, and in a little
while Valentine went on his journey. On the
hill beyond the spring, he turned and looked
back, but the traveler had disappeared. As there
was no place where he could hide, Valentine con-
cluded that the man he had seen was no traveler
at all, but Rimrak, the Conjurer.

“ But he was not afraid. He went on his way,
and, after a little, came to a grove of the tallest
and biggest trees he had ever seen. As he was
passing through this grove, he suddenly saw two
tremendous spiders running about among the
trees before and behind him. Their bodies were
as big as a feather bed when it is rolled up, and
they were pretty much the same color. Valen-
tine watched their antics a few minutes, and soon
THE STORY CONTINUED. 209

saw they were spinning a web among the trees
and that he was in the middle of it.

“ The big spiders ran about on the ground spin-
ning their webs around him, and then they be-
gan to jump from tree to tree. Valentine began
to have a creepy feeling up and down his back,
for he didn’t relish the idea of being caught in
a spider’s web like a bluebottle fly. He won-
dered why Cob-Handle had n’t warned him of
the danger, and then he remembered that the
case-knife was wrapped so tightly in his wallet
that it could n’t give a warning if it was to try.
So he took all the knives from the wallet, —
Keen-Point, Cob-Handle, and Butch, — and placed
them in his girdle.

“ Valentine hardly had time to fasten the
straps about the wallet, before he felt Cob-
Handle jumping about and thumping against. his
side. Then he saw one of the big spiders com-
ing towards him. Big as it was it moved nimbly,
and before Valentine had time to get out of the
way, it ran around him and wrapped a strand of
its web about his legs. The strand was as big
as a stout twine and as strong and as hard as
wire. Then the big spider turned and came
210 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

back, but-by this time Valentine had drawn
Butch from his belt, and as the ugly. creature
came near he struck at it with the knife, and
cut off one of its hairy legs. The creature was
so full of life and venom that its leg jumped
around and clawed the ground for some little
time.

“ Holding Butch point down and edge out-
wards, Valentine cut the strand of web that
held his legs. It was so large, and drawn so
tightly about him, that it sounded like somebody
had broken a fiddle-string. In this way he cut
his way through the web. The crippled spider
ran to his mate, and the two stood watching Val-
entine, their eyes shining green and venomous,
and their jaws working as if they were chewing
something.”

“They were sharpening their teeth,” Buster
John suggested.

“T reckon so,” replied Mrs. Meadows. “ Any-
how they were ugly enough to scare anybody.
Valentine cut his way through the web and
marched out on the other side. He rested a little
and then went on his way; but he had not gone
far before Cob-Handle began to jump and thump
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THE STORY CONTINUED. 911

against his side. He stopped and looked around,
but he could see nothing. He listened, but he
could hear nothing.

“ Presently he felt the ground moving beneath
his feet, and he ran forward as fast as he could.
And he did n’t run too fast, either, for no sooner
had he jumped away than a great hole appeared
right where he had been standing. He could see
that it was both wide and deep, but he did n’t go
back to look at it.

“No; he kept on his way, and it wasn’t long
before Cob-Handle began to jump and thump.
Keen-Point also began to jump and thump, and
showed him which way to go, and he ran as fast
as he could. He heard a roaring sound as he
started, and he had hardly got fifty steps away,
though he was running with all his might, before
a tremendous whirlwind came along, tearing up
the bushes by roots and ploughing the ground.
It came so close to Valentine that if he had
had on a long-tail coat, I believe it would have
been tangled in the whirlwind.

*T tell you,” Mrs. Meadows went on, see-
ing the children smiling, “it was no laughing
matter to Valentine. He shivered and trembled
212 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

when he thought what a narrow escape he had
had.

“He went on his way, and in a little while
Cob-Handle began to jump and thump again.
Valentine, thus warned, stood still and looked
around more carefully than he had yet done.
Some distance off, he saw a horrible creature com-
ing towards him. It was in the shape of a man,
but it had four arms and hands, and in each hand
it was flourishing a club. Its hair stood out from
its head like the shucks in a scouring-mop, and
as it came nearer, Valentine saw that it had three
eyes, — one on each side of its nose, and one in
its forehead.

“ Keen-Point said, ‘Go straight forward,’ and
then Butch began to jump and thump, so Valen-
tine placed Cob-Handle and Keen-Point in his
girdle, and took Butch in his hand. Holding the
point straight before him, he went towards the
misshapen creature. Its red and watery eyes were
blinking and winking, and its arms were thresh-
ing the air with the clubs at such a tremendous
rate that Valentine thought his hour had surely
come. But he shut his eyes and went straight at
the creature. The sharp point of Butch had no
THE STORY CONTINUED. 213

sooner touched the monster on its hairy breast
than its hands dropped the clubs, and it ran howl-
ing back the way it came.

“Valentine followed fast enough to see the
creature enter a cave, and to this, Keen-Point
told him he must go. As he went forward, a
fierce-looking man came from the cave and stood
guarding the entrance. He was covered from
head to foot with silver armor, and he brandished
a long keen sword with a silver handle. But
Valentine went straight forward, holding Butch
in his hand. The long sword never touched him,
nor did the silver armor stand in his way. With
one blow against Butch the long sword was shat-
tered, and the silver armor fell away from Rimrak
like the hulls from a ripe hickory-nut. Rimrak
hinself fell before Butch and disappeared with
a hissing sound; and then the cave was no longer
dark. Its roof seemed to roll away; and where
the cave had been, there stood a great company
of people who had been held captive by the Con-
jurer. They stood wondering what had happened
and what would happen next. Among them was
Geraldine. She knew Valentine, and ran to him,
and then he was very happy. The people whom
214 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

he had rescued, gathered around him and thanked
him and thanked him; and some would have re-
warded him, but he said he deserved none. He
had come after the little girl, and he was not re-
sponsible for any accidents that. happened to other
people. This is what he said, and this is how he
felt; but the people wondered that a young boy
should be so bold and yet so modest.

“So they talked together, and decided to go
with him to his home. Their horses and their
carriages they found in good order, and in a little
while they formed a procession. In this way
they carried Valentine to his home, crying out
to the people they passed, —

“«¢ This is our deliverer! This is the brave boy
that conquered Rimrak, the great Conjurer !’

“They carried Valentine to his home, and then
they went with him to Geraldine’s home. There
was great rejoicing in the town. The little girl’s
father was rich, and he called all the people to-
gether, and they had a big dinner, and-everybody
was happy. The little girl had her old nurse
back, and she grew up to be a beautiful young
woman, and Valentine grew up to be a handsome
young man.”
XIX.
A STORY OF THE RIVER.

“J ruink that was a beautiful story,” said
Sweetest Susan, when Mrs. Meadows paused ;
“but was that the end?”

“Why, wasn’t that enough?” inquired Mr.
Rabbit sleepily. “What more could you ask?
Didn’t the boy and girl get back home where
they could get something to eat?”

“ What became of them?” asked Buster John.
“The stories about boys and girls in books say
they married and lived happily ever after.”.

“Oh, yes!” evied Mr. Thimblefinger. “I’ve
heard about it. I remember the poetry, —

«“¢They married, then, and lived in clover,
And when they died, they died all over.’ ”

“Well,” said Mrs. Meadows, “I thought surely
you’d get tired of Valentine and Geraldine by
the time they got back home, and so I thought
we ’d do well to leave them there. Still, if you
216 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

are not tired —” Mrs. Meadows paused and
looked at the children.

“ Oh, we are not tired,” protested Buster John.

“ Well,’ said Mrs. Meadows, “if that’s the
case, Ill tell you what happened after Valentine
and Geraldine went back home. Of course,
Geraldine’s father and mother were very proud
and happy when their little girl was brought back
to them. They were very grateful to Valentine,
and they offered him money. But somehow Val-
entine didn’t want their money. He said that
the pleasure of getting Geraldine out of the hands
of the wicked Conjurer was reward enough for
him, and so he shook his head and refused the
money that was offered him.

“Now, the little girl’s father was rich and
prosperous, while Valentine was very poor, and
it was natural that the rich man should wonder
why the boy, who was poor, should refuse money.
Somehow, he took a dislike to Valentine. He
said to himself that a boy who would refuse
money as a free gift would never be prosperous.

“As time went on, Valentine grew to be a
handsome young man, but he was still poor. He
went to see Geraldine sometimes, but as she grew
A STORY OF THE RIVER. 217

older, she grew shyer. Valentine could n’t under-
stand this, but he thought it was because she was
old enough to know that she was rich and he
was poor.

“He said to her one day. ‘You are not as
friendly as you used to be.’

“Oh, yes Iam,’ she replied. ‘I shall always
be friendly with you.’

“* No,’ said he, ‘ you have changed.’

“No more than you,’ was her answer.

“<1 changed?’ he cried. ‘I love you more
than I ever did.’ ;

“With that Geraldine hung her head to
hide her blushes, but Valentine thought she was
angry. He turned on his heel and would have
gone away, but she called him back, and told him
not to go away angry — and then they made it up
somehow. Valentine said he would speak to Ger-
aldine’s father. This he did, but the father
shook his head.

“¢ You want to take her to a hut?’ he cried.
‘Why she might as well have stayed in the Con-
jurer’s cave. Goand get youa fortune, and then
come back, and maybe we’ll talk the matter over.’

“ Valentine went away very sad. He never
218 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

turned his head, although Geraldine was watching
him from a window, ay to wave her hand a
throw him a kiss. He wandered off into the
woods until he came to the bank of the River, and
there he . sat watching the water go by. He
watched it until he nee forgot his own trouble.
Tt went along slowly and majestically, and some-
times it seemed to come eddying back to kiss the
bank at his feet. For a little while it smoothed
the wrinkles in his mind. -He wondered where
the River came from and where it was going’ to.
Tt was always coming and always going, ai fee
was never an end to it. All day long it went by,
sometimes laughing and playing in ee shallows
and sometimes sighing a little under the willows.

“Valentine watched it and listened to the
pleasant sounds it made until he began to feel as
if the River was something like a friend and com-
panion. It soothed his one and drove away his
loneliness. Being alone, he began to speak his
thoughts aloud.

“*Oh! I wish I had a friend as strong and as
powerful as the River !’ he cried.

“¢ And why not?’ he heard a voice say. The
water at his feet splashed a little louder. He
A STORY OF THE RIVER. 219

looked around, but saw no one; he listened, but
heard nothing.

“¢T wonder who could have spoken ?’ he said
aloud.

“¢ Who but your friend, the River?’ a Voice re- -
plied.

“¢ Please don’t mock me, whoever you are.
There is no fun in misfortune,’ said Valentine.

“ “None at all,’ responded the Voice. ‘I am
your friend une River. I will one you all the aid
in my power.’

“¢ Tow am I to know the Rayer is talking ?’
Valentine asked.

“¢ By this,’ replied the River. At the word, a
wave larger than all the rest sprang up the bank,
and threw its spray in Valentine’s hair and face.
‘That is my salute,’ said the River. ‘It is a
rough way, but I know no other. Now, how can
IT aid you?’

«That is what troubles me,’ responded Valen-
tine. ‘ You are always going ; you never stay.’

“<«True,’ said the River; ‘but I am always
coming. Therefore I must be always returning.’

“* But how ?’ Valentine asked.

“> «¢Not this way, said the River, ‘but over
220 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

your head. When in the early morning, or in

the warmer noon, or in the pleasant evenings, you

see the white clouds flying westward, you may be

sure that I am returning.’ Then the River broke
-into a thousand ripples, as if smiling.

“But Valentine sat with a very serious face,
‘I do not know how you can aid me,’ he sighed.

“<«T know what you wish,’ the River replied.
‘ You wish riches.’

“<< Yes,’ said Valentine, ‘ but not for the sake
of the riches themselves.’

“¢ Of course not!’ the River exclaimed. ‘ Riches
would be worthless if they could not command
something better ; and they are worse than worth-
less when the power they give is used for evil. I

* ean give you riches, but not without your help.
I can give you the power to obtain wealth, but I
cannot give you the power to use it as it should
be used.’

‘“‘ Valentine listened to the mysterious Voice of
the River like one ina dream. He could hardly
believe his ears.

“¢ You say nothing,’ said the River ; ‘ you seem
half asleep. But if Iam to help you, you must
help yourself. Walk by my side a little way.





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as banner NS RS
EV Pigs,


A STORY OF THE RIVER. 2971

Further down you will come toa boat that has
drifted against the bank.’

“Valentine rose and stretched himself, and
walked by the side of the River. He had not
gone far before he came upon a boat that had
drifted into an eddy. It lay there rocking, and
a long oar rested against the seat.

“<¢ Jump in,’ said the River; ‘ shove the boat
away from the bank and trust tome. Take the
oar and pull, and I will push you along.’

“ Valentine did as he was told, and he soon
found that the boat was gliding swiftly along.
The trees and houses on each side seemed to be
running a race to the rear, and the boats that he
passed. on the River seemed to be standing still.
He went on for some hours, always trusting to
the River. When he grew tired, he held his oar
in the air and rested, but whether he rested or
whether he rowed, he saw that his boat was
always gliding swiftly along.

“ Presently, in the far distance, he could see
the spires and steeples of a city, and he wondered
whether he would be compelled to go gliding by,
or whether the River would land him there. But
he was not left long in doubt.
222 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“¢That is your future home,’ said the River.
‘There you will find friends, and there you will
become rich and famous.’

“¢ But how?’ asked Valentine.

“¢T can only tell you the beginning,’ replied the
River. ‘When your boat glides to the landing-
place, you will see there an old gentleman richly
dressed. He will ask you if you have seen his
little son. He has been there every day for two
days, and he has asked of all comers the same
question.’

“¢<« What shall I say to him ?’ asked Valentine.

“¢T ell him you have not seen his son,’ replied
the River, ‘but that you feel sure you can find
the boy. Tell the old gentleman that you have
come a long journey, and need rest, but that when
you have refreshed yourself, you will go and seek
his son.’

“¢ But where shall I seek for the boy?’ asked
Valentine.

“¢Come to me,’ said the River. ‘I will be here.
T am always going, and yet I am always coming’

“By this time they had come to the city.
‘Row for the landing,’ said the River; ‘ your for-
tune is there.’
A STORY OF THE RIVER. 223

“Valentine dipped his oar in the water and
rowed to the landing. He leaped from his boat,
threw the chain around a stake, and looked around.
Sure enough, an old gentleman, richly dressed,
was walking up and down, his hands crossed _be-
hind him. When he saw Valentine he paused
and looked at him. Valentine bowed politely as
he had been taught to do.

“<«You are a comely lad,’ said the old gentle-
man. ‘Did you come down the River, or from
below ?’

“ touching his hat again.

“*T have lost my youngest son,’ said the old
gentleman. ‘He is a little boy about six years
old. He wandered from home two days ago, came
to the River landing, and was last seen playing in
a boat. I have been trying to find him. My
boats have been searching in all directions, but
the child cannot be found.’

“¢T think I can find him,’ said Valentine, ‘ but
first. I must rest and refresh myself. I have come
along journey, and I am tired.’

“The old gentleman seized him by the hand.
‘Come with me!’ he exclaimed. ‘ You shall go
294 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

to my house. Your every want shall be supplied.
If you succeed in finding my lost boy you shall
have whatever you ask for.’

“¢T shall ask for nothing,’ replied Valentine.
‘The pleasure I shall have in restoring your son
to your arms will be sufficient reward for me.’

“¢ Nevertheless,’ said the gentleman, ‘ you shall
have a more substantial reward than that.’

‘So he took Valentine home, and treated him
with the greatest kindness. He was served with
rich food and the finest spiced wines, and fitted
out with an elegant suit of clothes. arly the
next morning, Valentine thanked the gentleman
for his kindness.

“ Watch for me near the River. I may return
soon, or I may be gone long, but when I return
I will bring your son.’

“¢You are young,’ remarked the gentleman.
‘You are hopeful and brave. You imagine you
can succeed where others have failed. But I
fear not. My lost boy has been sought by men
older than you, and quite as brave, but they have
not found him.’

“¢ Certainly, I may fail,’ Valentine replied.
A STORY OF THE RIVER. 225

‘Tf I depended on myself alone, I know I would
fail. But I trust in Providence.’

“ Valentine and the gentleman then went to
the River — one to go in search of the lost child,
and the other to watch and wait for the return.
Valentine went to the water’s edge.

“ lapping the sand at his feet. This was provided
at once, for the gentleman was very wealthy, and
then Valentine set out on his voyage. ‘Go back
the way you came,’ said the River, ‘but keep out
of the middle current. Let the wind fill your
sails and carry you near the shore, on the right.’
With the River to direct him, Valentine sailed
along with a light heart and a happy mind. For
more than two hours he journeyed up the River,
and it was not until the sun was low in the west
that the River told him to lower the sails of his
boat. This done, the River carried his boat gen-
tly ashore, and as it glided on the sand, he saw,
near by, a boat, in which a little boy lay fast
asleep. Without disturbing him, Valentine lifted
the little fellow in his arms, and transferred him
to the new boat, in which wraps, and cloaks, and
food had been placed.
226 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Té was easy to guess how the little boy had
been lost. He had gone to play in a boat, which
broke loose from its fastenings, and drifted slowly
up the River in the eddies that play hide and
seek near the bank. The first day the searchers
searched for him, they went too far. The next
day they searched too near, and so the child
drifted and drifted, and was lost sure enough.
He was very cold and wet when Valentine found
him, but in a little while he was warmly wrapped
in the cloaks that had been provided.

“ your sails stay down, and take the oars and row
home as hard as you can.’

“The River helped with its swift current, and.
it‘was not long before Valentine caught a glimpse
of the bonfire that was burning at the landing to
light him back to the city.

“There was great rejoicing when Valentine re-
turned with the lost child. The bells were rung
and salutes fired from the big cannon that com-
manded the approaches to the city. It turned
out that the gentleman whose child Valentine
had found was the ruler of the city, and you may
depend upon it he was grateful to the unknown
young man.
A STORY OF THE RIVER. 227

“But in all large cities there are some envious
people, and these soon had it whispered about
that Valentine was a mere adventurer who had
stolen the child and hid it so that he might rescue
it again when a big reward was offered. These
whispers grew thicker and thicker until at last
they reached the ears of every one. No one knew
Valentine, and appearances were against him, but
one day he was approached by an old man with a
long white beard, who asked him from whence he
came. Thé old man was so kind and agreeable
in his manner that Valentine told him the story
of the rescue of Geraldine.

“Much to his surprise the old man rose and
embraced him. ‘Come with me!’ he cried.
So saying, he carried Valentine to the market-
place, and there in the presence of a great crowd
of people, the old man said :

“¢ Behold my rescuer ! Behold the brave youth
who conquered Rimrak, the Conjurer.’

“This closed the mouths of the envious, and
when that happens, there is not much more to tell
in any story.”

Here Mrs. Meadows paused and looked at Mr.
Rabbit, who sat fast asleep in his chair.
228 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Did he get rich and marry Geraldine?” in-
quired Sweetest Susan.

“Why of course,’ replied Mrs. Meadows.
“Do you reckon he’d have gone through all
these ups and downs if he wasn’t to marry and
settle down and be happy in the end?”

“ Well,” said Buster John, “it was a pretty
good story.”

“T speck so,” remarked Drusilla, “but dey ’s
lots too much richness in it fer me.”

Mrs. Meadows laughed so heartily at this that
Mr. Rabbit was aroused from his nap, and looked
around in surprise.

“ Did I hear somebody say supper was ready ?”?
he asked.

Mrs. Meadows laughed again, but this time she
glanced at the sky of Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer
country. It had grown perceptibly darker. Mr.
Thimblefinger drew out his little watch. Mr.
Rabbit closed one eye, and sat as if listening for
something.

“ Well,” said Mrs. Meadows with a sigh, “J
reckon we'll have to tell you good-by for this
time, but I do hope you’ll come again. I declare
it has been a treat to have some new somebody to
Gon hy
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A STORY OF THE RIVER, 229

talk to. By the time you get back home the sun
will be setting in your country, and your folks
will begin to be uneasy about you.”

The children were not at all anxious to go.
They had had a very curious experience in Mr.
Thimblefinger’s queer country, and they had
almost forgotten that the sun in their part of the
world had a habit of going down. But they said
they were ready, and then they shook hands all
around. When Buster John came to shake hands
with Mr. Rabbit, the latter looked at the young-
ster a moment.

“Did you ever happen to know a colored man
named Aaron?” he asked.

“Uncle Aaron!” exclaimed Buster John.
“Why, he lives on our plantation. He’s the
foreman.”

“ Well,” said Mr. Rabbit solemnly, “when you
see Aaron, take his left hand in both of yours,
bend his thumb back a little, and with your right
thumb make this mark ¥ The first time he will
pay no attention. Make it the second time.
Then he will be ready to listen. Make it the
third time. Then he will ask you what you want.
Say to him that you want to learn the language
of the animals.”
230 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER.

“Won’t he get angry?” asked Buster John.

“Try him,” replied Mr. Rabbit with a cunning
look. “ Now, good-by!”

“When you get ready to come again,” said
Mrs. Meadows, “just drop a big apple in the
spring, and I’ll be bound we’ll all see it and
know what it means. And when you come be
sure and bring the apple. It’s been a month of
Sundays since I’ve had one.”

The children promised they would, and then,
with Mr. Thimblefinger leading the way, they
started home, which they reached without further
adventure. As they stood on the brink of the
spring, waving their hands to Mr. Thimblefinger,
who was smiling at them from the bottom, Dru-
silla remarked with unction : —

“T dunner how ’tis wid you all, but I don’t no
mo’ b’lieve we been down dar under dat water
dar dan — dan — dan de man in de moon. Dat
I don’t! ”

Then the youngsters heard the supper-bell ring,
and they all ran towards the house.

eee ners
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