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When the cheese-maker saw that, he turned about and went home again, for he needed to see no more, having a head on his shoulders, and not a pumpkin.
“How now?” asked his wife. “You come back without the cheeses?”
“Hold your tongue, good wife!” he said. “Knowledge is better than cheese.”
“Truly!” said the wife, scornfully. “It must be a fine knowledge to be worth six of my best cheeses.”
The next night the man hid himself behind the door of the hut, and when the monkey-thief appeared, he sprang out and caught him by his long tail.
“Here, wife!” he cried, “bring me your shears, that I may cut off this fellow’s tail for a rope to beat him with.”
“Ai, ai!” screamed the monkey. “Do not cut off my handsome tail! Spare me, and I will give you whatever you wish.”
“Do you mean it?” asked the cheese-maker, giving the tail a twist.
“Ai, ai!” said the monkey, “I swear it, upon my honour!”
“Then,” said the cheese-maker, “go and bring me a lump of gold from the king’s throne as big as my fist, and you shall have your freedom and a cheese besides.”
The monkey, glad to escape so easily, hastened away, and soon returned with the lump of gold.
“What do you want of this yellow stuff?” he asked. “It is only fit to make chairs of.”
“Well, I may want to make a chair some day,” replied the cheese-maker. “The door will be locked after this,” he added; “but whenever your master wants cheese, you know how to get it.”
It happened, in this way, that the cheese-maker and his wife grew very rich; for the monkeys constantly came to buy cheese, and they always paid for it with heavy lumps of gold. Soon the straw hut disappeared, and in its stead rose a stately house of stone, with gardens and terraces about it. The cheese-maker wore a velvet coat, and his wife flaunted about in a satin gown; but still they never failed to make their cheeses twice a week.
“Why do you still make cheese?” asked the fine visitors who came to see them, rolling in gilded coaches. But the cheese-maker had one answer for them all: “Because I have a head on my shoulders, and not a pumpkin.”
THE SPELLING LESSON
The teacher sat in her high-backed chair,Her chair so straight and tall;Her eyes went flashing to and froAmong the children small.At last she spoke, and “Billy boy!Now answer, Billy Bolee,And tell me quickly, what does C-O-W spell?” quoth she.Then up went Patty’s hand,Up went Matty’s hand,Up went Freddy’s hand, too;But poor little Billy,He was so silly,He didn’t know what to do.The teacher smiled her pleasant smile,And shook her small, wise head.“Be quiet, all! for I am sureThat Billy knows!” she said.“Put on your thinking-cap, my child,And tie it very tight;Then C-O-W will not trouble you,And you will say it right.”But up went Patty’s hand,Up went Matty’s hand,Up went Freddy’s hand, too,And poor little BillyHe was so silly,He didn’t know what to do.But when the children ’gan to laugh,And fun at him ’gan poke,Poor Billy thought it might not beSo much worse if he spoke.So, lifting up his fearful eyesAll sad and timorously,“Sure, C-O-W, must spell, Sobble-you!”Thus spoke Billy Bolee.Then out laughed Matty,And out laughed Patty,And out laughed Frederick, too;But poor little Billy,He felt so silly,He didn’t know, what– TO – DO!!!THE PERSON WHO DID NOT LIKE CATS
Once upon a time there was a Person who did not like cats. She did not like dogs, either, but she never said anything about that, because the Big Master and the two Little Masters and the four Little Mistresses were all very fond of dogs, and liked to have them lie round under everybody’s feet and get white hairs all over everybody’s clothes, and take up the whole hearth-rug and run away with the roast beef, and bark to be let out and then howl to be let in, and shake themselves when they were wet, and do all the things that dogs do, – they liked all these things, so the Person who did not like cats never dared to say a word.
But nobody cared very much about cats – except when they were little downy kittens, and they will not stay kittens! – save Maggie, the cook; so the Person felt free to speak her mind, and said she would not have any cats in the house. And after she had said that, these things happened:
One day a kitten belonging to the neighbour’s little boy came into the kitchen, and refused to go out again. The little boy was sent for, and he came and took the kitten home.
Next day it came again, and was taken home again. And so it went on for a week, till every one in the house was tired out with carrying that kitten home, and the kitten’s little boy cried and thought it was too bad. It was.
But the kitten was very happy, and Maggie, the cook, said she “couldn’t let the crathur starve,” so it stayed; and pretty soon it was not a kitten any more, but a cat, and it had kittens of its own, one of which was given to the little boy.
Now the Person who did not like cats said the other kittens must be taken away in a bag; but all the Little Masters and Mistresses cried out, and said, —
“Oh, Mamma!” “Please, Mamma, the dear, sweet little things!” “See their little paws!” “See their dear little noses!” “Hear them squeal!” “We must keep this one, Mamma!” “We can’t possibly part with that one, Mamma!” “Oh, Mamma!” “Dear Mamma!” “Feel this one’s little back!” and so on, and so on.
So the Person said that they might keep the one which they all thought the prettiest, and that the others must go away in a bag; but while they were deciding, the kittens grew up and became cats. So then the bag was not big enough to hold them, and they stayed, partly for that reason, and partly because they were all so ugly that no one could tell which was the least ugly.
Now, one day, the man at the livery stable, where the Master kept his horse, said that he wanted a cat, because the rats were giving him a great deal of trouble in his hay-loft. So the Master took the ugliest cat of all, which was really ugly enough to frighten the crows, and he put her in a basket, and took her away to the stable, and everybody was glad.
But three days after, as the Person was weeding the flowerbed, she heard a loud squeal of joy, and felt something rubbing against her back; she turned round, and there was the Ugliest Cat, purring and squeaking, and seeming just as glad to get back as if she were perfectly beautiful, and as if everybody loved her to distraction. She was sent to the stable again, but this time she came back the very next day, because she had found out the way. So she stayed.
But after that, things went worse than ever. The Person went out to walk, and a cat followed her home, and would not go away, and would come in! and Maggie, the cook, said she “couldn’t see the crathur starve,” so she fed it and it stayed. And on Thanksgiving Day a miserable hungry kitten came to the door and begged to be let in, and nobody could refuse to give it a Thanksgiving dinner, so it came in, and it stayed.
And now the Person who does not like eats has nothing but cats about her all the time. They lie on the stairs and trip her up in the dark. If she takes up a clothes-basket, out rolls a kitten. If she gets the little sleigh to take the Littlest Mistress to ride, out jumps a cat. Wherever she goes, whatever she does, she sees a dirty white cat, or a rusty black cat, or a faded yellow cat, or a dingy tabby cat, or a hideous tortoise-shell beast, which is the Ugliest Cat of all. And the Person would like the children to tell her what is to be done about it!
THE END1
This last line is not true, little girls; but it is hard, you know, to find good reasons for practising.