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Author’s Note
Many of these stories and rhymes appeared originally in the Ladies’ Home Journal, and were signed either with my initials, or with names of characters in my books. Others were adapted by me from the Indian “Hitopadesa,” or “Book of Good Counsel,” and from two anonymous story-books of a bygone generation, long out of print. These are marked “Adapted.”
L. E. R.JOHNNY AND HIS SAND BOX
Johnny’s sand box is in the back yard. It is a fine big box, with the sides raised so that Johnny and the sand will not fall out. The sand is fine and dry, and almost white; it came from the seashore, and sometimes you find a little shell in it.
The things that belong in the sand box (beside Johnny himself!) are the blue tin pail to hold sand, and the red tin pail to hold water, and the shovel, and the rake, and the old kitchen spoon. The things that do not belong there (some of them) are the woolly dog (because the sand gets all into his wool, and then shakes out on the nursery floor, and Maggie says it is a Sight!), and Johnny’s shoes and stockings (he likes to take them off and sift the hot, clean sand between his bare toes), and the neighbors’ cats.
This story is about the cats. There are five of them. One is black, and has a red leather collar with a little silver bell; it belongs to the deaf old lady next door, and its name is Jetty. Another is yellow, and belongs to the lame girl in the white house with green blinds; its name is Topaz. The third cat is gray, with white front and paws. This is a lady cat, and her name is Malta; she belongs to the lady whom Johnny calls Mrs. Nose. Mamma does not allow him to say this, and he tries to remember, but sometimes he forgets; one day he said right out, “Good morning, Mrs. Nose!” and she only laughed, and said her nose was just the right size, and she needed it all to smell catnip with. She is a funny lady, and Johnny likes her, and Malta too.
The fourth cat belongs to Mr. Chops the butcher, and is a big tabby, with green eyes and fierce whiskers. Johnny does not like him at all. But the fifth cat is Muffet, his own dear white kitten.
Now all these cats were friends except Bobs, the butcher’s cat. He lives on meat, and Mamma says perhaps that makes him cross. Anyhow, he is cross, and he growls and snarls and spits at Muffet and Jetty and Topaz and Malta, and tries to steal their fishbones, and upsets their milk, and is really a very horrid cat.
The story happened one night last week. Johnny was asleep, and Maggie was tidying up the nursery before going to bed, when suddenly she heard a queer noise. It came from the yard, and she stepped to the window and looked out. It was bright moonlight; and what do you think? The cats were having a party in the sand box! the four friendly cats, that is, Muffet and Topaz and Malta and Jetty. Maggie thought Muffet must have invited the others, for she was sitting in the middle of the box with her front paws tucked under her, looking so pleased and happy; and the three others had their paws tucked in too, and they were all four talking in little soft mews, and seemed to be having a very good time. Then all of a sudden there was a snarl and a yowl, and that horrid great Bobs sprang over the fence and into the sand box, and began clawing and spitting and scratching right and left, just as hard as he could. At first the four friendly cats were too startled to do anything; but in another minute they began to spit and scratch and claw, and there were all five of them rolling over and over, scattering the sand on every side, and making such a noise that it woke Johnny out of his sound sleep. At first he was frightened, but Maggie told him what it was, and said wait and see what she would do. She pushed up the fly screen very softly, and then she brought the great big jug full of water, and leaning out, – splash! she emptied it full on the fighting, struggling cats. Oh! how they yelled! One jumped this way, and one jumped that; and the next moment not one was left except poor little Muffet, sitting in the middle of the box and crying pitifully. “Oh, poor Muffy!” said Johnny. “Poor Muffy all wet!” So then good Maggie ran down and brought Muffet up, and dried her with a towel, and comforted her till she purred. Johnny wanted to take her into bed with him, but Maggie said that never would do; so, – what do you think? She put her in the doll’s cradle with Susan Dolly, and covered her up, and told her to go to sleep, and she did!
MONOSYLLABICS
The black cat satIn the fat man’s hat;“Oh, dear!” the fat man said.“May the great gray batCatch the bad black catWho has left me no hatFor my head!”The big brown bearTried to curl his hairTo go to the Fair so gay.But he looked such a frightThat his aunt took flight,And he cried till night, they say.A pale pink pig,In a large blond wig,Danced a wild, wild jigOn the lea;But a rude old goat,In a sky-blue coat,Said, “You’re nought but a shoat, tee hee!”A poor old KingSold his gay gold ringFor to buy his old wife some cream;But the cat lapped it upWith a sip and a sup,And his tears ran down in a stream.A large red cowTried to make a bow,But did not know how,They say.For her legs got mixed,And her horns got fixed,And her tail would getIn her way.A boy named SamHad a fat pet ram,And gave him some jamFor his tea;But the fat pet ramTried to butt poor Sam,Till he had to turnAnd flee.A girl named JaneHad a sad, bad painIn the place where she woreHer belt;She mopped and she mowed,And she screamed aloud,Just to show the crowdHow she felt.A sad, thin apeBought some wide white tapeTo trim a new capeFor his niece;But a bold buff calf,With a loud, rude laugh,Bit off one whole halfFor his geese.A pert, proud henLaid an egg, and thenSaid “Cluck!” and “cluck!” and“cluck!”Said the cock, “Had I knownYou would take that tone,I would have wooed noneBut a duck!”THE NEW LEAVES
“Wake up!” said a clear little voice. Tommy woke, and sat up in bed. At the foot of the bed stood a boy about his own age, all dressed in white, like fresh snow. He had very bright eyes, and he looked straight at Tommy.
“Who are you?” asked Tommy.
“I am the New Year!” said the boy. “This is my day, and I have brought you your leaves.”
“What leaves?” asked Tommy.
“The new ones, to be sure!” said the New Year. “I hear bad accounts of you from my Daddy – ”
“Who is your Daddy?” asked Tommy.
“The Old Year, of course!” said the boy. “He said you asked too many questions and I see he was right. He says you are greedy, too, and that you sometimes pinch your little sister, and that one day you threw your reader into the fire. Now, all this must stop.”
“Oh, must it?” said Tommy. He felt frightened, and did not know just what to say.
The boy nodded. “If it does not stop,” he said, “you will grow worse and worse every year, till you grow up into a Horrid Man. Do you want to be a Horrid Man?”
“N-no!” said Tommy.
“Then you must stop being a horrid boy!” said the New Year. “Take your leaves!” and he held out a packet of what looked like copy-book leaves, all sparkling white, like his own clothes.
“Turn over one of these every day,” he said, “and soon you will be a good boy instead of a horrid one.”
Tommy took the leaves and looked at them. On each leaf a few words were written. On one it said, “Help your mother!” On another, “Don’t pull the cat’s tail!” On another, “Don’t eat so much!” And on still another, “Don’t fight Billy Jenkins!”
“Oh!” cried Tommy. “I have to fight Billy Jenkins! He said – ”
“Good-by!” said the New Year. “I shall come again when I am old to see whether you have been a good boy or a horrid one. Remember,
“Horrid boy makes horrid man;You alone can change the plan.”He turned away and opened the window. A cold wind blew in and swept the leaves out of Tommy’s hand. “Stop! stop!” he cried. “Tell me – ” But the New Year was gone, and Tommy, staring after him, saw only his mother coming into the room. “Dear child!” she said. “Why, the wind is blowing everything about.”
“My leaves! My leaves!” cried Tommy; and jumping out of bed he looked all over the room, but he could not find one.
“Never mind,” said Tommy. “I can turn them just the same, and I mean to. I will not grow into a Horrid Man.” And he didn’t.
GRANDMOTHER’S ALPHABET
The Ant is so busyIt makes her quite dizzy,She says that her headGoes whirl-around-whizzy.The Bunny is funny;He cannot make honey,Nor write with a pen,Nor shoot with a gunny.The Cow is not ableTo sit at the table,And so we must send herTo eat in the stable.The Duck goes a-quackingAnd clicking and clacking,And eats all she findsFrom beeswax to blacking.The Elephant mightyCan not find his nighty!It makes him feel nervous,And fractious and flighty.The Fish has no wishTo be put in a dish,So he’s off like a flashWith a swishety-swish.The Goose has no useFor an Indian pappoose,So she looks at it sadly,And says, “What’s the use?”The Hen lays an egg,And stands on one leg,And says, “Cut-ker-dah-cut!Observe me, I beg!”The Ibis is pretty,But not very witty;And when he is tiredHe plays with the kitty.The Jaguar so cruelWas killed in a duel,And left his poor wifeTo eat nothing but gruel.The kind KangarooHas so little to do,That he talks to the MoollyAnd tries to say “Moo!”The Lizard goes sighing,And sobbing and crying,Because his poor tailGot shrunk in the dyeing.The Moose is all humpy,And grumpy and lumpy,And if you say, “Boo!”He is off with a thumpy.The Newt has a neighborWho fights with a sabre,And when he has conqueredHe beats on a tabor.The Owl and the OysterWent off for a royster,And when they came backThey were put in a cloister.The Pig bought a carrotTo give to his parrot:But Poll was so frightenedShe hid in the garret.The Queen in her crownAnd velvety gown,She went to the circus,And laughed at the clown.The Ram and the Rattle-Snake had a great battle:For each called the otherA tittlety-tattle.The Stork had a fancyTo go to a dancy,But people said, “No!You are rather too prancy!”The timorous TapirWas reading the paper,And found that his auntHad married a draper.The Unicorn triedOn a camel to ride,But there came a sad fallTo himself and his pride.The Viper is vain,And cannot explainWhy people persist soIn calling him plain.The Woodchuck is wealthy,And hearty and healthy:But sometimes his movementsAre snooping and stealthy.The Xiphias perks hisHead up to see Xerxes:And thinks him much finerThan Tartars or Turkses.The Yammering YakHas spots on his back:He can’t get them off,So he puts on a sacque.The Zebra with zealWas cooking a meal:But he found it was onionsAnd stopped with a squeal.THE NEW LEAF
“Why are you crying, Little Cat?” asked Little Dog.
“Because my paws are so cold!” said Little Cat. “I have been digging in the snow and I cannot find one.”
“One what?” asked Little Dog.
“One new leaf.”
“What do you want of a new leaf?”
“I want to turn it over, but there just aren’t any to turn.”
“Of course there aren’t!” said Little Dog. “It is winter.”
“But Little Girl is going to find one,” said Little Cat. “I heard her mother say to her, ‘You really must turn over a new leaf!’ and she said, ‘I truthfully will, Mamma!’ and when Little Girl says she truthfully will she always does. Then her mother kissed her, and said everybody had to turn over new leaves now, and she had some of her own to turn, so she knew just how it was. The door shut then – on the tip of my tail, too – and I heard no more; but what do you suppose it means?”
Little Dog shook his head. “We must ask somebody,” he said. “Let me see! Great Old Dog is out for a walk, and Crosspatch Parrot bit me the last time I asked her a question.”
“I know,” said Little Cat. “We will ask Old Cat in the Barn. She knows a good many things, and if she isn’t catching rats – but she generally is – she will tell us.”
They found Old Cat in the Barn sitting on a truss of hay, washing herself. She listened to Little Cat’s story, and her green eyes twinkled.
“So you have been looking for new leaves under the snow!” she said.
“Yes,” said Little Cat. “First I looked on the trees, and there weren’t any there; so I thought it must be leaves of plants and things, so I scratched and dug till my poor paws were almost quite frozen, but not one single scrap of a leaf could I find.”
“Fffff!” said Old Cat in the Barn. “This barn is full of ’em!”
“Full of leaves!” cried Little Cat and Little Dog together. “What can you mean, Old Cat? We don’t call hay leaves!”
“How many rats have you caught this week?” asked Old Cat, turning to Little Dog.
“None!” said Little Dog. “The last rat I caught bit me horridly; besides, they are odious, vulgar beasts, and I don’t care to have anything to do with them.”
“Fffff!” said Old Cat. “Little Cat, how many mice have you caught in the kitchen this week?”
Little Cat hung her head. “I haven’t caught any,” she said. “I don’t care for mice, the flavor is too strong; I like cream better.”
“Ffffff! grrrr-yow!” said Old Cat; her green eyes shot out sparks, and her fur began to stand up. “Now, you two, listen to me! Why do you think the Big People keep you? Because you are soft and pretty and foolish? Not at all! They keep you because you are supposed to be useful. Your mother, Little Cat, was a hard-working, self-respecting mouser, who caught her daily mouse as regularly as she ate her daily bread and milk. Your father, Little Dog, hunted rats with me in this barn as long as he had legs to stand upon, and between us we kept the place in tolerable order. Great Old Dog cannot be expected to hunt at his age, and besides, he is too big; one might as well hunt with an ox. But since your parents died you two lazy children have done next to nothing, and what is the consequence? I am worked to skin and bone, and the mice are all over the house; I heard Cook say so. Mind what I say; no creature, with four legs or two, is worth his salt unless he earns it, in one way or another. Now, what have you to say for yourselves?”
“Miaouw!” said Little Cat. “I am very sorry, Old Cat.”
“Yap! Yap!” said Little Dog. “I am sorry too, Old Cat.”
“Very well!” said Old Cat in the Barn. “Then turn over a new leaf!”
“Miaouw!” “Yap!” “That is just what we want to do!” said Little Cat and Little Dog together; “but we can’t find any.”
“The fact is,” said Old Cat in the Barn, “it is one of the foolish ways of speaking that the Big People have. It just means, stop being bad and begin to be good. Now do you see?”
“Prrr!” said Little Cat; “now I see. I will go and catch a mouse this minute, Old Cat.”
“Wuff!” said Little Dog; “I see, too, and I will come and hunt rats with you, Old Cat.”
“Prrrrrrr!” said Old Cat in the Barn. “That is right! Go to work, like good children, and as I may have been rather short with you lately I will turn over a new leaf, too, and ask you both to supper with me in my hay-parlor. Cook gave me the bones of the Christmas goose, and we will have a great feast.”
MR. HOPPY FROG
Mr. Hoppy FrogWas very, very funny;Mr. Hoppy FrogHe had not any money.So he could not buyA squeaky woolly dog;It made him sigh and sob and cry,Poor Mr. Hoppy Frog!Going down the lane,He met with Mistress Kitty;When she saw his pain,Her heart was filled with pity.“Mr. Hoppy Frog,Oh! do not weep for that!To buy your woolly dogI’ll sell my Sunday hat.”Bowing down before,Said Mr. Hoppy Frog,“I love you even moreThan squeaky woolly dog!Come to church with me,And wear your Sunday hat;And we’ll through life be Frog and wife,Sweet Mistress Kitty Cat!”NEW YEAR’S DAY IN THE WOOD
“Do I look nice?” asked the Rabbit.
“Very nice!” said the Chipmunk; “that is, for a person who has no tail to speak of. But, of course, you cannot help that.”
The Rabbit looked into the looking-glass pond and saw his little white blob of a tail. “Don’t you want to lend me yours, just this once?” he asked. “I would take great care of it!”
“No, I cannot do that,” said the Chipmunk, “but I can lend you the tail of my late uncle. It is such a fine one that we have kept it to brush out the nest with.”
“The very thing!” said the Rabbit.
So the Chipmunk brought the tail of his late uncle and tied it on to the Rabbit’s stub.
“How does that look?” asked the Rabbit.
“Fine!” said the Chipmunk. “Now tell me how I look!”
“Well enough!” said the Rabbit. “Of course, you would look better if you had long ears.”
“Dear me!” said the Chipmunk; and he, too, looked into the looking-glass pond. “Haven’t you a spare pair that you could lend me?”
“Why, yes,” said the Rabbit. “There is a pair that belonged to my grandfather, hanging on the wall at home. I will get those.”
So the Rabbit got the ears and tied them on to the Chipmunk’s head.
“How do I look now?” asked the Chipmunk.
“Splendid!” said the Rabbit. “Now let us go and make our New Year’s calls. Where shall we go first?”
“I wish to call on Miss Woodchuck!” said the Chipmunk.
“So do I,” said the Rabbit. “We will go there first.” And off they went.
They came to Miss Woodchuck’s door and knocked, and she opened the door. “Mercy!” she cried. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“We are Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Chipmunk,” said the two friends, “and we have come to make you a New Year’s call.”
“More likely you have come to steal the nuts!” said the lady angrily. “I know Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Chipmunk well, and neither of you is either of them. Who ever heard of a long-tailed rabbit or a long-eared squirrel? Get along with you! You are frights, and probably thieves as well.” And she shut the door in their faces.
The two friends walked a little way in silence; then they stopped and looked at each other.
“You said I looked fine!” said the Rabbit.
“I – I meant the tail!” said the Chipmunk. “It is a fine tail. But you said I looked splendid!”
“I was thinking of the ears!” said the Rabbit. “They are splendid ears.”
They walked on until they came once more to the looking-glass pond. They looked at themselves; then they looked at each other; then, all in a minute, off came the long ears and tail.
“There!” cried the Chipmunk. “Now we look as we were meant to look; and I am bound to say, Rabbit, that it is much more becoming to you.”
“So it is to you!” replied the Rabbit. “Now shall we call on Miss Woodchuck again?”
“Come on!” said the Chipmunk.
So they went to Miss Woodchuck’s house, and knocked once more at the door, and Miss Woodchuck opened it. “Oh!” she cried. “Mr. Chipmunk and Mr. Rabbit, how do you do? I am so glad to see you. A happy New Year to you both!”
“The same to you, Ma’am!” said the Rabbit and the Chipmunk.
THE NEWS FROM ANGEL LAND
Oh! Harry Boy and Johnny Boy,And little Libbety,They were three happy childrenAs ever you did see:One day there came another child;Oh! he was sweet and small!And round his cradle quickly cameThe other children all.“Oh! what’s the news from Angel Land,Baby, Baby?We think we still might understand,Maybe, maybe!Daddies and Mammies long agoForgot the things the babies know;We hardly think we could forget,And yet – and yet!”Now Harry’s eyes were diamond dark,And John’s were starry blue,And little Libbety was likeA rosebud dipped in dew.They stood around the cradle white,With rosy ribbons tied,They looked into the baby’s faceAnd earnestly they cried:“Oh! what’s the news from Angel Land,Baby, Baby?We think we still might understand,Maybe, maybe!Daddies and Mammies long agoForgot the things the babies know;We hardly think we could forget,And yet – and yet!”The baby gravely met the lookOf brown eyes and of blue:And gravely opened his baby mouth,And gravely said, “A-Goo!”Harry and Johnny shook their heads:“That word’s too deep for me!”“I think I used to know it, though!”Said little Libbety.“But what’s the news from Angel Land,Baby, Baby?We think we still might understand,Maybe, maybe!Daddies and Mammies long agoForgot the things the babies know;We hardly think we could forget,And yet – and yet!”The baby said “A-Goo!” againWith meaning calm and deep:And then he said, “Ba-be, ba-ba!”And then he went to sleep.The children sighed and turned away:But none of all the threeGuessed, neither John nor Harry Boy,Nor little Libbety,He had told the news from Angel Land,Baby, baby,He thought that they might understand,Maybe, maybe.Daddies and Mammies long agoForgot the things the babies know:The children ought not to forget,And yet – and yet!THE BOASTFUL DONKEY
(Adapted)
Once upon a time there was a donkey who lived in a field where there was no pond; so he had never seen his own image, and he thought he was the biggest and strongest and handsomest creature in the world.
One day a lion came through the field, and, being a polite beast, stopped to greet the donkey. “Good morning, friend!” he said. “What a fine day this is!”
“Fine enough, I dare say!” said the donkey. “I never think about the weather. I have other things to think about.”
“Indeed!” said the lion. “May I ask what things?”
“None of your business!” said the donkey rudely; and he set up a loud braying, thinking to frighten the lion away.
“Why do you bray?” asked the lion.
“Bray!” cried the donkey. “That was not braying – it was roaring!”
“If you think I don’t know braying from roaring,” said the lion, still politely, “you are mistaken. That was a bray.”
“Very well!” shouted the donkey. “If that was, this shall not be!” and he uttered a long and loud “Hee-haw!” and kicked up his heels in angry pride. “What do you call that?” he asked proudly.
“I call it a bray,” replied the lion; “and a very ugly one. You see, after all, you are a donkey; look at the length of your ears!”
“How dare you?” cried the donkey. “My ears are the finest in the world, everybody says so. And as for roaring, if I have not scared you yet, just listen to me now!” And flinging up his heels again he bellowed till his own long ears tingled with the sound.
He expected the lion to be terrified, but the lion merely smiled.
“You certainly can make a most hideous noise,” he said; “but when all is said and done, it is only a bray. If you really wish to know how a roar sounds I shall be happy to oblige you.”
The King of Beasts then began to lash his tail and pretended to fall into a great passion. His eyes flashed fire, his tawny mane bristled; he opened his great mouth, and a roar like thunder filled the air. The donkey, after one terrified look, took to his heels and scampered off as fast as he could go, tumbled into a ditch, and lay there all day, not daring to move for fear.
The lion went on his way smiling. “It is a pity,” he said, “for a person to live in a place where he cannot see what he looks like.”
THE CAT’S NAME
Tom had a cat who was so white that he named her Snow. He loved Snow and thought her the best cat in the world, but she would not come when she was called.
One day Snow went and played in the coal-bin, and when she came out she was quite black.
“See, Mother,” said Tom: “Snow cannot be Snow now, for she is black. What shall I name her?”
“You might name her Soot!” said his mother.
So he named Snow Soot. Snow did not care, and Soot did not care, but neither of them came when she was called.
One day Snow saw a tin pot on the shed floor, and Soot thought there might be cream in it; and Snow went to see, and Soot fell in, and it was green paint, and when she came out she was all green.
“See, Mother,” said Tom. “My cat is not white now, so she cannot be Snow, and she is not black, so she cannot be Soot. What shall I name her now?”
“You might name her Grass,” said his mother, “till you have washed her; but I would wash her soon if I were you.”
So, Tom named the cat Grass. Snow did not care, and Soot did not care, and Grass did not care, but none of them came when they were called.
“How can I wash her,” asked Tom, “if she will not come when she is called?”
“Let me try!” said his mother. So she called, “Puss! Puss! Puss!” and the cat came running as fast as she could.