The Joyous Story
of
TOTO.

by
LAURA E. RICHARDS.

_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. H. GARRETT._
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1885.

_Copyright, 1885_,
By Roberts Brothers.
University Press:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.

_TO MY CHILDREN_
This Story
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED.




CHAPTER I.


TOTO was a little boy, and his grandmother
was an old woman (I have noticed that
grandmothers are very apt to be old women); and
this story is about both of them. Now, whether
the story be true or not you must decide for yourselves;
and the child who finds this out will be
wiser than I.

Toto’s grandmother lived in a little cottage far
from any town, and just by the edge of a thick
wood; and Toto lived with her, for his father
and mother were dead, and the old woman was
the only relation he had in the world.

The cottage was painted red, with white window-casings,
and little diamond-shaped panes of
glass in the windows. Up the four walls grew a
red rose, a yellow rose, a woodbine, and a clematis;
and they all met together at the top, and
fought and scratched for the possession of the top
of the chimney, from which there was the finest
view; so foolish are these vegetables.

Inside the cottage there was a big kitchen, with
a great open fireplace, in which a bright fire
was always crackling; a floor scrubbed white and
clean; a dresser with shining copper and tin
dishes on it; a table, a rocking-chair for the
grandmother, and a stool for Toto. There were
two bedrooms and a storeroom, and perhaps another
room; and there was a kitchen closet,
where the cookies lived. So now you know all
about the inside of the cottage. Outside there
was a garden behind and a bit of green in front,
and three big trees; and that is all there is to
tell.

As for Toto, he was a curly-haired fellow, with
bright eyes and rosy cheeks, and a mouth that
was always laughing.

His grandmother was the best grandmother in
the world, I have been given to understand,
though that is saying a great deal, to be sure.
She was certainly a very good, kind old body; and
she had pretty silver curls and pink cheeks, as
every grandmother should have. There was only
one trouble about her; but that was a very serious
one,—she was blind.

Her blindness did not affect Toto much; for
he had never known her when she was not blind,
and he supposed it was a peculiarity of grandmothers
in general. But to the poor old lady
herself it was a great affliction, though she bore
it, for the most part, very cheerfully. She was
wonderfully clever and industrious; and her fingers
seemed, in many ways, to see better than
some people’s eyes. She kept the cottage always
as neat as a new pin. She was an excellent cook,
too, and made the best gingerbread and cookies
in the world. And she knit—oh! how she _did_
knit!—stockings, mittens, and comforters; comforters,
mittens, and stockings: all for Toto.
Toto wore them out very fast; but he could
not keep up with his grandmother’s knitting.
Clickety click, clickety clack, went the shining
needles all through the long afternoons, when
Toto was away in the wood; and nothing answered
the needles, except the tea-kettle, which
always did its best to make things cheerful. But
even in her knitting there were often trials for
the grandmother. Sometimes her ball rolled off
her lap and away over the floor; and then the
poor old lady had a hard time of it groping about
in all the corners (there never was a kitchen that
had so many corners as hers), and knocking her
head against the table and the dresser.

The kettle was always much troubled when
anything of this sort happened. He puffed
angrily, and looked at the tongs. “If _I_ had legs,”
he said, “I would make some use of them, even
if they _were_ awkward and ungainly. But when a
person is absolutely _all_ head and legs, it is easy
to understand that he should have no heart.”

The tongs never made any reply to these
remarks, but stood stiff and straight, and pretended
not to hear.

But the grandmother had other troubles beside
dropping her ball. Toto was a very good boy,—better,
in fact, than most boys,—and he loved his
grandmother very much indeed; but he was forgetful,
as every child is. Sometimes he forgot
this, and sometimes that, and sometimes the
other; for you see his heart was generally in the
forest, and his head went to look after it; and
that often made trouble. He always _meant_ to get
before he went to the forest everything that his
grandmother could possibly want while he was
away. Wood and water he never forgot, for he
always brought those in before breakfast. But
sometimes the brown potatoes sat waiting in the
cellar closet, with their jackets all buttoned up,
wondering why they were not taken out, as their
brothers had been the day before, and put in a
wonderful wicker cage, and carried off to see the
great world. And the yellow apples blushed with
anger and a sense of neglect; while the red apples
turned yellow with vexation. And sometimes,—well,
sometimes _this_ sort of thing would happen:
one day the old lady was going to make some
gingerbread; for there was not a bit in the house,
and Toto could _not_ live without gingerbread. So
she said, “Toto, go to the cupboard and get me
the ginger-box and the soda, that’s a good
boy!”

Now, Toto was standing in the doorway when
his grandmother spoke, and just at that moment
he caught sight of a green lizard on a stone at a
little distance. He wanted very much to catch
that lizard; but he was an obedient boy, and
always did what “Granny” asked him to do. So
he ran to the cupboard, still keeping one eye on
the lizard outside, seized a box full of something
yellow and a bag full of something white,
and handed them to his grandmother. “There,
Granny,” he cried, “that’s ginger, and _that’s_
soda. Now may I go? There’s a lizard—” and
he was off like a flash.









“Oh, oh! what a dreadful face he made!”



Well, Granny made the gingerbread, and at tea-time
in came Master Toto, quite out of breath,
having chased the lizard about twenty-five miles
(so he said, and he ought to know), and hungry as
a hunter. He sat down, and ate his bread-and-milk
first, like a good boy; and then he pounced
upon the gingerbread, and took a huge bite out
of it. Oh, oh! what a dreadful face he made!
He gave a wild howl, and jumping up from
the table, danced up and down the room, crying,
“Oh! what _nasty_ stuff! Oh, Granny, how _could_
you make such horrid gingerbread? Br-r-rr! oh,
dear! I never, never, _never_ tasted anything so
horrid.”

The poor old lady was quite aghast. “My dear
boy,” she said, “I made it just as usual. You
must be mistaken. Let me—” and then _she_ tasted
the gingerbread.

Well, she did not get up and dance, but she
came very near it. “What does this mean?” she
cried. “I made it just as usual. What can it be?
Ah!” she added, a new thought striking her.
“Toto, bring me the ginger and the soda; bring
just what you brought me this afternoon. Quick!
don’t stop to examine the boxes; bring the same
ones.”

Toto, wondering, brought the box full of something
yellow, and the bag full of something white.

His grandmother tasted the contents of both,
and then she leaned back in her chair and laughed
heartily. “My dear little boy,” she said, “you
think I am a very good cook, and I myself think
I am not a very bad one; but I certainly can_not_
make good gingerbread with mustard and salt
instead of ginger and soda!”

Toto thought there _were_ some disadvantages
about being blind, after all; and after that his
grandmother always tasted the ingredients before
she began to cook.

Now, it happened one day that the grandmother
was sitting in the sun before the cottage door,
knitting; and as she knitted, from time to time
she heaved a deep sigh. And one of those sighs is
the reason why this story is written; for if the
grandmother had not sighed, and Toto had not
heard her, none of the funny things that I am
going to tell you would have happened. Moral:
always sigh when you want a story written.

Toto was just coming home from the wood,
where he had been spending the afternoon, as
usual. As he came round the corner of the cottage
he heard his grandmother sigh deeply, as if
she were very sad about something; and this
troubled Toto, for he was an affectionate little
boy, and loved his grandmother dearly.

“Why, Granny!” he cried, running up to her
and throwing his arms round her neck. “Dear
Granny, why do you sigh so? What is the matter?
Are you ill?”

The grandmother shook her head, and wiped a
tear from her sightless eyes. “No, dear little
boy!” she said. “No, I am not ill; but I am very
lonely. It’s a solitary life here, though you are
too young to feel it, Toto, and I am very glad of
that. But I do wish, sometimes, that I had some
one to talk to, who could tell me what is going on
in the world. It is a long time since any one has
been here. The travelling pedler comes only once
a year, and the last time he came he had a toothache,
so that he could not talk. Ah, deary me!
it’s a solitary life.” And the grandmother shook
her head again, and went on with her knitting.

Toto had listened to this with his eyes very
wide open, and his mouth very tight shut; and
when his grandmother had finished speaking, he
went and sat down on a stone at a little distance,
and began to think very hard. His grandmother
was lonely. The thought had never occurred to
him before. It had always seemed as natural for
her to stay at home and knit and make cookies,
as for him to go to the wood. He supposed all
grandmothers did so. He wondered how it felt
to be lonely; he thought it must be very unpleasant.
_He_ was never lonely in the wood.

“But then,” he said to himself, “I have all my
friends in the wood, and Granny has none. Very
likely if I had no friends I should be lonely too.
I wonder what I can do about it.”

Then suddenly a bright idea struck him.
“Why,” he thought,—“why should not my friends
be Granny’s friends too? They are very amusing,
I am sure. Why should I not bring them to see
Granny, and let them talk to her? She _couldn’t_
be lonely then. I’ll go and see them this minute,
and tell them all about it. I’m sure they will
come.”

Full of his new idea, the boy sprang to his feet,
and ran off in the direction of the wood. The
grandmother called to him, “Toto! Toto! where
are you going?” but he did not hear her. The
good woman shook her head and went on with her
knitting. “Let the dear child amuse himself as
much as he can now. There’s little enough
amusement in life.”

But Toto was not thinking of his own amusement
this time. He ran straight to the wood, and
entered it, threading his way quickly among the
trees, as if he knew every step of the way, which,
indeed, he did. At length, after going some way,
he reached an open space, with trees all round it.
Such a pretty place! The ground was carpeted
with softest moss, into which the boy’s feet sunk
so deep that they were almost covered; and all
over the moss were sprinkled little star-shaped pink
flowers. The trees stood back a little from this
pretty place, as I said; but their long branches met
overhead, as they bent over to look down into—what
do you think?—the loveliest little pool of
water that ever was seen, I verily believe. A tiny
pool, as round as if a huge giant had punched a
hole for it with the end of his umbrella or walking-stick,
and as clear as crystal. The edge of the
pool was covered all round with plants and flowers,
which seemed all to be trying to get a peep into
the clear brown water. I have heard that these
flowers growing round the pool had become excessively
vain through looking so constantly at
their own reflection, and that they gave themselves
insufferable airs in consequence; but as this
was only said by the flowers which did _not_ grow
near the pool, perhaps it was a slight exaggeration.
They were certainly very pretty flowers, and I
never wondered at their wanting to look at themselves.
You see I have been in the wood, and
know all about it.

It was in this pretty place that Toto stopped.
He sat down on a great cushion of moss near the
pool, and began to whistle. Presently he heard
a rustling in the tree-tops above his head. He
stopped whistling and looked up expectantly. A
beechnut fell plump on his nose, and he saw the
sharp black eyes of a gray squirrel peering at him
through the leaves.

“Hello, Toto!” said the squirrel. “Back again
already? What’s the matter?”

“Come down here, and I’ll tell you,” said
Toto.

The squirrel took a flying leap, and alighted
on Toto’s shoulder. At the same moment a
louder rustling was heard, among the bushes this
time, a sound of cracking and snapping twigs, and
presently a huge black bear poked his nose out of
the bushes, and sniffed inquiringly. “What’s
up?” he asked. “I thought you fellows had
gone home for the night, and I was just taking
a nap.”

“So we had,” said Toto; “but I came back
because I had something important to say. I
want to see you all on business. Where are the
others?”









“Well,” said Toto, “it’s about my grandmother.”



“Coon will be here in a minute,” answered
the bear. “He stopped to eat the woodchuck’s
supper. Chucky was so sound asleep it seemed
a pity to miss such an opportunity. The birds
have all flown away except the wood-pigeon, and
she told me she would come as soon as she had
fed her young ones. What’s your business,
Toto?” and Bruin sat down in a very comfortable
attitude, and prepared to listen.

“Well,” said Toto, “it’s about my grandmother.
You see, she—oh! here’s Coon! I’ll wait for
him.” As he spoke, a large raccoon came out
into the little dell. He was very handsome, with
a most beautiful tail, but he looked sly and lazy.
He winked at Toto, by way of greeting, and sat
down by the pool, curling his tail round his legs,
and then looking into the water to see if the
effect was good. At the same moment a pretty
wood-pigeon fluttered down, with a soft “Coo!”
and settled on Toto’s other shoulder.

“Now then!” said the squirrel, flicking the
boy’s nose with his tail, “go on, and tell us all
about it!”

So Toto began again. “My grandmother, you
see: she is blind; and she’s all alone most of the
time when I’m out here playing with all of you,
and it makes her lonely.”

“Lonely! What’s that?” asked the raccoon.

“I know what it is!” said the bear. “It’s
when there aren’t any blueberries, and you’ve
hurt your paw so that you can’t climb. It’s a
horrid feeling. Isn’t that it, Toto?”

“N-no, not exactly,” said Toto, “for my grandmother
never climbs trees, anyhow. She hasn’t
anybody to talk to, or listen to; nobody comes to
see her, and she doesn’t know what is going
on in the world. That’s what she means by
‘lonely.’”

“Humph!” said the raccoon, waving his tail
thoughtfully. “Why don’t you both come and
live in the wood? She couldn’t be lonely here, you
know; and it would be very convenient for us all.
I know a nice hollow tree that I could get for you
not far from here. A wild-cat lives in it now, but
if your grandmother doesn’t like wild-cats, the
bear can easily drive him away. He’s a disagreeable
fellow, and we shall be glad to get rid of him
and have a pleasanter neighbor. Does—a—does
your grandmother scratch?”

“No, certainly not!” said Toto indignantly.
“She is the best grandmother in the world.
She never scratched anybody in her life, I am
sure.”

“No offence, no offence,” said the raccoon.
“_My_ grandmother scratched, and I thought yours
might. Most of them do, in my experience.”

“Besides,” Toto went on, “she wouldn’t like
at all to live in a hollow tree. She is not used to
that way of living, you see. Now, _I_ have a plan,
and I want you all to help me in it. In the
morning Granny is busy, so she has not time to
be lonely. It’s only in the afternoon, when she
sits still and knits. So I say, why shouldn’t you
all come over to the cottage in the afternoon, and
talk to Granny instead of talking here to each
other? I don’t mean _every_ afternoon, of course,
but two or three times a week. She would enjoy
the stories and things as much as I do; and she
would give you gingerbread, I’m sure she would;
and perhaps jam too, if you were _very_ good.”

“What’s gingerbread?” asked the bear. “And
what’s jam? You do use such queer words sometimes,
Toto.”

“Gingerbread?” said Toto. “Oh, it’s—well,
it’s—why, it’s _gingerbread_, you know. You don’t
have anything exactly like it, so I can’t exactly
tell you. But there’s molasses in it, and ginger,
and things; it’s good, anyhow, very good. And
jam—well, jam is sweet, something like honey,
only better. You will like it, I know, Bruin.

“Well, what do you all say? Will you come
and try it?”

The bear looked at the raccoon; the raccoon
looked at the squirrel; and the squirrel looked at
the wood-pigeon. The pretty, gentle bird had
not spoken before; but now, seeing all the other
members of the party undecided, she answered
quietly and softly, “Yes, Toto; I will come, and
I am sure the others will, for they are all good
creatures. You are a dear boy, and we shall all
be glad to give pleasure to you or your grandmother.”

The other creatures all nodded approval to the
wood-pigeon’s little speech, and Toto gave a sigh
of relief and satisfaction. “That is settled, then,”
he said. “Thank you, dear pigeon, and thank
you all. Now, when will you come? To-morrow
afternoon? The sooner the better, I think.”

The raccoon looked critically at his reflection in
the water. “Chucky bit my ear yesterday,” he
said, “and it doesn’t look very well for making
visits. Suppose we wait till it is healed over.
Nothing like making a good impression at first,
you know.”

“Nonsense, Coon!” growled the bear. “You
are always thinking about your looks. I never
saw such a fellow. Let us go to-morrow if we
are going.”

“Besides,” said Toto, laughing, “Granny is
blind, and will not know whether you have any
ears or not, Master Coon. So I shall expect you
all to-morrow. Good-by, all, and thank you very
much.” And away ran Toto, and away went all
the rest to get their respective suppers.




CHAPTER II.


“GRANNY,” said Toto the next day, when the
afternoon shadows began to lengthen, “I
am expecting some friends here this afternoon.”

“Some friends, Toto!” exclaimed his grandmother
in astonishment. “My dear boy, what
friend have you in the world except your old
Granny? You are laughing at me.”

“No, I am not, Granny,” said the boy. “Of
course you are the _best_ friend, very much the
best; but I have some other very good ones.
And I have told them about your being lonely,”
he went on hurriedly, glancing towards the wood,
“and they are coming to see you this afternoon,
to talk to you and tell you stories. In fact, I
think I hear one of them coming now.”

“But _who are they_?” cried the astonished old
woman, putting her hand up at the same time to
settle her cap straight, and smoothing her apron,
in great trepidation at the approach of these unexpected
visitors.

“Oh,” said Toto, “they are—here is one of
them!” and he ran to meet the huge bear, who at
that moment made his appearance, walking slowly
and solemnly towards the cottage. He seemed ill
at ease, and turned frequently to look back, in
hopes of seeing his companions.

“Grandmother, this is my friend Bruin!” said
Toto, leading the bear up to the horrified old lady.
“I am very fond of Bruin,” he added, “and I
hope you and he will be great friends. He tells
the most _delightful_ stories.”

Poor Granny made a trembling courtesy, and
Bruin stood up on his hind-legs and rocked slowly
backwards and forwards, which was the nearest
approach he could make to a bow. (N. B. He
looked so very formidable in this attitude, that if
the old lady had seen him, she would certainly
have fainted away. But she did not see, and
Toto was used to it, and saw nothing out of the
way in it.)

“Your servant, ma’am,” said the bear. “I hope
I see you well.”

Granny courtesied again, and replied in a faltering
voice, “Quite well, thank you, Mr. Bruin. It’s—it’s
a fine day, sir.”

“It is indeed!” said the bear with alacrity. “It
is a _very_ fine day. I was just about to make the
same remark myself. I—don’t know when I
have seen a finer day. In fact, I don’t believe
there ever _was_ a finer day. A—yesterday was—a—_not_
a fine day. A—

“Look here!” he added, in a low growl, aside
to Toto, “I can’t stand much more of this. Where
is Coon? He knows how to talk to people, and I
don’t. I’m not accustomed to it. Now, when I
go to see _my_ grandmother, I take her a good
bone, and she hits me on the head by way of saying
thank you, and that’s all. I have a bone
somewhere about me now,” said poor Bruin hesitatingly,
“but I don’t suppose she—eh?”

“No, certainly not!” replied Toto promptly.
“Not upon any account. And here’s Coon now,
and the others too, so you needn’t make any
more fine speeches.”

Bruin, much relieved, sat down on his haunches,
and watched the approach of his companions.

The raccoon advanced cautiously, yet with a
very jaunty air. The squirrel was perched on his
back, and the wood-pigeon fluttered about his head,
in company with a very distinguished-looking gray
parrot, with a red tail; while behind came a fat
woodchuck, who seemed scarcely more than half-awake.

The creatures all paid their respects to Toto’s
grandmother, each in his best manner; the raccoon
professed himself charmed to make her acquaintance.
“It is more than a year,” he said,
“since I had the pleasure of meeting your accomplished
grandson. I have esteemed it a high privilege
to converse with him, and have enjoyed his
society immensely. Now that I have the further
happiness of becoming acquainted with his elegant
and highly intellectual progenitress, I feel that I
am indeed most fortunate. I—”

But here Toto broke in upon the stream of eloquence.
“Oh, _come_, Coon!” he cried, “your
politeness is as bad as Bruin’s shyness. Why
can’t we all be jolly, as we usually are? You need
not be afraid of Granny.

“Come,” he continued, “let us have our story.
We can all sit down in a circle, and fancy ourselves
around the pool. Whose turn is it to-day? Yours,
isn’t it, Cracker?”

“No,” said the squirrel. “It is Coon’s turn.
I told my story yesterday.”

“You see, Granny,” said Toto, turning to his
grandmother, “we take turns in telling stories,
every afternoon. It is _such_ fun! you’d like to
hear a story, wouldn’t you, Granny?”

“Very much indeed!” replied the good woman.
“Will you take a chair, Mr.—Mr. Coon?” she
asked.

“Thank you, no,” replied the raccoon graciously.
“My mother earth shall suffice me.”
And sitting down, he curled up his tail in a
very effective manner, and looked about him
meditatively, as if in search of a subject for his
story.

“My natural diffidence,” he said, “will render
it a difficult task, but still—”

“Oh yes, we know!” said the squirrel. “Your
natural diffidence is a fine thing. Go ahead, old
fellow!”

At this moment Mr. Coon’s sharp eyes fell upon
the poultry-yard, on the fence of which a fine
Shanghai cock was sitting. His face lighted up,
as if an idea had just struck him. “That is a very
fine rooster, madam!” he said, addressing the
grandmother,—“a remarkably fine bird. That
bird, madam, reminds me strongly of the Golden-breasted
Kootoo.”

“And what is the Golden-breasted Kootoo?”
asked the grandmother.

The raccoon smiled, and looked slyly round
upon his auditors, who had all assumed comfortable
attitudes of listening, sure that the story was
now coming.

“The story of the Golden-breasted Kootoo,” he
said, “was told to me several years ago by a distinguished
foreigner, a learned and highly accomplished
magpie, who formerly resided in this
vicinity, but who is now, unhappily, no longer in
our midst.”

“That’s a good one, that is!” whispered the
wood chuck to Toto. “He ate that magpie about
a year ago; said he loved her so much he couldn’t
help it. What a fellow he is!”

“Hush!” said Toto. “He’s beginning!”

And Mr. Coon, dropping his airs and graces,
told his story in tolerably plain language, as
follows:—

THE GOLDEN-BREASTED KOOTOO.


Once upon a time—and a good time it was—there
lived a king. I do not know exactly what
his name was, or just where he lived; but it doesn’t
matter at all: his kingdom was somewhere between
Ashantee and Holland, and his name sounded a
little like Samuel, and a little like Dolabella, and a
good deal like Chimborazo, and yet it was not quite
any of them. But, as I said before, it doesn’t matter.
We will call him the King, and that will be
all that is necessary, as there is no other king in
the story.

This King was very fond of music; in fact, he
was excessively fond of it. He kept four bands of
music playing all day long. The first was a brass
band, the second was a string band, the third was
a rubber band, and the fourth was a man who
played on the jews-harp. (Some people thought
he ought not to be called a band, but he said he
was all the jews-harp band there was, and that was
very true.) The four bands played all day long
on the four sides of the grand courtyard, and the
king sat on a throne in the middle and transacted
affairs of state. And when His Majesty went to
bed at night, the grand chamberlain wound up a
musical-box that was in his pillow, and another one
in the top bureau-drawer, and they played “The
Dog’s-meat Man” and “Pride of the Pirate’s
Heart” till daylight did appear.

One day it occurred to the King that it would be
an excellent plan for him to learn to sing. He
wondered that he had never thought of it before.
“You see,” he said, “it would amuse me very much
to sing while I am out hunting. I cannot take the
bands with me to the forest, for they would frighten
away the wild beasts; and I miss my music very
much on such occasions. Yes, decidedly, I will
learn to sing.”









“Take this man and behead him!” said the King.



So he sent for the Chief Musician, and
ordered him to teach him to sing. The Chief
Musician was delighted, and said they would begin
at once. So he sat down at the piano, and struck
a note. “O King,” he said, “please sing this
note.” And the King sang, in a loud, deep voice,

The Chief Musician was enchanted.
“Superb!” he cried. “Magnificent!
Now, O King, please to sing _this_ note!” and he
struck another note:

The King sang,
in a loud, deep voice,

The Chief Musician looked grave.
“O King,” he said, “you did not quite understand
me. We will try another note.” And he
struck another:

The King sang, in
a loud, deep voice,

The Chief Musician looked dejected.
“I fear, O King,” he said, “that you can never
learn to sing.” “What do you mean by that,
Chief Musician?” asked the King. “It is your
business to teach me to sing. Do you not know
how to teach?” “No man knows better,” replied
the Chief Musician. “But Your Majesty has
no ear for music. You never can sing but one
note.”

At these words the King grew purple in the face.
He said nothing, for he was a man of few words;
but he rang a large bell, and an executioner appeared.
“Take this man and behead him!” said
the King. “And send me the Second Musician!”

The Second Musician came, looking very grave,
for he had heard the shrieks of his unhappy superior
as he was dragged off to execution, and he had
no desire to share his fate. He bowed low, and
demanded His Majesty’s pleasure. “Teach me to
sing!” said His Majesty. So the Second Musician
sat down at the piano, and tried several notes, just
as the Chief Musician had done, and with the same
result. Whatever note was struck, the King still
sang,


Now the Second Musician was a quick-witted
fellow, and he saw in a moment what the trouble
had been with his predecessor, and saw, too, what
great peril he was in himself. So he assumed a
look of grave importance, and said solemnly,
“O King, this is a very serious matter. I cannot
conceal from you that there are great obstacles in
the way of your learning to sing—” The King
looked at the bell. “But,” said the Second Musician,
“they can be overcome.” The King looked
away again. “I beg,” said the Second Musician,
“for twenty-four hours’ time for consideration. At
the end of that time I shall have decided upon the
best method of teaching; and I am bound to say
this to Your Majesty, that if you learn to sing—”
“What?” said the King, looking at the bell
again. “That when you learn to sing,” said the
Second Musician hastily,—“_when_ you learn to
sing, your singing will be like no other that has
ever been heard.” This pleased the King, and he
graciously accorded the desired delay.

Accordingly the Second Musician took his leave
with great humility, and spent all that night and
the following day plunged in the deepest thought.
As soon as the twenty-four hours had elapsed he
again appeared before the King, who was awaiting
him impatiently, sitting on the music-stool.
“Well?” said the King. “Quite well, O King, I
thank you,” replied the Second Musician, “though
somewhat fatigued by my labors.” “Pshaw!”
said the King impatiently. “Have you found a
way of teaching me to sing?” “I have, O King,”
replied the Second Musician solemnly; “but it is
not an easy way. Nevertheless it is the only one.”
The King assured him that money was no object,
and begged him to unfold his plan. “In order to
learn to sing,” said the Second Musician, “you
must eat a pie composed of all the singing-birds in
the world. In this way only can the difficulty
of your having no natural ear for music be overcome.
If a single bird is omitted, or if you do not
consume the whole pie, the charm will have no
effect. I leave Your Majesty to judge of the
difficulty of the undertaking.”

Difficulty? The King would not admit that
there was such a word. He instantly summoned
his Chief Huntsman, and ordered him to send
other huntsmen to every country in the world, to
bring back a specimen of every kind of singing-bird.
Accordingly, as there were sixty countries
in the world at that time, sixty huntsmen started
off immediately, fully armed and equipped.

After they were gone, the King, who was very
impatient, summoned his Wise Men, and bade
them look in all the books, and find out how
many kinds of singing-birds there were in the
world. The Wise Men all put their spectacles
on their noses, and their noses into their books,
and after studying a long time, and adding up
on their slates the number of birds described in
each book, they found that there were in all nine
thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine varieties
of singing-birds.

They made their report to the King, and he
was rather troubled by it; for he remembered
that the Second Musician had said he must eat
every morsel of the pie himself, or the charm
would have no effect. It would be a _very_ large
pie, he thought, with nine thousand nine hundred
and ninety-nine birds in it. “The only way,” he
said to himself, “will be for me to eat as little as
possible until the huntsmen come back; then I
shall be very hungry. I have never been _very_
hungry in my life, so there is no knowing how
much I could eat if I were.” So the King ate
nothing from one week’s end to another, except
bread and dripping; and by the time the huntsmen
returned he was so thin that it was really
shocking.

At last, after a long time, the sixty huntsmen
returned, laden down with huge bags, the contents
of which they piled up in a great heap in the
middle of the courtyard. A mountain of birds!
Such a thing had never been seen before. The
mountain was so high that everybody thought the
full number of birds must be there; and the Chief
Cook began to make his preparations, and sent to
borrow the garden roller from John the gardener,
as his own was not big enough to roll out such a
quantity of paste.

The King and the Wise Men next proceeded to
count the birds. But alas! what was their sorrow
to find that the number fell short by one! They
counted again and again; but it was of no use:
there were only nine thousand nine hundred and
ninety-eight birds in the pile.

The next thing was to find out what bird was
missing. So the Wise Men sorted all the birds,
and compared them with the pictures in the books,
and studied so hard that they wore out three pairs
of spectacles apiece; and at last they discovered
that the missing bird was the “Golden breasted
Kootoo.” The chief Wise Man read aloud from
the biggest book:—

“The Golden-breasted Kootoo, the most beautiful
and the most melodious of singing birds,
is found only in secluded parts of the Vale of
Coringo. Its plumage is of a brilliant golden
yellow, except on the back, where it is streaked
with green. Its beak is—”

“There! there!” interrupted the King impatiently;
“never mind about its beak. Tell the
Lord Chamberlain to pack my best wig and a clean
shirt, and send them after me by a courier; and,
Chief Huntsman, follow me. We start this moment
for the Vale of Coringo!”









“He rode on horseback, and was accompanied only by the Chief Huntsman and the jews-harp band.”



And actually, if you will believe it, the King
_did_ start off in less than an hour from the counting
of the birds. He rode on horseback, and was accompanied
only by the Chief Huntsman and the
jews-harp band, the courier being obliged to wait
for the King’s best wig to be curled.

The poor Band had a hard time of it; for he
had a very frisky horse, and found it extremely
difficult to manage the beast with one hand and
hold the jews-harp with the other; but the King,
with much ingenuity, fastened the head of the
horse to the tail of his own steady cob, thereby
enabling the musician to give all his attention to
his instrument. The music was a trifle jerky at
times; but what of that? It was music, and the
King was satisfied.

They rode night and day, and at length arrived
at the Vale of Coringo, and took lodgings at
the principal hotel. The King was very weary,
as he had been riding for a week without stopping.
So he went to bed at once, and slept for
two whole days.









“Seizing his gun, he hastily descended the stairs.”



On the morning of the third day he was roused
from a wonderful dream (in which he was singing
a duet with the Golden-breasted Kootoo, to a
jews-harp accompaniment) by the sound of music.
The King sat up in bed, and listened. It was a
bird’s song that he heard, and it seemed to come
from the vines outside his window. But what a
song it was! And what a bird it must be that
could utter such wondrous
sounds! He listened,
too enchanted to
move, while the magical
song swelled louder
and clearer, filling the
air with melody.
At last
he rose, and
crept softly
to the window.
There,
on a swinging vine, sat a beautiful bird, all golden
yellow, with streaks of green on its back. It was
the Golden-breasted Kootoo! There could be no
doubt about it, even if its marvellous song had
not announced it as the sweetest singer of the
whole world. Very quietly, but trembling with
excitement, the King put on his slippers and his
flowered dressing-gown, and seizing his gun, he
hastily descended the stairs.

It was early dawn, and nobody was awake in
the hotel except the Boots, who was blacking his
namesakes in the back hall. He saw the King
come down, and thought he had come to get his
boots; but the monarch paid no attention to him,
quietly unbolted the front door, and slipped out
into the garden. Was he too late? Had the
bird flown? No, the magic song still rose from
the vines outside his chamber-window. But even
now, as the King approached, a fluttering was
heard, and the Golden-breasted Kootoo, spreading
its wings, flew slowly away over the garden wall,
and away towards the mountain which rose just
behind the hotel. The King followed, clambering
painfully over the high wall, and leaving fragments
of his brocade dressing-gown on the sharp
spikes which garnished it. Once over, he made
all speed, and found that he could well keep the
bird in sight, for it was flying very slowly. A
provoking bird it was, to be sure! It would fly a
little way, and then, alighting on a bush or hanging
spray, would pour forth a flood of melody, as
if inviting its pursuer to come nearer; but before
the unhappy King could get within gunshot, it
would flutter slowly onward, keeping just out of
reach, and uttering a series of mocking notes,
which seemed to laugh at his efforts. On and on
flew the bird, up the steep mountain; on and on
went the King in pursuit. It is all very well to
_fly_ up a mountain; but to crawl and climb up, with
a heavy gun in one’s hand, and one’s dressing-gown
catching on every sharp point of rock, and
the tassel of one’s nightcap bobbing into one’s
eyes, is a very different matter, I can tell you.
But the King never thought of stopping for an
instant; not he! He lost first one slipper, and
then the other; the cord and tassels of his dressing-gown
tripped him up, so that he fell and
almost broke his nose; and finally his gun slipped
from his hold and went crashing down over a
precipice; but still the King climbed on and on,
breathless but undaunted.

At length, at the very top of the mountain, as
it seemed, the bird made a longer pause than
usual. It lighted on a point of rock, and folding
its wings, seemed really to wait for the King,
singing, meanwhile, a song of the most inviting
and encouraging description. Nearer and nearer
crept the King, and still the bird did not move.
He was within arm’s-length, and was just stretching
out his arm to seize the prize, when it fluttered
off the rock. Frantic with excitement, the
King made a desperate clutch after it, and—

PART II.


At eight o’clock the landlady knocked at the
King’s door. “Hot water, Your Majesty,” she
said. “Shall I bring the can in? And the Band
desires his respects, and would you wish him to
play while you are a-dressing, being as you didn’t
bring a music-box with you?”

Receiving no answer, after knocking several
times, the good woman opened the door very
cautiously, and peeped in, fully expecting to see
the royal nightcap reposing calmly on the pillow.
What was her amazement at finding the room
empty; no sign of the King was to be seen,
although his pink-silk knee-breeches lay on a
chair, and his ermine mantle and his crown were
hanging on a peg against the wall.

The landlady gave the alarm at once. The
King had disappeared! He had been robbed,
murdered; the assassins had chopped him up into
little pieces and carried him away in a bundle-handkerchief!
“Murder! police! fire!!!!”

In the midst of the wild confusion the voice
of the Boots was heard. “Please, ’m, I see
His Majesty go out at about five o’clock this
morning.”

Again the chorus rose: he had run away; he
had gone to surprise and slay the King of Coringo
while he was taking his morning chocolate; he
had gone to take a bath in the river, and was
drowned! “Murder! police!”

The voice of the Boots was heard again. “And
please, ’m, he’s a sittin’ out in the courtyard now;
and please, ’m, I think he’s crazy!”

Out rushed everybody, pell-mell, into the courtyard.
There, on the ground, sat the King, with
his tattered dressing-gown wrapped majestically
about him. An ecstatic smile illuminated his face,
while he clasped in his arms a large bird with
shining plumage.

“Bless me!” cried the poultry-woman. “If he
hasn’t got my Shanghai rooster that I couldn’t
catch last night!”

The King, hearing voices, looked round, and
smiled graciously on the astonished crowd.
“Good people,” he said, “success has crowned my
efforts. I have found the Golden-breasted Kootoo!
You shall all have ten pounds apiece, in
honor of this joyful event, and the landlady shall
be made a baroness in her own right!”

“But,” said the poultry-woman, “it is my
Shang—”

“Be still, you idiot!” whispered the landlady,
putting her hand over the woman’s mouth. “Do
you want to lose your ten pounds and your head
too? If the King has caught the Golden-breasted
Kootoo, why, then it _is_ the Golden-breasted Kootoo,
as sure as I am a baroness!” and she added
in a still lower tone, “There hasn’t been a Kootoo
seen in the Vale for ten years; the birds have
died out.”

Great were the rejoicings at the palace when
the King returned in triumph, bringing with him
the much-coveted prize, the Golden-breasted Kootoo.
The bands played until they almost killed
themselves; the cooks waved their ladles and set
to work at once on the pie; the huntsmen sang
hunting-songs. All was joy and rapture, except
in the breast of one man; that man was the Second
Musician, or, as we should now call him, the
Chief Musician. He felt no thrill of joy at sight of
the wondrous bird; on the contrary, he made his
will, and prepared to leave the country at once;
but when the pie was finished, and he saw its huge
dimensions, he was comforted. “No man,” he said
to himself, “can eat the whole of that pie and
live!”

Alas! he was right. The unhappy King fell a
victim to his musical ambition before he had half
finished his pie, and died in a fit. His subjects ate
the remainder of the mighty pasty, with mingled
tears and smiles, as a memorial feast; and if the
Golden-breasted Kootoo _was_ a Shanghai rooster,
nobody in the kingdom was ever the wiser for it.




CHAPTER III.


THE raccoon’s story was received with general
approbation; and the grandmother, in particular,
declared she had not passed so pleasant an
hour for a very long time. The good woman was
gradually becoming accustomed to her strange
visitors, and ventured to address them with a little
more freedom, though she still trembled and
clutched her knitting-needles tighter when she
heard the bear’s deep tones.

“It is really very good of you all,” she said,
“to take compassion upon my loneliness. Before
I came to this cottage I lived in a large town,
where I had many friends, and I find the change
very great, and the life here very solitary. Indeed,
if it were not for my dear little Toto, I
should lead quite the life of a hermit.”

“What is a hermit?” asked the bear, who had
an inquiring mind, and liked to know the meaning
of words.

“It is a crab,” said the parrot. “I have often
seen them in the West Indies. They get into the
shells of other crabs, and drive the owners out.
A wretched set!”

“Oh, dear!” cried the grandmother. “That is
not at all the kind of hermit I mean. A hermit
in this country is a man who lives quite alone,
without any companions, in some uninhabited
region, such as a wood or a lonely hillside.”

“Is it?” exclaimed the bear and the squirrel
at the same moment. “Why, then, we know one.”

“Certainly,” the squirrel went on; “Old Baldhead
must be a hermit, of course. He lives alone,
and in an uninhabited region; that is, what _you_
would call uninhabited, I suppose.”

“How very interesting! Where does he live?”
asked Toto. “Who is he? How is it that I have
never seen him?”

“Oh, he lives quite at the other end of the
wood!” replied the squirrel; “some ten miles or
more from here. You have never been so far, my
dear boy, and Old Baldhead isn’t likely to come
into our part of the wood. He paid us one visit
several years ago, and that was enough for him,
eh, Bruin?”

“Humph! I think so!” said Bruin, smiling
grimly. “He seemed quite satisfied, I thought.”

“Tell us about his visit!” cried Toto eagerly.
“I have never heard anything about him, and I
know it must be funny, or you would not chuckle
so, Bruin.”

“Well,” said the bear, “there isn’t much to
tell, but you shall hear all I know. _I_ call that
hermit, if that is his name, a very impudent
fellow. Just fancy this, will you? One evening,
late in the autumn, about three years ago, I was
coming home from a long ramble, very tired and
hungry. I had left a particularly nice comb of
honey and some other little things in my cave,
all ready for supper, for I knew when I started
that I should be late, and I was looking forward
to a very comfortable evening.

“Well, when I came to the door of my cave,
what should I see but an old man with a long
gray beard, sitting on the ground eating my
honey!” Here the bear looked around with a
deeply injured air, and there was a general murmur
of sympathy.

“Your course was obvious!” said the raccoon.
“Why didn’t you eat him, stupid?”

“Hush!” whispered the wood-pigeon softly.
“You must not say things like that, Coon! you
will frighten the old lady.” And indeed, the
grandmother seemed much discomposed by the
raccoon’s suggestion.

“Wouldn’t have been polite!” replied Bruin.
“My own house, you know, and all that. Besides,”
he added in an undertone, with an apprehensive
glance at the grandmother, “he was old,
and probably very—”

“Ahem!” said Toto in a warning voice.

“Oh, certainly not!” said the bear hastily,
“not upon any account. I was about to make the
same remark myself. A—where was I?”

“The old man was eating your honey,” said the
woodchuck.









“I only stood up on my hind legs.”



“Of course!” replied Bruin. “So, though I
would not have hurt him _for the world_” (with
another glance towards the grandmother), “I
thought there would be no harm in frightening
him a little. Accordingly, I first made a great
noise among the bushes, snapping the twigs and
rustling the leaves at a great rate. He stopped
eating, and looked and listened, listened and
looked; didn’t seem to like it much, I thought.
Then, when he was pretty thoroughly roused, I
came slowly forward, and planted myself directly
in front of the cave.”

“Dear me!” cried the grandmother. “How
very dreadful! poor old man!”

“Well now, ma’am!” said Bruin appealingly,
“he had no right to steal my honey; now had
he? And I didn’t hurt a hair of his head,” he
continued. “I only stood up on my hind-legs
and waved my fore-paws round and round like
a windmill, and roared.”

A general burst of merriment greeted this statement,
from all except the grandmother, who shuddered
in sympathy with the unfortunate hermit.

“Well?” asked Toto, “and what did he do
then?”

“Why,” said Bruin, “he crouched down in a
little heap on the ground, and squeezed himself
against the wall of the cave, evidently expecting
me to rush upon him and tear him to pieces;
I sat down in front of him and looked at him for
a few minutes; then, when I thought he had
had about enough, I walked past him into the
cave, and then he ran away. He has never made
me another visit.”

“No,” said the squirrel; “he went home to
his own cave at the other end of the wood, and
built a barricade round it, and didn’t put his nose
out of doors for a week after. I have a cousin
who lives in that neighborhood, and he told me
about it.”

“Have you ever been over there?” asked
Toto.

“Yes, indeed!” replied the squirrel, “hundreds
of times. I often go over to spend the day with
my cousin, and we amuse ourselves by dropping
nuts on the hermit’s head as he sits in front of
his cave. I know few things more amusing,” he
continued, turning to the grandmother, “than
dropping nuts on a bald head. You can make
bets as to how high they will go on the rebound.
Have you ever tried it, ma’am? sitting in a tree,
you know.”

“Never!” replied the grandmother with much
dignity. “In my youth it was not the custom
for gentlewomen to sit in trees for any purpose;
and if it had been, I trust I should have had more
respect for age and infirmity than to amuse myself
in the manner you suggest.”

The squirrel was somewhat abashed at this, and
scratched his ear to hide his embarrassment.

The pause which ensued gave the raccoon an
opportunity for which he had been waiting. He
addressed the grandmother in his most honeyed
accents:—

“Our ways, dear madam,” he said, “are necessarily
very different from yours. There must be
much in our woodland life that seems rough, and
possibly even savage, to a person of refinement
and culture like yourself. While we roam about
in the untutored forest” (“Hear! hear!” interrupted
the squirrel. “‘Untutored forest’ is
good!”), “you remain in the elegant atmosphere
of your polished home. While we fare hardly,
snatching a precarious and scanty subsistence from
roots and herbs, you, lapped in intellectual and
highly cultivated leisure, while away the hours by
manufacturing gingerbread and—a—jam.” The
raccoon here waved his tail, and gave Toto a look
whose craftiness cannot be described in words.

Toto took the hint. “Dear me!” he cried.
“Of course! how stupid of me! Grandmother, is
there any gingerbread in the house? My friends
have never tasted any, and I should like to give
them some of yours.”

“Certainly, my dear boy,” said the good old
lady; “by all means. I have just made some
this afternoon. Bring a good plateful, and bring
a pot of raspberry jam, too. Perhaps Mr. Coon
would like a little of that.”

Mr. Coon _did_ like a little of that. In fact, Mr.
Coon would have liked the whole pot, and would
have taken it, too, if it had not been for Toto,
who declared that it must be share and share
alike. He gave them each a spoon, and let them
help themselves in turn, observing the strictest
impartiality.

The feast seemed to be highly enjoyed by all.

“Well, Bruin, how do you like jam?” asked
Toto.

“Very much, very much indeed!” replied the
bear. “Something like honey, isn’t it, only entirely
different? What kind of creatures make it?
Butterflies?”

“Lady makes it herself, stupid!” muttered the
woodchuck, who was out of temper, having just
tried to get a spoonful out of turn, and failed.
“Didn’t you hear her say so? Butterflies never
make anything except butter.”

The little squirrel sat nibbling his gingerbread
in a state of great satisfaction. “Who’s to tell
the story next time?” he asked presently.

“Parrot,” answered the raccoon, with his mouth
full of jam. “Parrot promised ever so long ago
to tell us a story about Africa. Didn’t you,
Polly?”

The parrot drew herself up with an air of
offended dignity. “The gentlemen of my acquaintance,
Mr. Coon,” she said, “call me Miss
Mary. I am ‘Polly’ to a few intimates only.”

“Oh, indeed!” said the raccoon. “I beg your
pardon, Miss Mary. No offence, I trust?”

Miss Mary unbent a little, and condescended to
explain. “My real name,” she said, “is Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo;
but, not understanding
the subtleties of our African languages, I do
not expect you to pronounce that. ‘Miss Mary’
will do very well; though,” she added, “I _have_
been called Princess in happier days.”

“When was that?” inquired Toto. “Tell us
about it, Miss Mary.”

“No, no!” interrupted the bear. “No more
stories to-night. It is too late. We must be getting
home, or the owls will be after us.”

“To-morrow, then,” cried Toto. “Will you all
come to-morrow? Then we will hear the parrot’s
story.”

The animals all promised to come on the morrow,
and each in turn took leave of the grandmother,
thanking her for the treat they had had.
The bear, after making his best bow, led the way
towards the forest, followed by the raccoon, the
woodchuck, the squirrel, the parrot, and the wood-pigeon.
And soon the whole company disappeared
among the branches.




CHAPTER IV.


“I was born,” said the parrot, “in Africa.”

It was a lovely afternoon; and Toto’s
friends were again assembled around the cottage-door.
The parrot, as the story-teller of the day,
was perched in great state on the high back of an
old-fashioned easy-chair, which Toto had brought
out for his grandmother. The old lady sat quietly
knitting, with Bruin on one side of her, and Coon
on the other; while Toto lay on the grass at her
feet, alternately caressing the wood-pigeon and
poking the woodchuck to wake him up.

When the parrot said, “I was born in Africa,”
all the animals looked very wise, but said nothing;
so she added, “Of course, you all know where
Africa is.”

“Of course,” said the raccoon hastily; “certainly,
I should hope so! We know _where_ it is;
if you come to that, we know where it is.”

“Coon,” said Toto, laughing, “what a humbug
you are! How is Africa bounded, old fellow?
Tell us, if you know so well.”

“North by the Gulf States, south by Kalamazoo,
east by Mt. Everest, and west by the Straits of
Frangipanni,” replied the raccoon, without a
moment’s hesitation.

Miss Mary looked much disgusted. “Africa,”
she said, “as every person of _education_ knows
[with a withering glance at the raccoon], is the
exact centre of the universe. It is the most beautiful
of all lands,—a land of palm-trees and
crocodiles, ivory and gold-dust, sunny fountains
and—”

“Oh!” cried Toto eagerly, “excuse me for
interrupting, Miss Mary; but _are_ the sands really
golden? ‘Where Afric’s sunny fountains,’ you
know, ‘roll down their golden sands,’—is that
really true?”

“Certainly,” replied Miss Mary.

“Dear me, yes. A fountain wouldn’t be called
a fountain in Africa if it hadn’t golden sands. It
would be called a cucumber-wood pump,” suggested
the woodchuck drowsily.

“Toto,” said the parrot sharply, “if I am interrupted
any more, I shall go home. Will that
woodchuck be quiet, or will he not?”

“He will, he will!” cried Toto. “We will all
be very quiet, Miss Mary, and not say a word.
Pray go on.”

Miss Mary smoothed her feathers, which had
become quite ruffled, and continued,—

“I was not a common wild parrot,—I should
think not, indeed! My mother came of a distinguished
family, and was the favorite bird of the
great Bhughabhoo, King of Central Africa; and I,
as soon as I was fully fledged, became the pet and
darling of his only daughter, the Princess Polpetti.
Ah! happy, indeed, were the first years of my life!
I was the Princess’s constant companion. She
used to make songs in my honor, and sing them to
her royal father while he drank his rum-and-water.
They were lovely songs. Would you like to hear
one of them?”

All the company declared that it was the one
desire of their hearts. So, clearing her throat,
and cocking her head on one side, Miss Mary
sang:—


“‘Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo,

Fairest fowl that ever grew,

Fairest fowl that ever growed,

How you brighten my abode!

How you ornament the view,

Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo!


“‘Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo,

You have wit and beauty, too;

You can dance, and you can sing;

You can tie a pudding-string.

Is there aught you _cannot_ do,

Chamchamchamchamkickeryboo?’


“That was her opinion of my merits,” continued
the parrot modestly. “Indeed, it was the general
opinion.

“As I was saying, I was the Princess’s constant
companion. All day I followed her about, sitting
on her shoulder, or flying about her head. All
night I slept perched on her nose-ring, which she
always hung upon a hook when she went to bed.

“Ah! that nose-ring! I wish I had never seen
it. It was the cause of all my misfortunes,—of
my lovely Princess’s death and my own exile.
And yet it was a lovely thing in itself.

“I observe, madam,” continued the parrot, addressing
the grandmother, “that you wear no
nose-ring. Such a pity! There is no ornament
so becoming. In Africa it is a most important
article of dress,—I may say _the_ most important.
Can I not persuade you to try the effect?”

“Thank you,” replied the grandmother, smiling.
“I fear I am too old, Miss Mary, even if it were
the custom in this country to wear nose-rings,
which I believe it is not. But how was the Princess’s
nose-ring the cause of your misfortunes?
Pray tell us.”

The parrot looked sadly at the grandmother’s
nose, and shook her head. “Such a pity!” she repeated.
“It would be so becoming! You would
never regret it. However,” she added, “you shall
hear the rest of my sad story.

“The Princess’s nose-ring was, as you may infer
from the fact of my being able to swing in it, a
very large one. She was a connoisseur in nose-rings,
and had a large collection of them, of which
collection this was the gem. It was of beaten
gold, incrusted with precious stones. No other
nose in the kingdom could have sustained such
a weight; but hers—ah, hers was a nose in a
thousand.”

“Pardon me!” said the raccoon softly, “do I
understand that a long nose is considered a beauty
in Africa?”

“It is, indeed,” replied the parrot. “It is,
indeed. You would be much admired in Africa,
Mr. Coon.”

The raccoon looked sidewise at his sharp-pointed
nose, and stroked it complacently. “Ah!” he
observed, “I agree with you, Miss Mary, as to
Africa being the centre of the earth. Pray go
on.”

“I need hardly say,” continued the parrot,
“that the jewelled nose-ring was the envy of all
the other princesses for miles around. Foremost
among the envious ones was the Princess Panka, the
daughter of a neighboring king. She never could
have worn the nose-ring; her nose was less than
half an inch long, and she was altogether hideous;
but she wanted it, and she made up her mind to
get it by foul means, if fair ones would not do.
Accordingly she bribed the Princess’s bogghun.”

“The Princess’s _what_?” asked the bear.

“Bogghun,” repeated the parrot testily. “The
Princess’s bogghun! Don’t tell me you don’t
know what a bogghun is!”

“Well, I don’t,” replied sturdy Bruin; “and
what’s more, I don’t believe any one else does!”

The parrot looked around, but as no one seemed
inclined to give any information respecting bogghuns,
she continued, “The bogghun is a kind of
lizard, found only on the island of Bogghun-Chunka.
It is about five feet long, of a brilliant green color.
It invariably holds the end of its tail in its mouth,
and moves by rolling, while in this position, like a
child’s hoop. In fact, it is used as a hoop by
African children; hence the term ‘bogghun.’ It
feeds on the chunka, a triangular yellow beetle
found in the same locality; hence the name of the
island, Bogghun-Chunka.









“She caressed the bogghun.”



“The bogghun
is a treacherous
animal, as I have
found to my cost.
The one belonging
to my mistress was
a very beautiful
creature, and much beloved by her, yet he betrayed
her in the basest manner, as you shall hear.

“The Princess Panka, finding that the bogghun
was very fond of molasses candy, bribed him by
the offer of three pounds of that condiment to deliver
the Princess into her hands. The plot was
arranged, and the day set. On that day, as usual,
the bogghun rolled up to the door after dinner,
and the Princess, taking me on her shoulder,
went out for her usual afternoon play. She caressed
the bogghun,—ah! faithless wretch! how
could he bear the touch of that gentle hand?—and
then struck him lightly with her silver hoop-stick;
he rolled swiftly away, and we followed,
Polpetti bounding as lightly as a deer, while I
sat upon her shoulder, undisturbed by the rapid
motion.

“Away rolled the bogghun, away and away,
over the meadows and into the forest; away and
away bounded the Princess in pursuit. The golden
nose-ring flashed and glittered in the sunlight;
the golden bangles on her wrists and ankles
tinkled and rang their tiny bells as she went.
Faster and faster! faster and faster! The monkeys,
swinging by their tails from the branches,
chattered with astonishment at us; the wild
parrots screamed at us; all the birds sang and
chirped and twittered,—


‘Come! come! tweedle-dee-dum!

See! see! tweedle-de-dee!

Hi! hi! kikeriki!

They have no wings, and yet they fly.’


And truly we did seem to fly, so swift was our
motion. At length I became alarmed, and begged
the Princess to turn back. She had never before
gone so far in the forest unattended, I told her;
and there was no knowing what dangers might
lurk in its leafy depths. But, alas! she was too
much excited to listen to my remonstrances. On
and on rolled the treacherous bogghun, and on
and on she bounded in pursuit.

“Suddenly, as we went skimming across an open
glade, a sharp twang was heard: I saw a white
flash in the air; and the next moment I was
hurled violently to the ground. Recovering myself
in an instant, I saw my lovely Princess
stretched lifeless on the ground, with an arrow
quivering in her heart!

“At the same moment the bogghun stopped; and
out from the surrounding coppice rushed the Princess
Panka and her attendants.

“‘Where is my molasses candy?’ asked the
bogghun. Three of the attendants presented him
with three one-pound packages; and thus in a
moment I understood the whole villanous plot.
The Princess Panka rushed to where Polpetti lay,
and snatched the golden nose-ring from her lovely
nose. Fastening it in her own hideous snub, she
sprang to her feet with a shrill yell of triumph.
‘At last!’ she cried,—‘at last I have it!’

“‘Hideous witch!’ I exclaimed. ‘You have
no nose to wear it in! You are uglier than the
blue-faced monkey, or the toad with three tails.
The very sight of you makes the leaves drop off
the trees with horror. You odious, squint-eyed—’

“‘Catch that parrot!’ shrieked the enraged
Panka. ‘Wring that parrot’s neck! Pull his
feathers out! Let me get at him!’

“I rose in the air, and flying round her head, continued—‘Snub-nosed,
monkey-faced, bald-headed
[this adjective was not exactly correct, but I was
too angry to choose my words], hump-backed
_Ant-eater_!!!’ and with the last word, the most
opprobrious epithet that can be applied to an
African, I gave the creature a peck in the face
that sent her tumbling over backwards, and flew
off among the trees. A storm of arrows followed
me, but I escaped unhurt, and flying rapidly, was
soon far away from the spot.”









“‘Hideous witch!’ I exclaimed.”



Here the parrot paused to take breath, having
become quite excited in telling her story.

“Ahem!” said the woodchuck. “May I be permitted
to ask a question, Miss Mary?”

“Certainly,” replied the parrot graciously.
“What is it, Woodchuck?”

“Did I understand,” said the woodchuck cautiously,
“that the bogghun _never_ takes his tail out
of his mouth?”

“Never!” replied the parrot. “Never, upon
any occasion!”

“Then how,” asked Chucky, “did he eat the
molasses candy?”

“Woodchuck,” said the parrot, with great severity,
“the question does credit neither to your
head nor to your heart. I decline to answer
it!”

The woodchuck looked sulky, and scratched his
nose expressively. The raccoon, who had been
on the point of asking the same question himself,
frowned at him, and said he was ashamed of him.
“Pray continue your story, Miss Mary!” said he.
“I assure you we are all, with perhaps _one_ exception
[the woodchuck sniffed audibly], quite faint
with excitement and suspense. What became of
you after the Princess’s death?”

“I remained in the forest,” said the parrot. “I
could not go back to the village without the Princess;
the King would have put me to death if I
had made my appearance.

“For some time I lived alone, associating as little
as possible with the uneducated birds of the forest.
At length, finding my life very solitary, I accepted
the claw and heart of a rich and respectable green
parrot, who offered me a good home and the devotion
of a life-time. With him I passed several
quiet and happy years; but finally we were both
surprised and captured by a band of American
sailors, who had penetrated to this distance in the
forest in search of ivory. They treated us kindly,
and carried us miles and miles till we came to a
river, where other sailors were waiting with a
boat. In this we embarked, and after rowing for
several days, came to the mouth of the river, near
which their ship was waiting for them.

“In the confusion of boarding, my husband
managed to make his escape. He flew back to
the shore, calling to me to follow him; but, alas!
I was too closely guarded, and I never saw him
again. He was a very worthy parrot, and a kind
husband, though sometimes greedy in the matter
of snails.”

The parrot sighed, meditated for a few moments,
with her head on one side, on the virtues of her
departed lord, and then continued,—

“My life on board ship was a very pleasant one.
Petted and caressed by the sailors, I soon lost my
shyness, and became once more accustomed to the
society of men. I learned English quickly, and
could soon whistle ‘Yankee Doodle’ and ‘Three
Cheers for the Red, White, and Blue.’ One
phrase I objected very much to repeating, ‘Polly
wants a cracker.’ I disliked crackers extremely,
and could not endure the name of Polly; but for
some time I could not get anything to eat without
making this stupid remark.

“One day I received a shock which nearly
caused me to faint. I was sitting on the taffrail,
watching two of my particular friends, Joe Brown
and Simeon Plunkett, who were splicing ropes.
They always spliced better, I noticed, when my
eye was on them. They were talking about some
adventure in the forest, and suddenly I caught
the words, ‘golden nose-ring.’ I had been half
dozing; but this roused me at once, and I began
to listen with all my ears.”

“How many ears has she?” growled the woodchuck,
in a low tone.

“Twenty-five,” replied the raccoon, in the same
tone. “They are invisible to idiots, which is
probably the reason why you have never noticed
them.”

“‘How did you get that nose-ring?’ asked Joe
Brown. ‘You have begun to tell me once or
twice, and something has always stopped you.
Were there many of them lying around? I
shouldn’t mind having that myself.’

“Judge of my feelings when Simeon Plunkett,
before replying, pulled out from the breast of his
flannel shirt a huge golden ring, set with jewels,—_the_
identical golden nose-ring which had caused
the death of my lovely Princess. I shuddered,
and came very near falling from the taffrail; but,
composing myself, I listened eagerly, and heard
Simeon tell the other how, as he and his mates
were returning to their boat (he had been with a
second exploring party sent out from the ship),
they found a well, and stopped to fish in it.”

“To fish in a well?” interrupted Bruin. “What
did they do that for?”

“To see what they could catch,” replied the parrot.
“What do people fish for in this country?

“The first thing they caught was the body of
a young woman, with this golden ring in her nose.
Her feet were up, and her head was down; and altogether,
Simeon said, it was very evident that,
in stooping over either to drink or to admire her
beauty in the well, the weight of the ring had
overbalanced her, and caused her to fall in.

“When I heard this news I flapped my wings
and crowed, to the great astonishment of the
two sailors. My enemy was dead, and Polpetti
avenged. My joy was great, and I wanted to
thank Simeon Plunkett for being the bearer of
such good news; so I perched on his knee, and
sang him the sweetest song I knew,—a song
which had often brought tears to the eyes of my
lost husband. But he only said, ‘Princess [they
all called me Princess, I should observe], if any
other bird made such a row as that, I’d wring its
neck.’ The Americans, I find, have absolutely _no_
ear for music.

“We reached America after a pleasant and
prosperous voyage.









“But he only said, ‘Princess, if any other bird made such a row as that, I’d wring its neck.’”



“After that my adventures may be told in a
few words. Joe Brown presented me, as a great
treasure, to the captain’s wife, Mrs. Jeremy Jibb;
but I found her a most unpleasant person to live
with. She kept me in a cage,—a tin cage,—me,
the favorite companion of the Princess Royal of
Central Africa! She fed me on crackers, called
me Polly all the time, and treated me in a most
degrading manner generally. If I had been a
canary-bird, her manner could not have been more
insufferably patronizing. After enduring this life
for several weeks, I managed to make my escape
one day while Mrs. Jibb was cleaning my cage.
After a long flight, I reached this forest, in whose
pleasant retirement I have remained ever since.
Here I find society and snails, both of excellent
quality; and, with these, what more does one require?
And here I hope to pass the remainder
of my days.”

The parrot’s story, with the various pauses and
interruptions, had occupied a good deal of time;
and when it was finished the party broke up,
promising to reassemble on the following day.
Before they separated, Toto asked, as usual, who
was to tell the next story.

“Tell it yourself, Toto,” said the wood-pigeon;
and all the rest chimed in, “Yes, Toto shall tell
the next himself.” So it was settled; and they
all shook paws, and departed.




CHAPTER V.


THE next day it rained, so the party of friends
did not assemble as usual. The bear stayed
in his cave, sucking his paw, and listening to the
chatter of the squirrel, who came to spend the
day with him. The raccoon, after one look at
the weather, curled himself up in his tree-house
and went to sleep. As for the woodchuck, he
never woke up at all, for nobody came to wake
him, and he could not do it for himself.

Poor Toto was very disconsolate. He never
stayed indoors for an ordinary rain, but this was a
perfect deluge; so he stood by the window and
said, “Oh, dear! oh, _dear_!! oh, dear!!!” as if he
did not know how to say anything else.

His good grandmother bore this quietly for
some time; but at length she said, “Toto, do you
know what happened to the boy who said ‘Oh,
dear!’ too many times?”

“No!” said Toto, brightening up at the prospect
of a story. “What did happen to him? Tell
me, Granny, please!”

“Come and hold this skein of yarn for me,
then,” replied the grandmother, “and I will tell
you as I wind it.

“Once upon a time there was a boy—”

“What was his name?” interrupted Toto.

“Chimborazo,” replied the grandmother. “I
should have told you his real name in a moment,
if you had not interrupted me, but now I shall
call him Chimborazo, and that will be something
for you to remember.”

Toto blushed and hung his head.

“This boy,” continued the grandmother, “invariably
put the wrong foot out of bed first when
he got up in the morning, and consequently he
was always unhappy.”

“May I speak?” murmured Toto softly.

“Yes, you may speak,” said the old lady.
“What is it?”

“Please, grandmother,” said Toto, “which _is_ the
wrong foot?”

“Don’t you know which your right foot is?”
asked the grandmother.

“Why, yes, of course,” replied Toto.

“And do you know the difference between right
and wrong?”

“Why, yes, of course,” said Toto.

“Then,” said the grandmother, “you know
which the wrong foot is.

“As I was saying, Chimborazo was a very
unhappy boy. He pouted, and he sulked, and
he said, ‘Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh,
dear!’ He said it till everybody was tired of
hearing it.

“‘Chimborazo,’ his mother would say, ‘please
don’t say, “Oh, dear!” any more. It is very
annoying. Say something else.’

“‘Oh, dear!’ the boy would answer, ‘I can’t!
I don’t know anything else to say. Oh, dear! oh,
_dear_!! oh, dear!!!’

“So one day his mother could not bear it any
longer, and she sent for his fairy godmother, and
told her all about it.

“‘Humph!’ said the fairy godmother. ‘I will
see to it. Send the boy to me!’

“So Chimborazo was sent for, and came, hanging
his head as usual. When he saw his fairy
godmother, he said, ‘Oh, dear!’ for he was rather
afraid of her.

“‘“Oh, dear!” it is!’ said the godmother
sharply; and she put on her spectacles and looked
at him. ‘Do you know what a bell-punch is?’

“‘Oh, dear!’ said Chimborazo. ‘No, ma’am, I
don’t!’

“‘Well,’ said the godmother, ‘I am going to
give you one.’

“‘Oh, dear!’ said Chimborazo, ‘I don’t want
one.’

“‘Probably not,’ replied she, ‘but that doesn’t
make much difference. You have it now, in your
jacket pocket.’

“Chimborazo felt in his pocket, and took out a
queer-looking instrument of shining metal. ‘Oh,
dear!’ he said.

“‘“Oh, dear!” it is!’ said the fairy godmother.
‘Now,’ she continued, ‘listen to me, Chimborazo!
I am going to put you on an allowance of “Oh,
dears.” This is a self-acting bell-punch, and it
will ring whenever you say “Oh, dear!” How
many times do you generally say it in the course
of the day?’

“‘Oh, dear!’ said Chimborazo, ‘I don’t know.
Oh, _dear_!’

“‘_Ting! ting!_’ the bell-punch rang twice sharply;
and looking at it in dismay, he saw two little
round holes punched in a long slip of pasteboard
which was fastened to the instrument.

“‘Exactly!’ said the fairy. ‘That is the way
it works, and a very pretty way, too. Now, my
boy, I am going to make you a very liberal allowance.
You may say “Oh, dear!” forty-five times
a day. There’s liberality for you!’

“‘Oh, dear!’ cried Chimborazo, ‘I—’

“‘_Ting!_’ said the bell-punch.

“‘You see!’ observed the fairy. ‘Nothing
could be prettier. You have now had three of
this day’s allowance. It is still some hours before
noon, so I advise you to be careful. If you exceed
the allowance—’ Here she paused, and
glowered through her spectacles in a very dreadful
manner.

“‘Oh, dear!’ cried Chimborazo. ‘What will
happen then?’

“‘You will see!’ said the fairy godmother, with
a nod. ‘_Something_ will happen, you may be very
sure of that. Good-by. Remember, only forty-five!’
And away she flew out of the window.

“‘Oh, dear!’ cried Chimborazo, bursting into
tears. ‘I don’t want it! I won’t have it! Oh,
_dear_! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!!!’









“Good-by. Remember, only forty-five!”



“‘Ting! ting! ting-ting-ting-_ting_!’ said the bell-punch;
and now there were ten round holes in
the strip of pasteboard. Chimborazo was now
really frightened. He was silent for some time;
and when his mother called him to his lessons he
tried very hard not to say the dangerous words.
But the habit was so strong that he said them unconsciously.
By dinner-time there were twenty-five
holes in the cardboard strip; by tea-time there
were forty! Poor Chimborazo! he was afraid to
open his lips, for whenever he did the words would
slip out in spite of him.

“‘Well, Chimbo,’ said his father after tea, ‘I
hear you have had a visit from your fairy godmother.
What did she say to you, eh?’

“‘Oh, dear!’ said Chimborazo, ‘she said—oh,
dear! I’ve said it again!’

“‘She said, “Oh, dear! I’ve said it again!”’
repeated his father. ‘What do you mean by
that?’

“‘Oh, dear! I didn’t mean that,’ cried Chimborazo
hastily; and again the inexorable bell rang,
and he knew that another hole was punched in
the fatal cardboard. He pressed his lips firmly
together, and did not open them again except to
say ‘Good-night,’ until he was safe in his own
room. Then he hastily drew the hated bell-punch
from his pocket, and counted the holes in the strip
of cardboard; there were forty-three! ‘Oh,
_dear_!’ cried the boy, forgetting himself again
in his alarm, ‘only two more! Oh, _dear_! oh,
dear! I’ve done it again! oh—’ ‘Ting! ting!’
went the bell-punch; and the cardboard was
punched to the end. ‘Oh, dear!’ cried Chimborazo,
now beside himself with terror. ‘Oh, dear!
oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, _dear_!! what will become
of me?’

“A strange whirring noise was heard, then a loud
clang; and the next moment the bell-punch, as if
it were alive, flew out of his hand, out of the
window, and was gone!

“Chimborazo stood breathless with terror for a
few minutes, momentarily expecting that the roof
would fall in on his head, or the floor blow up
under his feet, or some appalling catastrophe of
some kind follow; but nothing followed. Everything
was quiet, and there seemed to be nothing
to do but go to bed; so to bed he went, and
slept, only to dream that he was shot through
the head with a bell-punch, and died saying, ‘Oh,
dear!’

“The next morning, when Chimborazo came
downstairs, his father said, ‘My boy, I am going
to drive over to your grandfather’s farm this morning;
would you like to go with me?’

“A drive to the farm was one of the greatest
pleasures Chimborazo had, so he answered promptly,
‘Oh, _dear_!’

“‘Oh, very well!’ said his father, looking much
surprised. ‘You need not go, my son, if you do
not want to. I will take Robert instead.’

“Poor Chimborazo! He had opened his lips to
say, ‘Thank you, papa. I should like to go _very_
much!’ and, instead of these words, out had
popped, in his most doleful tone, the now hated
‘Oh, dear!’ He sat amazed; but was roused by
his mother’s calling him to breakfast.

“‘Come, Chimbo,’ she said. ‘Here are sausages
and scrambled eggs; and you are very fond of
both of them. Which will you have?’

“Chimborazo hastened to say, ‘Sausages, please,
mamma,’—that is, he hastened to _try_ to say it;
but all his mother heard was, ‘Oh, _dear_!’

“His father looked much displeased. ‘Give the
boy some bread and water, wife,’ he said sternly.
‘If he cannot answer properly, he must be taught.
I have had enough of this “Oh, dear!” business.’

“Poor Chimborazo! He saw plainly enough
now what his punishment was to be; and the
thought of it made him tremble. He tried to ask
for some more bread, but only brought out his
‘Oh, _dear_!’ in such a lamentable tone that his
father ordered him to leave the room. He went
out into the garden, and there he met John the
gardener, carrying a basket of rosy apples. Oh!
how good they looked!

“‘I am bringing some of the finest apples up
to the house, little master,’ said John. ‘Will you
have one to put in your pocket?’

“‘Oh, _dear_!’ was all the poor boy could say,
though he wanted an apple, oh, so much! And
when John heard that he put the apple back in
his basket, muttering something about ungrateful
monkeys.

“Poor Chimborazo! I will not give the whole
history of that miserable day,—a miserable day it
was from beginning to end. He fared no better
at dinner than at breakfast; for at the second
‘Oh, dear!’ his father sent him up to his room,
‘to stay there until he knew how to take what
was given him, and be thankful for it.’ He knew
well enough by this time; but he could not tell his
father so. He went to his room, and sat looking
out of the window, a hungry and miserable
boy.

“In the afternoon his cousin Will came up to
see him. ‘Why, Chimbo!’ he cried. ‘Why do
you sit moping here in the house, when all the
boys are out? Come and play marbles with me on
the piazza. Ned and Harry are out there waiting
for you. Come on!’

“‘Oh, dear!’ said Chimborazo.

“‘What’s the matter?’ asked Will. ‘Haven’t
you any marbles? Never mind. I’ll give you
half of mine, if you like. Come!’

“‘Oh, dear!’ said Chimborazo.

“‘Well,’ said Will, ‘if that’s all you have to say
when I offer you marbles, I’ll keep them myself.
I suppose you expected me to give you all of
them, did you? I never saw such a fellow!’ and
off he went in a huff.


“‘Well, Chimborazo,’ said the fairy godmother,
‘what do you think of “Oh, dear!” now?’









“Touching his lips with her wand.”



“Chimborazo looked at her beseechingly, but
said nothing.

“‘Finding that forty-five times was not enough
for you yesterday, I thought I would let you have
all you wanted to-day, you see,’ said the fairy
wickedly.

“The boy still looked imploringly at her, but
did not open his lips.

“‘Well, well,’ she said at last, touching his lips
with her wand, ‘I think that is enough in the way
of punishment, though I am sorry you broke the
bell-punch. Good-by! I don’t believe you will
say “Oh, dear!” any more.’

“And he didn’t.”




CHAPTER VI.


THE rain continued for several days; and
though Toto, mindful of the sad story of
Chimborazo, tried hard not to say “Oh, dear!”
still he found the time hang very heavy on his
hands. On the fourth day, however, the clouds
broke away, and the sun came out bright and
beautiful. Toto snatched up his cap, kissed his
grandmother, and flew off to the forest. Oh, how
glad he was to be out of doors again, and how
glad everything seemed to be to see him! All
the trees shook down pearls and diamonds on
him (very wet ones they were, but he did not
mind that), the birds sang to him, the flowers
nodded to him, the sunbeams twinkled at him;
everything seemed to say, “How are you, Toto?
Hasn’t it been a lovely rain, and aren’t you glad
it is over?”

He went straight to the forest pool, hoping to
find some of his companions there. Sure enough,
there was the raccoon, sitting by the edge of the
pool, making his toilet, and stopping every now
and then to gaze admiringly at himself in the
clear mirror.

“Good-morning, Coon!” said Toto; “admiring
your beauty as usual, eh?”

“Well, Toto,” replied the raccoon complacently,
“my view of the matter is this: what is the use
of having beauty if you don’t admire it? That is
what it’s for, I suppose.”

“I suppose so,” assented Toto.

“And you can’t expect other people to admire
you if you don’t admire yourself!” added the raccoon
impressively. “Remember that! How’s
your grandmother?”

“She’s very well,” replied Toto, “and she
hopes to see you all this afternoon. She has
made a new kind of gingerbread, and she wants
you to try it. I have tried it, and it is very good
indeed.”

“Your grandmother,” said the raccoon, “is in
many respects the most delightful person I have
ever met. I, for one, will come with pleasure. I
can’t tell about the rest; haven’t seen them for
a day or two. Suppose we go and hunt them
up.”

“With all my heart!” said Toto.

They had not gone far before they met the
wood-pigeon flying along with a bunch of berries
in her bill.

“Where are you going, Pigeon Pretty?” inquired
Toto; “and who is to have those nice berries?
I am sure they are not for yourself; I
believe you never get anything for yourself, you
are so busy helping others.”

“These berries are for poor Chucky,” replied
the wood-pigeon. “Ah, Coon,” she added reproachfully,
“how could you hurt the poor fellow
so? He is really ill this morning in consequence.”

“What have you been doing to Chucky, you
naughty Coon?” asked Toto. “Biting his nose
off?”

“Oh, no!” said the raccoon, looking rather
guilty, in spite of his assurance. “Dear me, no!
I didn’t bite it _off_. Certainly not! I—I just bit
it a little, don’t you know! it was raining, and I
hadn’t anything else to do; and he was _so_ sound
asleep, it was a great temptation. But I won’t do
it again, Pigeon Pretty,” he added cheerfully, “I
won’t really. Take him the berries, with my love,
and say I hope they will do him good!” and
with a crafty wink, Master Coon trotted on with
Toto, while Pigeon Pretty flew off in the opposite
direction.

They soon arrived at the mouth of the bear’s
cave, and looking in, saw the worthy Bruin
quietly playing backgammon with his devoted
friend Cracker. The latter was chattering as
usual. “And so _I_ said to him,” he was saying
as Toto and Coon approached, “‘_I_ think it is a
mean trick, and I’ll have nothing to do with it.
And what is more, I’ll put a stop to it if I can!’
So he said he’d like to see me do it, and flounced
off into the water.”

“Humph!” said Bruin, “I never did think
much of that muskrat.”

“What’s all this?” asked the raccoon, walking
in. “Anything the matter, Cracker?”









“Bruin playing backgammon with his friend Cracker.”



“Good-morning, Coon!” said Bruin. “Morning,
Toto! Sit down, both of you. Cracker was
just telling me—”

“It is that muskrat that lives in the pool, you
know, Coon!” broke in the squirrel excitedly.
“He wants to marry the Widow Bullfrog’s
daughter, and she won’t have him, because she’s
engaged to young Mud Turtle. So now the
muskrat has contrived a plan for carrying her off
to-night whether she will or no; and if you will
believe it, he came to _me_ and asked me to help
him,—me, the head squirrel of the whole forest!”
and little Cracker whisked his tail about fiercely,
and looked as if he could devour a whole army of
muskrats.

“Don’t frighten us, Cracker!” said the raccoon,
with a look of mock terror. “I shall faint
if you look so ferocious. I shall, indeed! Hold
me, Toto!”

“Now, Coon, you know I won’t have Cracker
teased!” growled the bear. “He’s a good little
fellow, and if he wants to help the Widow Bullfrog
out of this scrape, he shall. I believe she
is a very respectable person. Now, I don’t know
whether I can do anything about it myself. I’m
rather large, you see, and it won’t do for me to
go paddling about in the pool and getting the
water all muddy.”

“Certainly not!” said the squirrel, “you dear
old monster. I should as soon think of asking
the mountain to come and hunt mosquitoes. But
Coon, now—”

“Oh, I’m ready!” exclaimed the raccoon.
“Delighted, I’m sure, to do anything I can.
What shall I do to the muskrat? Eat him?”

“I suppose that would be the easiest thing to
do,” said the bear. “What do you say,
Cracker?”

“He is very hard to catch,” replied the squirrel.
“In fact, you _cannot_ catch a muskrat unless you
put tar on his nose.”

“That is true,” said the raccoon. “I had
forgotten that, and I haven’t any tar just
now. Would pitch or turpentine do as well,
do you think? They all begin with ‘A’, you
know.”

“I’m afraid not!” said the squirrel. “‘Tar
to catch a Tartar,’ as the old saying goes; and
the muskrat is certainly a Tartar.”

“Look here!” said Toto, “I think we have
some tar at home, in the shed. I am quite sure
there is some.”

“Really?” said the squirrel, brightening up.
“Good boy, Toto! Tell me where I can find it,
and I’ll go and get it.”

“No!” said Toto. “It’s in a bucket, and you
couldn’t carry it, Cracker! I’ll go and fetch it,
while you and Coon are arranging your plan of
action.”

So away ran Toto, and the squirrel and the
raccoon sat down to consult.

“The first thing to do,” said Coon, “is to get
the muskrat out of his hole. Now, my advice is
this: do you go to Mrs. Bullfrog, and borrow an
old overcoat of her husband’s.”

“Husband’s dead,” said the bear.

“That’s no reason why his overcoat should be
dead, stupid!” replied the raccoon. “It isn’t
likely that he was buried in his overcoat, and it
isn’t likely that she has cut it up for a riding-habit.
Borrow the overcoat,” he continued, turning
to the squirrel again, “and put it on. Old
Bullfrog was a very big fellow, and I think you
can get it on. Then you can sit on a stone and
whistle like a frog.”

“I can’t sit down in a frog’s overcoat!” objected
the squirrel. “I know I can’t. It’s not
the right shape, and I don’t sit down in that way.
And I can’t whistle like a frog either.”

“Dear me!” said the raccoon peevishly. “What
_can_ you do? I am sure _I_ could sit down in any
coat I could wear at all. Well, then,” he added
after a pause, “you can _stand_ on a stone, and _look_
like a frog. I suppose you can do that?”

“I suppose so,” said Cracker, dubiously.

“And Toto,” continued the raccoon, “can hide
himself in the reeds on one side of you, and I on
the other. Toto whistles beautifully, and he can
imitate Miss Bullfrog’s voice to perfection. The
muskrat will be sure to come up when he hears
it, and the moment he pops his head out of the
water, you can drop some tar on his nose, and
_then_—”

“Then what?” asked the squirrel anxiously.

“I will attend to the rest of it,” said Coon, with
a wink. “See that I have cards to the Mud Turtle’s
wedding, will you? Here comes Toto,” he
added, “with tar enough to catch fifty muskrats.
Off with you, Cracker, and ask the Widow Frog
for the overcoat.”

The squirrel disappeared among the bushes, and
at the same time Toto came running up with the
tar-bucket.

“Well,” he said breathlessly, “is it all arranged?
Oh! I ran all the way, and I am _so_ tired!” and
he dropped down on a mossy seat, and fanned
himself with his cap.

Bruin brought a piece of honeycomb to refresh
him, and Coon told him the proposed plan, which
delighted the boy greatly.

“And I am to do the whistling?” he exclaimed.
“I must practise a bit, for I have not
done any frog-whistling for some time.” And
with that he began to whistle in such a wonderfully
frog-like way, that Bruin almost thought he
must have swallowed a frog.

“How do you do that, Toto?” he asked. “I
wish I could learn. You just purse your mouth up
so, eh? Ugh! wah! woonk!” And the bear gave
a series of most surprising grunts and growls, accompanied
with such singular grimaces that both
Toto and the raccoon rolled over on the ground in
convulsions of laughter.

“My dear Bruin,” cried Toto, as soon as he
could regain a little composure, “I don’t think—ha!
ha! ha!—I really do _not_ think you will ever
be mistaken for a frog.”

“Ho! ho! ho!” cried the raccoon, bursting into
another fit of laughter as he looked towards the
mouth of the cave. “Look at Cracker. Oh, my
eye! _will_ you look at Cracker? Oh, dear me! I
shall certainly die if I laugh any more. Ho! ho!”

Bruin and Toto turned, and saw the squirrel
hobbling in, dressed in a green frog-skin, and looking—well,
did you ever see a squirrel in a frog-skin?
No? Then you never saw the funniest
thing in the world.

Poor Cracker, however, seemed to see no fun in
it at all. “It’s all very well for you fellows to
laugh,” he said ruefully. “I wonder how you
would like to be pinched up in an abominable, ill-fitting
thing like this? Ugh! I wouldn’t be a
frog for all the beechnuts in the world. Come
on!” he added sharply. “Let us get the matter
over, and have done with it. I can’t stand this
long.”

Accordingly the three started off, leaving Bruin
shaking his head and chuckling at the mouth of
the cave.

Arrived at the pool, they stationed themselves
as had been previously arranged: the squirrel on
a large stone at the very edge of the pool, with
the tar-bucket beside him; the raccoon crouching
among the tall reeds on one side of the stone,
while Toto lay closely hidden on the other, behind
a clump of tall ferns.

When all was ready, Toto began to whistle.
At first he whistled very softly, but gradually the
notes swelled, growing clearer and shriller, till
they seemed to fill the air.

Presently a ripple was seen in the clear water,
and the sharp black nose of a muskrat appeared
above the surface. “Lovely creature!” exclaimed
the muskrat. “Adored Miss Bullfrog, is it possible
that you have
changed your mind, and
decided to listen to
my suit?”









“‘Oh, rapture!’ cried the muskrat.”



“I have,” said the squirrel softly.

“Oh, rapture!” cried the muskrat. “Come,
then, at once with me! Let us fly, or rather
swim, before your tyrannical parent discovers us!
Leap down, my lovely one, with your accustomed
grace and agility, into the arms of your
faithful, your adoring muskrat! Come!”

“You must come a little nearer,” whispered
the squirrel coyly. “I want to be sure that it is
_really_ you; such a sudden step, you know! Please
put your whole head out, my love, that I may be
_quite_ sure of you!”

The eager muskrat thrust his head out of
the water; and plump! the squirrel dropped the
tar on the end of his nose.

The muskrat gave a wild shriek, and plunging
his nose among the rushes on the bank, tried to rub
off the tar. But, alas! the tar stuck to the rushes,
and his nose stuck to the tar, and there he was!

At that instant the raccoon leaped from his
hiding-place.

Toto, still concealed behind the clump of ferns,
heard the noise of a violent struggle; then came
several short squeaks; then a crunching noise; and
then silence. Coming out from his hiding-place,
he saw the raccoon sitting quietly on a stone, licking
his chops, and smoothing his ruffled fur.

He smiled sweetly at Toto, and said, “It’s
all right, my boy! you whistled beautifully;
couldn’t have done it better myself!” (N. B.
Coon’s whistling powers were nearly equal to
those of the bear.)

“But where is the muskrat?” asked Toto, bewildered.
“What have you done with him?”

“Eaten him, my dear!” replied Coon, benignly.
“It is always the best plan in any case of this sort;
saves trouble, you see, and prevents any further
inquiry in the matter; besides, I was always
taught in my youth never to waste anything.
The flavor was not all I could have wished,” he
added, “and there was more or less stringiness;
but what will not one do in the cause of friendship!
Don’t mention it, Cracker, my boy! I
am sure you would have done as much for me.
And now let us help you off with the overcoat of
the late lamented Bullfrog; for to speak in perfect
frankness, Cracker, it is _not_ what one would call
becoming to your style of beauty.”




CHAPTER VII.


ON account of the woodchuck’s illness, and at
the special request of Pigeon Pretty, the
story-telling was postponed for a day or two.
Very soon, however, Chucky recovered sufficiently
to ride as far as the cottage on Bruin’s
back; and on a fine afternoon the friends were
all once more assembled, and waiting for Toto’s
story.

“I don’t know any long stories,” said Toto,
“at least not well enough to tell them; so
I will tell two short ones instead. Will that
do?”

“Just as well,” said the raccoon. “Five minutes
for refreshments between the two, did you
say? My view precisely.”

Toto smiled, and began the story of

THE TRAVELLER, THE COOK, AND THE LITTLE
OLD MAN.


Once upon a time there was a little old man
who lived in a well. He was a very small little
old man, and the well was very deep; and the
only reason why he lived there was because he
could not get out. Indeed, what better reason
could he have?

He had long white hair, and a long red nose,
and a long green coat; and this was all he had in
the world, except a three-legged stool, a large
iron kettle, and a cook. There was not room in
the well for the cook; so she lived on the ground
above, and cooked the little old man’s dinner and
supper in the iron kettle, and lowered them down
to him in the bucket; and the little old man sat
on the three-legged stool, and ate whatever the
cook sent down to him, with a cheerful heart,
if it was good; and so things went on very
pleasantly.









“The old man thought it was raining.”



But one day it happened that the cook could
not find anything for the old man’s dinner. She
looked high, and she looked
low, but nothing could she
find; so she was very unhappy;
for she knew her
master would be miserable
if he had no
dinner. She sat
down by the
well, and wept
bitterly; and her
tears fell into the
well so fast that
the little old man
thought it was
raining, and put
up a red cotton
umbrella, which
he borrowed for
the occasion. You may wonder where he borrowed
it; but I cannot tell you, because I do not
know.

Now, at that moment a traveller happened to
pass by, and when he saw the cook sitting by the
well and weeping, he stopped, and asked her what
was the matter. So the cook told him that she
was weeping because she could not find anything
to cook for her master’s dinner.

“And who is your master?” asked the traveller.

“He is a little old man,” replied the cook;
“and he lives down in this well.”

“Why does he live there?” inquired the traveller.

“I do not know,” answered the cook; “I never
asked him.”

“He must be a singular person,” said the traveller.
“I should like to see him. What does he
look like?”

But this the cook could not tell him; for she
had never seen the little old man, having come to
work for him after he had gone down to live in
the well.

“Does he like to receive visitors?” asked the
traveller.

“Don’t know,” said the cook. “He has never
had any to receive since I have been here.”

“Humph!” said the other. “I think I will go
down and pay my respects to him. Will you let
me down in the bucket?”

“But suppose he should mistake you for his
dinner, and eat you up?” the cook suggested.

“Pooh!” he replied. “No fear of that; I can
take care of myself. And as for his dinner,” he
added, “get him some radishes. There are plenty
about here. I had nothing but radishes for my
dinner, and very good they were, though rather
biting. Let down the bucket, please! I am all
right.”

“What are radishes?” the cook called after him
as he went down.

“Long red things, stupid! with green leaves to
them!” he shouted; and then, in a moment, he
found himself at the bottom of the well.

The little old man was delighted to see him, and
told him that he had lived down there forty years,
and had never had a visitor before in all that time.

“Why do you live down here?” inquired the
traveller.

“Because I cannot get out,” replied the little
old man.

“But how did you get down here in the first
place?”

“Really,” he said, “it is so long ago that I
hardly remember. My impression is, however,
that I came down in the bucket.”

“Then why, in the name of common-sense,”
said the traveller, “don’t you go _up_ in the
bucket?”

The little old man sprang up from the three-legged
stool, and flung his arms around the
traveller’s neck. “My _dear_ friend!” he cried rapturously.
“My precious benefactor! Thank you
a thousand times for those words! I assure you
I never thought of it before! I will go up at
once. You will excuse me?”

“Certainly,” said the traveller. “Go up first,
and I will follow you.”

The little old man got into the bucket, and was
drawn up to the top of the well. But, alas!
when the cook saw his long red nose and his
long green coat, she said to herself, “This must
be a radish! How lucky I am!” and seizing the
poor little old man, she popped him into the
kettle without more ado. Then she let the bucket
down for the traveller, calling to him to make
haste, as she wanted to send down her master’s
dinner.









“’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good!”



Up came the traveller, and looking around,
asked where her master was.

“Where should he be,” said the cook, “but at
the bottom of the well, where you left him?”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed the traveller.
“He has just come up in the bucket!”

“_Oh!_” cried the cook. “Oh! _oh!!_ o-o-o-h!!!
was that my master? Why, I thought he was
a radish, and I have boiled him for his own
dinner!”

“I hope he will have a good appetite!” said
the traveller.

The cook was a good woman, and her grief was
so excessive that she fell into the kettle and was
boiled too.

Then the traveller, who had formerly been an
ogre by profession, said, “’Tis an ill wind that
blows nobody any good! My dinner was very
insufficient;” and he ate both the little old man
and the cook, and proceeded on his journey with
a cheerful heart.


“The traveller was a sensible man,” said Bruin.
“Did you make up that story, Toto?”

“Yes,” replied Toto. “I made it up the other
day,—one of those rainy days. I found a forked
radish in the bunch we had for tea, and it had a
kind of nose, and looked just like a funny little
red man. So I thought that if there was a radish
that looked like a man, there might be a man that
looked like a radish, you see. And now—”

“Ahem!” said the raccoon softly. “_Did_ you
say five minutes for refreshments, Toto, or did I
misunderstand you?” and he winked at the company
in a very expressive manner.

Toto ran to get the gingerbread; and for some
time sounds of crunching and nibbling were the
only ones that were heard, except the constant
“click, click,” of the grandmother’s needles.
Bruin sat for some time watching in silence the
endless crossing and re-crossing of the shining bits
of steel. Presently he said in a timid growl,—

“Excuse me, ma’am; do you make the gingerbread
with those things?”

“With what things, Mr. Bruin?” asked the
grandmother.

“Those bright things that go clickety-clack,”
said the bear. “I see some soft brown stuff on
them, just about the color of the gingerbread, and
I thought possibly—”

“Oh,” said the grandmother, smiling, “you
mean my knitting. No, Mr. Bruin, gingerbread
is made in a very different way. I mix it in
a bowl, with a spoon, and then I put it in a
pan, and bake it in the oven. Do you understand?”

Poor Bruin rubbed his nose, and looked helplessly
at Coon. The latter, however, merely
grinned diabolically at him, and said nothing;
so he was obliged to answer the grandmother
himself.

“Oh, of course,” he said. “If you mix it with
a _spoon_, I should say certainly. As far as a spoon
goes, you know, I—ah—quite correct, I’m sure.”
Here the poor fellow subsided into a vague murmur,
and glared savagely at the raccoon.

But now the gentle wood-pigeon interposed,
with her soft, cooing voice. “Toto,” she said,
“were we not promised two stories to-day? Tell
us the other one now, dear boy, for the shadows
are beginning to lengthen.”

“I made this story myself, too,” said Toto,
“and it is called

THE AMBITIOUS ROCKING-HORSE.


There was once a rocking-horse, but he did not
want to be a rocking-horse. He wanted to be a
trotter. So he went to a jockey—

“What’s a jockey?” inquired the bear.

A man who drives fast and tells lies.

He went to a jockey and asked him if he would
like to buy a trotter.

“Where is your trotter?” asked the jockey.

“Me’s him,” said the rocking-horse. That was
all the grammar he knew.

“Oh!” said the jockey. “You are the trotter,
eh?”

“Yes,” said the rocking-horse. “What will you
give me for myself?”

“A bushel of shavings,” said the jockey.

The rocking-horse thought that was better than
nothing, so he sold himself. Then the jockey
took him to another jockey who was blind, and
told him (the blind jockey) that this was the Sky-born
Snorter of the Sarsaparillas, and that he
could trot two miles in a minute. So the blind
jockey bought him, and paid ten thousand dollars
for him.









“‘Me’s him,’ said the rocking-horse.”



There was a race the next day, and the blind
jockey took the Sky-born Snorter to the race-course,
and started him with the other horses.
The other horses trotted away round the course,
but the Sky-born Snorter stayed just where he
was, and rocked; and when the other horses came
round the turn, there he was waiting for them at
the judge’s stand. So he won the race; and the
judge gave the prize, which was a white buffalo,
to the blind jockey.

The jockey put the Sky-born Snorter in the
stable, and then went to get his white buffalo;
and while he was gone, the other jockeys came
into the stable to see the new horse.

“Why, he’s a rocking-horse!” said one of
them.

“Hush!” said the Sky-born Snorter. “Yes, I
am a rocking-horse, but don’t tell my master. He
doesn’t know it, and he paid ten thousand dollars
for me.”

“Whom did he pay it to?” asked the jockeys.

“To the other jockey, who bought me from
myself,” replied the Snorter.

“Oh! and what did _he_ give for you?”

“A bushel of shavings,” said the Snorter.

“Ah!” said one of the jockeys. “A bushel of
shavings, eh? Now, how would you like to have
those shavings turned into gold?”

“Very much indeed!” cried the Sky-born.

“Well,” said the jockey, “bring them here, and
we will change them for you.”

So the rocking-horse went and fetched the shavings,
and the jockeys set fire to them. The flames
shot up, bright and yellow.

“See!” cried the jockeys. “The shavings are
all turned into gold. Now we will see what we
can do for you.” And they took the Sky-born
Snorter and put him in the fire, and he turned
into gold too, and was all burned up. And the
blind jockey drove the white buffalo all the rest
of his life, and never knew the difference.

Moral: don’t be ambitious.


They all laughed heartily at the fate of the Sky-born
Snorter; and the wood-pigeon said, “Both
your stories have a most melancholy ending, Toto.
One hero boiled and eaten up, and the other
burned! It is quite dreadful. I think I must
tell the next story myself, and I shall be sure to
tell one that ends cheerfully.”

“Yes, yes!” cried all the others. “Pigeon
Pretty shall be the next story-teller!”

“And now,” continued the pigeon, “my Chucky
must go home to his supper, for he is not well yet,
by any means, and must be very careful of himself.
Climb up on Bruin’s back, Chucky dear!
so, that is right. Good-night, Toto. Good-night,
dear madam. Now home again, all!” and flying
round and round the bear’s head, Pigeon Pretty
led the way towards the forest.




CHAPTER VIII.


“IS this one of your own stories that you are
going to tell us, Pigeon Pretty?” inquired
the squirrel, when they were next assembled
around the cottage door.

“No,” replied the wood-pigeon. “This is a
story I heard a short time ago. I was flying
home, after paying a visit to some cousins of mine
who live in a village some miles away. As I
passed by a pretty white cottage, something like
this, I noticed that there were crumbs scattered
on one of the window-sills. ‘Here lives somebody
who is fond of birds!’ said I to myself, and as I
was rather hungry, I stopped to pick up some of
the crumbs. The window was open, and looking
in, I saw a pretty and neatly furnished room.
Near the window was a bed, in which lay a boy of
about Toto’s age. He was evidently ill, for he
had a bandage tied round his head, and he looked
pale and thin. Beside the bed sat a little girl,
apparently a year or two older; a sweet, pretty
girl, as one would wish to see. She was reading
aloud to her brother (I suppose he was her
brother) from a large red book. Neither of the
children noticed me, so I sat on the window-sill
for some time, and heard the whole of this story,
which you shall now hear in your turn. It is
called

THE STORY OF THE TAIL OF THE BARON’S
WAR-HORSE.


Many years ago there lived a Baron, famous
in peace and war, but chiefly in the latter. War
was his great delight, fighting his natural occupation;
and he was never so much in his element as
when leading his valiant troops to battle, mounted
on his noble iron-gray charger. Ah! what a
charger that was!—stately and strong, swift and
sure, fiery and bold, yet ready to obey his master’s
lightest touch or softest word; briefly, a horse in
ten thousand. Right proud the Baron was of his
gallant steed; and right well did they love each
other, horse and master.

The vassals of the Baron knew no greater
pleasure than to see their lord ride by mounted on
Gray Berold; it filled their souls with joy, and
caused them to throw up their caps and shout
“Hi!” in a hilarious manner. As for the lovely
Ermengarde, the Baron’s young and beautiful
wife, she would far rather have gone without her
dinner than have missed the sight. Whenever
Gray Berold was brought to the door, she hastened
out, and overwhelmed him with caresses
and words of endearment, proffering meanwhile
the toothsome sugar and the crisp and sprightly
apple, neither of which the engaging animal disdained
to accept. In truth, it was a goodly sight
to see the golden locks of the lady (for was she
not known in all the country as Ermengarde of
the Fair Tresses?) mingling with the wavy silver
of the charger’s mane as he bent his head lovingly
over his fair young mistress,—a goodly sight,
and one which often sent the bold Baron rejoicing
on his way, with a tender smile on his otherwise
slightly ferocious countenance.

It chanced one day that a great tournament
was about to take place in the neighborhood. All
the knights in the country round, and many bold
champions from a greater distance, were to show
their prowess in riding at the ring, and in friendly
combat with each other. Among the gallant
knights, who so ready for the tournament as our
bold Baron? He fairly pranced for the fray; for
there had been no war for two months, and he was
very weary of the long peaceful days. He had
been practising for a week past, riding at any
number of rings of different sizes, and tilting with
his squire, whom he had run through the body
several times, thereby seriously impairing that
worthy’s digestive powers.

And now the eventful morning was come.
The vassals were assembled in the courtyard of
the castle, a goodly array, to see their master
depart in pomp and pride.

Gray Berold was brought round to the door,
magnificently caparisoned, his bridle and housings
glittering with precious stones. The gallant
steed pawed the ground, and tossed his head
proudly, as impatient of delay as his master.
From a balcony above leaned the lovely Ermengarde,
her golden tresses crowned with a nightcap
of rare and curious design; for the Baron was
making an early start, and his fair lady had not
yet completed her toilet.

Amid the vociferous cheers of his vassals, the
Baron descended the steps, armed _cap-à-pie_, his
good sword by his side, and his mace, battle-axe,
cutlass, and shillalah displayed about his stately
person in a very imposing manner. He could
scarcely walk, it is true, so many and so weighty
were his accoutrements; but then, as he himself
aptly observed, he did not want to walk.

He got into the saddle with some difficulty,
owing to the tendency of his battle-axe to get
between his legs; but once there, the warrior was
at home. An attendant handed him his lance,
with its glittering pennon. Gray Berold pranced
and curvetted, making nothing of the enormous
weight on his back; the Lady Ermengarde waved
her broidered kerchief; and, with a parting glance
at his lovely bride, the Baron rode slowly out of
the courtyard.

But, alas! he was not destined to ride far.
Alas for the proud Baron! Alas and alack for the
gallant steed!

He had scarcely ridden a hundred paces when
he heard a fearful growl behind him, which caused
him to turn quickly in his saddle. What was his
horror to see a huge bear spring out of the woods
and come rushing towards him!

For one moment the Baron was paralyzed; the
next, he wheeled his horse round, and couching
his lance, prepared to meet his savage assailant.









“The bear caught the charger by the tail.”



But Gray Berold had not bargained for this.
Many a fair fight had he seen in battle-field and in
tourney; many a time he had faced danger as
boldly as his rider, and had borne the brunt of
many a fierce attack. But those fights were
with men and horses. He knew what they were,
and how they should be met; but this was something
very different. This great creature, that
came rushing along with its head down and its
mouth open, was something Berold did not know;
moreover, it was something he did not like. Stand
there and be rushed at by a thing that was neither
horse nor man? Not if he knew it! And just
when the bear was close upon him, Gray Berold,
with a squeal of mingled terror and anger, wheeled
short round. The bear made a spring, and
caught the charger by the tail. The terrified
animal bounded forward; the Baron made a downward
stroke with his battle-axe that would have
felled an ox, and Master Bruin (no offence to
you, my dear fellow! it’s the name of all your
family, you know) rolled over and over in the
dust.

But alas! and alas! _he took the tail with him_! That
noble tail, the pride of the stable-yard, the glory
of the grooms, lay in the road, a glittering mass
of silver; and it was a tailless steed that now
galloped frantically back into the castle-court,
from which only a few short minutes ago he had
so proudly emerged.

The Baron was mad with fury. Pity for his
gallant horse, rage and mortification at the ridiculous
plight he was in, anxiety lest he should be
late for the tournament, all combined to make
him for a time beside himself; he rushed up and
down the courtyard, whirling his battle-axe round
his head, and uttering the most fearful imprecations.
Finally, however, yielding to the tears and
entreaties of his retainers, he calmed his noble
frenzy, and set himself to think what was best
to be done. “Give up the tournament? Perish
the thought! Ride another horse than Berold?
Never while he lives! Ride him tailless and
unadorned? Shades of my ancestors forbid!”
thus cried the Baron at every new suggestion
of his sympathizing retainers.

At last the head groom had an idea. “Let us
fasten on another tail,” he said, “an’t please your
worship!”

“Ha!” cried the Baron, starting at the notion.
“’Tis well! Ho! there, Hodge, Barnaby, Perkin!
Cut me the tails from the three cart-horses, and
tie them together. And be quick about it, ye
knaves!”

The three grooms flew to execute their master’s
mandate, and returned in a few minutes, bearing
a magnificent tail, whose varied hues of black,
sorrel, and white, showed it to be the spoil of
Dobbin, Smiler, and Bumps, the three stout Flemish
cart-horses.

“By my halidome, a motley tail!” exclaimed
the Baron. “But it boots not, so it be a tail!
Fasten it on with all speed, for time presses!—ha!
what is this!”

Well might the Baron start, and exclaim.

The moment the three grooms touched the
flanks of Gray Berold, before they had time to
lay hands on the stump of his tail, they found
themselves flying through the air, and tumbling
in a very uncomfortable sort of way against the
wall of the courtyard. Marry, that was a brave
kick! and when he had given it, the charger
looked round after the unhappy grooms, and
tossed his stately head, and snorted, evidently
meaning to say, “_Don’t_ you want to try it
again?”

But the grooms did not want to try it again.
They picked themselves up, and rubbed their
poor shins and their poor heads, and proceeded
to hobble off on their poor feet as fast as they
could. But they did not hobble far, for the voice
of the Baron was heard in angry expostulation.









“They found themselves flying through the air.”



“How now, varlets!” cried that nobleman.
“Do you slink away like beaten hounds because,
forsooth, the good beast shakes off a fly, or lashes
out his heels in playful sport? Shame on ye, coward
hinds! Back, I command ye, and tie me on
that tail. Obey, sirrahs, or else—hum—ha—hrrrrugh!!!”
and the Baron waved his battle-axe,
and looked as if he had swallowed the meat-chopper
and the gridiron and the blunderbuss, all at
one mouthful.

Hodge, Barnaby, and Perkin were in a bad way,
assuredly. On the one hand was the charger,
snorting defiance, and with his heels all ready for
the next kick, should they presume to touch him;
on the other was the furious Baron, also snorting,
and with his battle-axe all ready for the next
whack, should they presume _not_ to touch him.
Here were two sharp horns to a dilemma!

Cautiously the poor knaves crept up once
more behind Gray Berold. “Vault thou upon
his back, Perkin!” whispered Barnaby. “Perchance
from there—” Whizz! whack! thud!—This
time Berold did not wait for them to touch
him: the sound of their voices was enough; there
they all lay again in a heap against the wall,
moaning sore and cursing the day they were
born.

But now the Baron’s humor changed. “Beshrew
me!” he cried. “’Tis a gallant steed.
He will not brook, at such a moment, the touch
of hireling hands. ’Tis well! give _me_ the tail,
my masters! and ye shall see.”

Alas! they did see; they saw their Baron rolling
over and over on the ground. They saw
their Baron roll; they heard their Baron rave;
they turned and fled for their lives.

At this moment the portal swung open, and
the Lady Ermengarde appeared. She had seen
all from an upper window, and she now hastened
to raise her fallen lord, who sat spluttering and
cursing on the ground, unable to rise, owing to
the weight of his armor. “Oh! blame not the
steed!” cried the lovely lady. “Chide not the
gallant beast, good my lord! ’twas not the touch,
’twas the _tail_, he could not brook. Tie the rustic
tail of a plebeian cart-horse on Gray Berold?
Oh! fie, my lord! it may not be. _I_ will provide
a tail for your charger!”

“You!” exclaimed the Baron. “What mean
you, lady?”

The Lady Ermengarde replied by drawing from
the embroidered pouch which hung from her jewelled
girdle a pair of shears. Snip! snap! snip!
snap! and before her astonished lord could interfere,
the golden tresses, the pride of the whole
country-side, were severed from her head. Deftly
she tied the shining curls together; lightly she
stepped to where Gray Berold stood. She stroked
his noble head; she spoke to him; she showed him
the tresses, and told him what she had done.
Then with her own hands she tied them on to
the stump of his tail with her embroidered girdle;
and Gray Berold moved not fore-leg nor hind, but
stood like a steed of granite till it was done.

The retainers were dissolved in tears; the Baron
sobbed aloud as he climbed, with the assistance of
seven hostlers, into the saddle; but the heroic
lady smiled, and bade them be of good cheer.
She could get a black wig, she said; and she
had always thought she should look better as a
brunette.

And to make a long story short, said the wood-pigeon,
she _did_ get a black wig, and looked like
a beauty in it. And the Baron went to the
tournament, and won all the prizes. And Gray
Berold lived to be sixty years old, and wore the
golden tail to the end of his days. And that’s
all.




CHAPTER IX.


“OH! what a delightful story, Pigeon Pretty!”
cried Toto. “Did you hear any more like
it? I wish I had that red book! Did the boy
look as nice as his sister? What was his name?”

“His name,” said the pigeon, “was Jim, I
think. And he did not—no, Toto, he certainly
did _not_ look as nice as his sister. In fact, although
I pitied him because he was ill, I thought
he looked like a disagreeable sort of boy.”

“Red hair?” interposed the squirrel, looking
at the raccoon.

“Freckled face?” asked the raccoon, looking at
the squirrel.

“Why, yes!” said the pigeon, in surprise. “He
_had_ red hair and a freckled face; but how should
you two know anything about him?”

The squirrel and the raccoon nodded at each
other.

“Same boy, I should say!” said Cracker.

“Same boy, _I_ should say!” answered Coon.

“What is it?” asked Toto, curious as usual.
“Tell us about it, one of you! It is early yet,
and we have plenty of time.”

“Well, I will tell you,” said the squirrel. “I
meant to keep it and tell it next time, for I cannot
make up stories as easily as some of you, and
this is something that really happened; but I
might just as well tell it now, especially as Pigeon
Pretty has told you about the boy.

“You need not be at all sorry for that boy,”
he continued. “He is a bad boy, and he deserves
all he got, and more too.”

“Dear, dear!” said the grandmother. “I am
sorry to hear that. What did he do, Mr. Cracker?”

“He tried to rob my Uncle Munkle of his winter
store!” replied the squirrel. “And he got
the worst of it, that’s all.”

“Who is your Uncle Munkle?” asked Toto.
“I don’t know him, do I?”

“No,” said Cracker. “He lives quite at the
other end of the wood, where people sometimes
go for fagots and nuts and such things. Nobody
ever comes near our end of the wood, because
they are afraid of Bruin.

“My uncle is a Munk,” he continued, “and a
most excellent person.”

“A monk?” interrupted the grandmother in
amazement.

“Yes, a Chipmunk!” said the squirrel. “It’s
the same thing, I believe, only we spell it with a
_u_. Third cousin to a monkey, you know.”

Toto and his grandmother both looked quite bewildered
at this; but the raccoon smiled sweetly,
and said,—

“Go on, Cracker, my boy! never try to explain
things _too_ fully; it’s apt to be a little tedious,
and it is always better to leave something to the
imagination.”

“I am going on,” said Cracker. “As I said
before, people sometimes go into that part of the
wood; there are one or two hives not far from
it.”

“One or two hives?” interrupted Toto. “What
_do_ you mean, Cracker?”

“Why, a lot of houses together,” said the
squirrel. “Don’t you call them hives? The
only other creatures I know that live in that
kind of way (and a very poor way it is, to my
thinking) are the bees, and their places are called
hives.”

“A collection of houses, Mr. Cracker,” said the
grandmother gently, “is called a village or a
town, according to its size; a village being a small
collection.”

“Oh!” said the squirrel. “Thank you, ma’am!
I will try to remember that. Well, this boy Jim
lives in the nearest village, and sometimes goes
into the forest. Now, the autumn is slipping
away fast, as we all know; and last week my
Uncle Munkle, who is always fore-handed and
thrifty, thought it was high time to be getting in
his winter store of nuts and acorns. So he sent
for his nephews to come and help him (he has no
children of his own). We all went, of course, and
Coon went with us, for my uncle always gives us
a feast after the nuts are in, and Coon always
goes wherever there is anything to—”

“What?” said the raccoon, looking up sharply.

“Wherever there is anything to be _done_!” said
the squirrel hastily.

“The second day, as we were all hard at work
shelling the beechnuts, I heard a noise among the
bushes,—a crackling noise that did not sound like
any animal I knew. I looked, and saw two eyes
peering out from the leaves of a young beech-tree.
‘That is a boy,’ said I to myself, ‘and he
means mischief!’ So I skipped off without saying
anything to the others, and crept softly round
behind the bushes, making no more noise than an
eel in the mud. There I found, not one boy, but
two, crouching among the bushes, and watching
the nut-shelling. They were whispering to each
other; and I crept nearer and nearer till I could
hear all they said.

“‘When shall we come?’ said one.

“‘To-night,’ said the other, who had red hair
and a freckled face, ‘when the moon is up, and
the little beggars are all asleep. Then we can
easily knock them on the head, and get the nuts
without being bitten. They bite like wild-cats
when they are roused, these little fellows.’

“‘All right!’ said the other, whose face I could
not see. ‘I’ll bring a bag and be here at eight
o’clock.’

“‘_Will_ you?’ thought I, and I crept away again,
having heard all I wanted to know. I went back
to the others, and presently a snapping and crackling
told me that the boys were gone. Then I
went to Uncle Munkle and told him what I had
heard. He was very angry, and whisked his tail
about till he nearly whisked it off. ‘Call your
large friend,’ he said, ‘and we will hold a council.’
So I waked Coon—”

“Waked Coon?” exclaimed the woodchuck
slyly. “What! do you mean to say he was not
working twice as hard as any of the others?”

“I had been, my good fellow!” said the raccoon
loftily. “I had been; and exhausted with
my labors. I was snatching a moment’s hard-earned
repose. Go on, Cracker.”

“Well,” continued the squirrel, “we held a
council, and settled everything beautifully. Uncle
Munkle, who has very particularly sharp teeth,
was to get into the nut-closet and wait there. The
rest of us were to be ready together on the nearest
branch, and Coon was to hide himself somewhere
close by. No one was to move until Uncle
Munkle gave the signal, and then—well, you
shall hear how it happened. We all went on with
our work until sunset. Then we had supper, and
a game of scamper, and then we began to prepare
for business. We sharpened our claws on the bark
of the trees till they were as sharp as—as—”

“Razors,” suggested Toto.

“Don’t know what that means,” said the
squirrel.

“As sharp as Coon’s nose, then; that will do.”

“We filled our cheek-pouches with three-cornered
pebbles and nut-shells. Then, when the
moon rose, and all the forest was quiet, we
retired to our posts. We had waited some time,
and were becoming rather impatient, when suddenly
a distant sound was heard; the sound of
snapping and cracking twigs. It grew louder and
louder, louder and louder; and presently we saw a
freckled face looking out from among the leaves.

“Cautiously the boy advanced, and soon another
boy appeared, not so ill-looking as the first. He
carried a bag in his hand. The two came softly to
the foot of our tree, and looked up. The leaves
twinkled in the moonlight; but all was still, not a
sound to be heard. The two whispered together
a moment; then the freckled boy began slowly
and carefully to climb the tree. We saw his red
head coming nearer and nearer, nearer and nearer.
We knew he must be near Uncle Munkle’s hole.
We all held our breath and listened for the signal.

“Presently the boy stopped climbing, and we
saw him stretch out his hand. Then—oh! such a
screech! You _never_ heard such a screech, not
even from a wild-cat. Another yell, and another.
That was the signal. Now we knew what Uncle
Munkle meant by saying, ‘I may not give the signal
_myself_, but you will hear it all the same.’

“Instantly we sprang at the boy, ten strong,
healthy squirrels, teeth and claws and all. I
don’t think he enjoyed himself very much for the
next few minutes. He yelled all the time, and
at last he lost his hold on the tree, and fell heavily
to the ground. Also, Coon had been biting his
legs a little. But when he fell, Coon started after
the other boy, who was dancing about the foot of
the tree in a frenzy of terror and amazement.
When he saw Coon coming, he started on a run;
but Coon jumped on his back and got him by the
ear, and then rode him round and round the forest
till he howled as loud as the other one had.”

“A very pleasant ride I had, too,” said the raccoon
placidly. “My young friend was excitable,
very excitable, but that only made it the more
lively. Yes. I don’t know when I have enjoyed
anything more.”

“But what became of the first boy after he
fell?” asked Toto eagerly.









“His father took him away in a wheelbarrow.”



“Well, my dear, he lay still,” said the squirrel.
“He lay still. He had broken his leg, so it was
really the only thing for him to do. And when
Coon came back from riding the other boy he
jumped backwards and forwards over him till his
father came and took him away in a wheelbarrow.
Every time Coon jumped, he grinned at the boy;
and every time he grinned, the boy screamed; so
one inferred that he did not like it, you know.

“Altogether,” said the little squirrel, in conclusion,
“it was a great success; a great success;
really, worthy of our end of the wood. And
_such_ a feast as Uncle Munkle gave us the day
after!”




CHAPTER X.


IT was agreed by all hands at the next meeting,
that Bruin must tell the story.

“You have not told a story for a long, long
time, Bruin,” said Toto,—“not since we began
to meet here; and Granny wants to hear one of
your stories; don’t you, Granny?”

“Indeed,” said the grandmother, “I should
like very much to hear one of Mr. Bruin’s stories.
I am told they are very delightful.”

Mr. Bruin bowed in his peculiar fashion, and
murmured something which sounded like “How-wow-mumberygrubble.”

The old lady knew, however, that it was meant
for “Thank you, ma’am,” and took the will for
the deed.

Bruin sucked his paw thoughtfully for a few
minutes; then, raising his head with an air of
inspiration,—“Pigeon Pretty,” he asked, “what
kind of a bear was that in your story?”

“Really, Bruin, I do not know,” replied the
wood-pigeon. “It said ‘a bear,’ that was all.”

“You see,” continued Bruin, “there are so
many kinds of bears,—black, brown, cinnamon,
grizzly, polar,—really, there is no end to them.
I thought, however, that this might possibly have
been the Lost Prince of the Poles.”

Here Bruin paused a moment and looked about.

“The Lost Prince of the Poles!” exclaimed
Toto. “What a fine name for a story! Tell us
now, Bruin; tell us all about him.”

“Listen, then,” said the bear, “and you shall
hear about

THE LOST PRINCE OF THE POLES.


The polar bears, as you probably know, are a
large and powerful nation. They are governed
by a king, who is called the Solar-Polarity of the
Hypopeppercorns.

“Oh!” cried Toto. “What _does_ that mean?”

Nobody knows what it means. That is the
great charm of the title. Gives it majesty, you
understand. The present Solar-Polarity is, I am
told, quite worthy of his title, for he is very
majestic, and knows absolutely nothing. He sits
on the top of the North Pole, and directs the
movement of the icebergs.

At the time of which I am going to tell you,
which was so long ago as to be no particular time
at all, the Solar-Polarity had an only son,—a most
promising young bear,—the heir to the kingdom.
He was brought up with the greatest care possible,
and when he had arrived at a suitable age, his
father begged him to choose a mate among the
youngest and fairest of the she-bears, or, as they
are more elegantly termed, bearesses. To the
amazement of the Solar-Polarity, the Prince flatly
refused.

“I will not marry one of these cold, white
creatures!” he said; “I am tired of white. I
want to marry one of those things;” and he
pointed to the north, where the Northern Lights
were shooting up in long streamers of crimson
and green and purple.

“One of those things!” cried his father. “My
dear son, are you mad? Those are Rory-Bories;
they are not the sort of thing one can marry. It’s—it’s
ridiculous to think of such a thing.”

“Well,” said the Prince, “then I will marry
the creature that is most like them. There must
be some creature that has those pretty colors. I
will go and ask the Principal Whale.”

So he went and asked the Principal Whale if
he knew any creature that was colored like the
Rory-Bories.

“Frankly,” said the whale, “I do not. Doubtless
there are such, but I have never happened to
meet any of them. I will tell you what I will do,
however,” he said, seeing the Prince’s look of disappointment.
“I am just starting on a voyage to
the Southern seas; and if you like I will take you
with me, and you can look about you and decide
for yourself.”

The young bear was delighted with this proposition,
and proceeded at once to assume the full-dress
costume of the polar bears, which consists in
tying three knots in the tail.

“A—_ex_cuse me!” interrupted the raccoon, “I
thought no bears had any tails to speak of;” and
he glanced complacently at his own magnificent
tail, which was curled round his feet.









“He sailed away for the Southern seas.”



They have none to speak of; which makes it
all the more remarkable for them to be able to
tie three knots in them. As soon as this was
accomplished, the Prince declared that he was
ready to start.

“So am I,” said the Principal Whale. And
taking the Prince of the Poles on his back, he
sailed away for the Southern seas.

They went on and on for several days without
any adventures; till one day the young bear
saw a huge jelly-fish floating towards them.
“See!” he cried, “there is a lovely creature, as
bright and beautiful as the Rory-Bories. Surely
this is the creature for me to marry!”

“I don’t think you would like to marry that,”
said the whale. “That is a jelly-fish. But we
will go and speak to it, and you can judge for
yourself.” So the whale swam up to the jelly-fish,
who looked at them, but said nothing.

“My dear,” said the Prince, “you are very
beautiful.”

“Yah!” said the jelly-fish (who was in reality
extremely ignorant, and had never gone to dancing-school),
“that’s more than I can say for you!”

“I am sorry to hear you say that,” said the
Prince, mildly.

“Will you marry me, and be Princess of the
Poles?”

“Marry your grandmother!” replied the jelly-fish
in a very rude manner; and off it flounced
under the water.

The young bear looked sadly after it. “It was
very pretty,” he said; “why did it want me to
marry my grandmother?”

“It didn’t,” replied the whale. “That was
only its way of speaking. An unmannerly minx!
Don’t think any more about it,” and they continued
their voyage.

A couple of days after this they met the swordfish
and his daughter.

“These are some friends of mine,” said the
Principal Whale. “We will see if they can aid
us in our search.”

The swordfish greeted them kindly, and invited
them to come down and make him a visit.

“Thank you,” said the whale. “We have
not time to stop now. We are in search of a
creature as bright in color as the Rory-Bories.
My young friend here, the Prince of the Poles, is
anxious to marry such a creature, if he can only
find her.”

But the swordfish shook his head, and said he
could not think of any one who would answer the
description.

“_I_ will marry you if you wish,” said the swordfish’s
daughter, who was much struck by the appearance
of the young bear. “I am considered
very agreeable, and I think I could make you
happy.”

“But you are not bright,” cried the poor
Prince in distress. “You are even black, saving
your presence. I don’t wish to hurt your feelings,
but really you are not at all the sort of creature
I was looking for; though I have no doubt,” he
added, “that you are extremely agreeable.”

“You might play I was a Rory-Bory behind a
cloud on a dark night,” suggested the swordfish’s
daughter.

But the Prince did not think that would do,
and the whale agreed with him. “One cannot
play,” he said, “when one is married.” Accordingly
they bade a friendly farewell to the swordfish
and his daughter, and continued their voyage.

After several days they saw in the distance
the coast of Africa. As they approached it, the
Prince saw something bright on the land, near
the edge of the water. “See!” he cried, “there
is something very bright and beautiful. Let
us go nearer, and see what it is.” So they
went nearer, and saw a long line of scarlet flamingoes,
drawn up on the beach like a company
of soldiers.

“Prince,” said the Principal Whale, “your journey
has not been in vain. I really think these are
the creatures you have been looking for.”

As he spoke, the flamingoes, who had caught
sight of the strange creatures approaching the
shore, rose into the air, with a great flapping of
wings, and flew slowly away.

The Prince was in ecstasies. “Oh, Whale!”
he cried, “these _are_ Rory-Bories, real live Rory-Bories!
See how they shoot up, like long streamers!
See how they glow and shine! One still
remains on the shore, the loveliest of all. She is
my bride! She is the Princess of the Poles!
Swim close to the shore, good Whale!”

The whale swam up to the shore, the water
being fortunately deep enough to allow him to do
so, and the bear addressed the solitary flamingo,
which still stood upon the beach, watching them
with great curiosity. This was, in fact, the Princess
of the Flamingoes; and besides being rather
curious by nature, she thought it would be beneath
her dignity to fly away just because some
strange creatures were approaching. So she stood
still, in an attitude of royal ease.

“Lovely creature!” said the Prince, “tell me,
oh, tell me, are you really and truly a Rory-Bory?
I am sure you must be, from your brilliant
and exquisite beauty.”

“Not quite,” answered the flamingo. “Not
_quite_ the same thing, though very nearly. I am a
flamingo, and the Rory-Bory is a flaming go;
pronounced differently, you perceive. That is
the principal difference between the two families,
though there are some other minor variations,
which may be caused by the climate. What is
your pleasure with me, and what might you happen
to be?”

“My pleasure is to marry you!” exclaimed the
young bear rapturously. “I am a white bear,
and am called the Prince of the Poles. After my
father’s death I shall become Solar-Polarity of
the Hypopeppercorns. Will you be my bride,
and reign with me as queen? You shall sit upon
the North Pole, and direct the movements of the
icebergs.”

The flamingo closed one eye, and drew up one
leg in an attitude of graceful and maidenly coyness.
“Your manners and bearing interest me much,”
she said after a pause; “and I should be glad
to do as you suggest, but I fear it is impossible.
We are not allowed to marry any one with more
than two legs; and you, I perceive, have four.”

The poor Prince was quite staggered by this
remark, for he was proud of his legs, which,
though short, were finely formed. He was silent
in dismay. But now the Principal Whale interposed.
“Would it not be possible to make an
exception in this case?” he asked. “My young
friend has come a very long way in search of you,
and has quite set his heart on this marriage.”

“Alas!” said the flamingo, “I fear not. It
is the first law in the kingdom, and I dare not
break it.”

“What shall I do, then?” cried the Prince in
despair. “If I cannot have you, I will go back
and marry the swordfish’s daughter, and you
would be sorry to have me do that if you knew
how ugly she was.”

“In difficult cases,” said the flamingo, “we
always consult the hippopotamouse. I should
advise you to do the same.”

“The hippopotamouse?” exclaimed the Prince.
“Where is he to be found? Tell me, that I may
fly to him at once.”

“He lives in the middle of the central plain of
Pongolia,” replied the flamingo.

“In that case,” said the Principal Whale, “I must
leave you, my Prince, as travelling on land is one
of the pleasures I must deny myself, being constitutionally
unfitted for it.”

The Prince thanked the whale warmly for his
kindness, and after taking a most affecting leave
of the Flamingo Princess, he set off for the central
plain of Pongolia.

He travelled night and day, and after many
days he arrived at the very middle of the plain.
There he found the hippopotamouse, sitting in the
middle of a river, nibbling a huge cheese.

This singular animal combined all the chief
qualities of a hippopotamus and a mouse. His appearance
was truly astonishing, and filled the mind
of the Prince with mingled feelings. He stood for
some time gazing at him in silent amazement.

Presently the hippopotamouse looked up sharply.
“Well,” he said, “what do you want? Do
you think I am pretty?”

“N-no!” replied the young bear. “You may be
good; but I don’t think you are pretty. I want,”
he continued, “to marry the Flamingo Princess.
I am the Prince of the Poles, son of the Solar-Polarity
of the Hypopeppercorns. You may have
heard of my father.”

“Oh! ah! yes!” said the hippopotamouse.
“I’ve heard of _him_. Well, why _don’t_ you marry
her?”

“Because I have four legs,” answered the Prince
sadly; “and it is against the law for a flamingo to
marry any one with more than two.”

“True. I had forgotten that,” said the hippopotamouse.

“Can you suggest any way out of the difficulty?”
inquired the Prince.

Without making any reply, the hippopotamouse
plunged into meditation and the cheese at the
same moment, and nibbled and meditated in
silence for several hours; while the unhappy
Prince stood first on one leg, and then on the
other, endeavoring in vain to conceal his impatience.
Finally, when he was quite exhausted
with waiting, the hippopotamouse took his head
out of the cheese.









“My young friend,” he said, “I see but one way.”



“My young friend,” he said, “I see but one
way out of the difficulty, and that is for you to
walk about on two of your legs until they are
worn out. Then, you perceive, you will have,
unless my calculations have misled me, exactly
two left,—the proper number to enable you
legally to marry the Flamingo Princess. You
may find this fatiguing,” he continued, seeing the
Prince’s look of dismay; “but really I can see
nothing else for you to do; and when you reflect
that everything is more or less fatiguing, and that
I have worn out five complete sets of teeth on this
very cheese, you may become reconciled to your
lot. Good-by. I wish you well.” And without
more ado, he plunged into the cheese once more.

The unhappy Prince uttered one wild howl,
and turning away, fled into the savage wilds of
the Pongolian forest.


Here Bruin paused, shook his head, and sighed
deeply.

“Oh! go on, Bruin,” cried Toto eagerly. “How
_can_ you stop there? Go on immediately, and tell
us the rest!”

Alas! there is little more to tell; for from that
moment the Prince of the Poles has never been
seen or heard of.

The Flamingo Princess waited long and anxiously
for his return; but he never came. I believe
she finally married an ostrich, who led her a
terrible life.

The Principal Whale called at the coast of
Africa on his way back from the Southern seas,
and hearing the sad intelligence of the Prince’s
disappearance, departed in great sadness for his
Northern home, to break the news to the Solar-Polarity
of the Hypopeppercorns. When that
potentate heard of the disappearance of his son,
he fell off the North Pole, and broke his neck;
and the whole nation assumed the mourning costume
of the polar bears, which consists in tying
a sailor’s knot in the left ear, and a granny’s knot
in the right.

And thus ends, in sadness and despair, the story
of “The Lost Prince of the Poles.”




CHAPTER XI.


ONE afternoon (it was not a “story” afternoon,
for the grandmother was very busy, dyeing
some of her homespun yarn) Toto went off to the
forest early, intending to have a game of scamper
with Coon and Cracker. As he sauntered along
with his hands in his pockets, he met the woodchuck.
Master Chucky looked very spruce and
neat, and was trotting along with an air of great
self-satisfaction.

“Hallo! you Chucky,” exclaimed Toto, “where
are you going?”

The woodchuck stopped, and glanced around
with his sharp little eyes. “Is any one with you,
Toto?” he asked,—“Coon, or Cracker, or any of
those fellows?”

“No,” answered Toto in some surprise. “I was
just going to find them. Do you want them?”

“No, indeed!” exclaimed the woodchuck. “You
see,” and he lowered his voice confidentially, “I
am going to a rinktum, and I don’t want those
fellows to know about it.”

“What is a rinktum?” asked Toto. “And
why don’t you want them to know about it?”

“Why, a rinktum is a rabbit’s ball, of course.
What else should it be?” answered Chucky. “The
rabbits have invited me; but at the last one Coon
ate up all the supper, and bit the rabbits if they
tried to get any; so they determined not to invite
him again, and asked me not to say anything
about it.”

“Oh, Chucky,” exclaimed Toto, “I wish you
would take me! I have never been to a rabbit’s
ball, and I should like to go _so_ much! and I
wouldn’t eat anything at all!” he added, seeing
that the woodchuck looked doubtful.

Chucky brightened up at the last remark, and
said, “Well, after all, I don’t see why I shouldn’t
take you. They are always glad to see people, if
they will only behave themselves. So come along,
Toto;” and the fat little creature hurried along,
with Toto following him.

“You may have some difficulty,” he said as they
went along, “in getting into the ball-room, but I
think you will be able to squeeze through. It is
in the Big Burrow, which is certainly large enough
for any reasonable creature. Here we are now at
the mouth of the burrow.”

They were crossing a rough, uneven meadow,
with trees and shrubs thickly scattered over it;
and the woodchuck stopped at a large juniper-bush,
in front of which sat a black rabbit.

“How do you do, Woodchuck?” inquired the
rabbit. “And who is this with you?”

“This is a—a—a boy, in fact,” said the woodchuck
in some embarrassment. “He is a great
friend of mine, and has never seen a rinktum in his
life, so I ventured to bring him. He—he won’t
eat anything!” he added in a whisper.

The rabbit bowed to Toto by way of reply, and
pulling aside the branches of the juniper-bush,
disclosed a large hole in the ground.

“Follow me,” said the woodchuck; “I will lead
the way.” And he disappeared through the mouth
of the hole.

Toto dropped on his hands and knees, and followed
as best he could. The path was _very_ narrow,
and wound about and about in a very inconvenient
manner. Several times the boy was stuck so fast
that it seemed as if he _could not_ get any farther;
but he always managed, by much wriggling, to
squeeze through the tight places. It was perfectly
dark, but there was no possibility of his losing his
way, for obvious reasons. At last he saw a glimmer
of light ahead. It grew brighter and brighter;
and at last Toto emerged from the passage, and
found himself in a large cave, which in one part
was high enough to allow him to stand upright.
He immediately crawled over to this part, and
getting on his feet, looked about at the strange
scene before him.

The Big Burrow was lighted by the United
Company of Glow-worms. These little creatures
had arranged themselves in patterns all over the
walls and roof of the cave, and were shining
with all their might. The effect was truly lovely,
and Toto could not help wishing that his
grandmother’s cottage were lighted in the same
way. The floor was crowded with rabbits of
every size and color, and they were all dancing.
Black rabbits, brown rabbits, white rabbits, big
and little rabbits, racing round and round, jumping
up and down, shaking their ears, and wiggling
their noses. Oh, what a good time they were
having!

“Would you like to dance?” asked a very large
white rabbit, who seemed to be the master of
ceremonies, looking up at Toto.

“Thank you,” said Toto. “I do not know the
step, and I should only make confusion among
the dancers, I fear.”

“Oh, you will have no difficulty in learning
the step,” said the white rabbit. “Nothing could
be easier: first you jump up, then wriggle your
hind-legs in the air, then turn round three times,
rub your nose with your right fore-paw, jump
again, rub your nose with your left hind-paw,
turn round—”

“But I have only two legs,” objected Toto
meekly.









“Would you like to dance?”



“Dear, dear!” said the master of ceremonies.
“That does seem to be a difficulty, doesn’t it?
What a pity! Haven’t you ever had any
more?”

“No,” said Toto. “We are not made that way,
you see. But don’t mind me,” he added, seeing
that the hospitable rabbit seemed really distressed.
“I only came to look on, and I am enjoying myself
very much indeed, I assure you.”

“Pretty sight, isn’t it, Toto?” said the woodchuck,
bustling up, while the master of ceremonies
went off to attend to his duties. “See that
young white rabbit with the black nose and tail?
She is the belle of the evening, I should say.
Lovely creature! I have just danced twice with
her.”

“What _is_ that brown rabbit doing?” exclaimed
Toto. “He has been standing on his head before
her, and now he is lying on his back and kicking
his feet in the air. I think he is in a fit.”

“No, no,” said the woodchuck. “Oh, no. He is
merely expressing his devotion to her, that is all.
He has been in love with her for a long time,”
he added, “but I don’t think it will ever come to
anything. He has no whiskers to speak of, and
he comes from a very inferior sort of burrow.
She ought not to dance with him at all, in point
of fact, but she is _so_ amiable!”

“It is a pity they have no music,” said Toto.
“I don’t see how they manage to dance. Would
they like me to whistle for them, do you think,
Chucky?”

“Oh, _wouldn’t_ they!” cried the woodchuck in
delight. “What a nice boy you are, Toto! I am
_so_ glad I brought you!”

So Toto whistled a merry tune, and the rabbits
nearly went mad with delight. They capered,
and jumped, and wriggled their hind-legs, and
rubbed their noses, till Toto really thought they
would dance themselves into small pieces; and
when he stopped, they all tumbled down on the
ground in little black and white and brown heaps,
and lay panting and exhausted.

The master of ceremonies came up to Toto,
and after making him nine very polite bows,
thanked him warmly for the pleasure he had
given them. “This is certainly _the_ rinktum of
the season,” he said, “and much of its success is
owing to your kindness.” He then begged Toto
to come into the supper-room, and led the way
to an adjoining cave.

Toto followed, with a comical glance at the
woodchuck, to remind him that he had not forgotten
his promise.

The supper was served in superb style, worthy
of “_the_ rinktum of the season.” There was cabbage-soup
and broccoli broth. There were turnips
and carrots, celery and beets and onions, in
profusion; and in the centre of the room rose a
lofty mountain of crisp green lettuce. Ah! that
was a supper to do a rabbit’s heart good!

Toto, mindful of his promise, showed great
self-denial with regard to the raw vegetables, and
even remained firm against the attractions of the
cabbage-soup.

The white rabbit was quite melancholy over his
guest’s persistent refusal to eat of his good cheer.
“But perhaps,” he said, “creatures of your race
never eat. I see that your nose does not wiggle
when you speak, so perhaps you cannot
eat, eh?”

“Oh, yes,” said Toto in an off-hand way. “Yes,
we _can_; and sometimes we _do_. I have eaten in
the course of my life, and I may do it again, but
not to-night.”

At this moment the guests all came pouring
into the supper-room; and Toto began to think
that it would be wise for him to slip away quietly,
as it must be near his own supper-time, and his
grandmother would be wondering where he was.
So he took a friendly leave of the master of ceremonies,
and nodding to the woodchuck, he left
the supper-room, made his way through the ball-room,
and dropping once more on his hands and
knees, proceeded to wriggle his way as best he
might through the underground passage.

A very grimy and dusty boy he was when he
came out again from behind the juniper-bush.
He shook himself as well as he could, laughed a
little over the recollection of the unsuccessful rabbit
suitor kicking his heels in the air to express
his devotion, and started on his way home.

He had spent a much longer time than he had
meant to at the rinktum, and it was growing quite
dark. He hurried along, for his way lay through
a part of the wood where he did not like to go
after dark. The owls lived there, and Toto did
not like the owls, because none of his friends
liked them. They were surly, growly, ill-tempered
birds, and were apt to make themselves very
disagreeable if one met them after dark. Indeed,
it was said that Mrs. Growler, the old grandmother
owl of the family, had once eaten several
of Cracker’s brothers and sisters. The squirrel
did not like to talk about it, but Toto knew that
he hated the owls bitterly.

“I hope I shall not meet any of them,” said the
boy to himself as he entered the wood. “I am
not afraid of them, of course,—it would be absurd
for a boy to be afraid of an owl,—but I don’t like
them.”

The thought had scarcely crossed his mind,
when he heard a sound of flapping wings; and a
moment after a huge white owl flew down directly
in front of him, and spreading its broad pinions,
completely barred his passage.

“Who?” said the owl.









“‘Who?’ said the owl. ‘Toto,’ said the boy.”



“Toto,” said the boy shortly. “Let me pass,
please. I’m in a hurry.”

“You’re late!” said the owl severely.

“I know it,” replied Toto. “That’s why I
asked you to let me pass. I don’t want to talk to
you, Mrs. Growler, and I don’t suppose you want
to talk to me.”

“Whit!” cried Mrs. Growler (for it was no
other than that redoubtable female). “Don’t give
me any of your impudence, sir! What do you
mean by coming into our wood after dark, and
then insulting me? Here, Hoots! Flappy! Horner!
Come here, all of you! Here’s this imp
of a boy who’s always making mischief here with
that thieving raccoon. Let us give him a lesson,
and teach him to stay where he belongs, and not
come spying and prying into our wood!”

Immediately a rushing sound was heard from
all sides, and half-a-dozen owls came hooting and
screaming around our hero.

Toto held his ground manfully, though he saw
that the odds were greatly against him. One owl
was all very well; but seven or eight owls, all
armed with powerful beaks and claws, and all
angry, were quite another matter, especially as
the darkness, which exactly suited them, made it
difficult for him to tell in which direction he
should beat his retreat, supposing he were able
to beat it at all.

He set his back against a tree, and faced the
hooting, flapping crowd, whose great round eyes
glared fiercely at him.

“I’ve never done any harm to any of you,”
he said boldly. “I’ve never thrown stones at you,
and I’ve never taken more than one egg at a
time from your nests. You have always hated me,
Mother Growler, because I am a friend of Coon;
and you’re afraid of Coon, you know you are.
Come, let me go home quietly, and I’ll promise
not to come into your part of the wood again.

“I’m sure, there’s no inducement for coming,”
he added in a lower tone. “It’s the scraggiest
part of the whole forest,—only fit for owls to live
in!”

“Hoo! hoo!” cried Mother Growler in a rage.
“I’m afraid of Coon, am I? A nasty, thieving
creature, with an amount of tail that is simply disgusting!
And our wood is scraggy, is it? Hoo!
Give it to him, children!”

“Peck him!” cried all the owls in chorus;
“scratch him! tear him! hustle him!” and, with
wings and claws spread, they came flying at Toto.

Toto put one arm before his face, and prepared
to defend himself as well as he could with the other.
His blood was up, and he had no thought of
trying to escape. If he could only get Mother
Growler by the head now, and wring her neck!

But blows were falling like hail on his own head
now,—sharp blows from horny beaks and crooked
talons. They were tearing his jacket off. He
was dazed, almost stunned, by the beating of the
huge wings in his face. Decidedly, our Toto is in
a bad way.

Suddenly a loud crackling noise was heard
among the bushes. It came nearer; it grew louder.
Toto listened, with his heart in his mouth. Surely,
but one animal there was big enough to make a
noise like that.

“_Bruin!_” he cried, with all the breath he could
gather, panting and struggling as he was. “Bruin!
help! help!”

A portentous growl answered his cry. The
boughs crackled and burst right and left, and the
next instant the bear sprang through the bushes.

“What is it?” he cried. “Toto, that was your
voice. Where are you, boy? What is the
matter?”

“Here!” cried Toto faintly. “Here, Bruin!
The owls—” But at that moment the little
fellow’s voice failed, and he sank bleeding and
exhausted on the ground.

“How-grrrrr-wow-_wurra_-Wurra-WURRA-WOW!!!”

In two minutes more there were no owls in that
part of the wood. Hoots, Horner, and the rest,
when they saw the fiery eyes and glittering teeth
of the bear, and heard his terrible roar, as he
rushed upon them, loosed their hold of the
boy, and flew for their lives. As for Mother
Growler—

“I _did_ say,” remarked Bruin, taking some feathers
out of his mouth, “that I never would eat
another owl unless it was plucked. Feathers are
certainly a most inferior article of food; but in a
case of this kind it is really the only thing to do.
As Coon says, it settles the matter, and there is no
further trouble about it. And now,” continued
the good bear, “how is my dear boy? Why,
Toto! look up, boy. They are all gone, and
you are cock of the whole wood. Come, my
Toto! I’ll eat them all, if they have hurt the
boy!” he added in an undertone.

But Toto made no reply. He had, in point of
fact, fainted from exhaustion and excitement.

Bruin sniffed at him, and poked him from head
to foot; then, finding that no bones were broken,
he lifted the boy gently by the waistband of his
breeches, and shambled off in the direction of the
cottage.




CHAPTER XII.


THE grandmother all this time was wondering
very much where her Toto was. “What
can have become of the boy?” she said to herself
for the twentieth time. “He is always punctual
at supper-time; and now it is more than an
hour past. It must be quite dark, too, in the
wood. Where _can_ he be?” And she went to the
door and listened, as she had been listening ever
since six o’clock. “Toto!” she said aloud. “Toto,
do you hear me?” But no sound came in
reply, save the distant hoot of an owl; and reluctantly
the good woman closed the door again, and
went back to her knitting. She felt very anxious,
very much troubled; but what could she do?
Blind and alone, she was quite helpless. Suppose
the boy should have wandered off into some distant
part of the forest, and lost his way? Suppose
he should have encountered some fierce wild
beast, unlike the friendly creatures with whom he
played every day? Suppose—But here the
current of her anxious thoughts was interrupted
by a sound; a curious sound,—a soft _thud_ against
the door, followed by a scratching noise, and a
sound of heavy breathing.

The poor grandmother turned cold with fear;
she did not dare to move for some minutes; but
the thud was repeated several times, as if somebody
were trying to knock. She tottered towards
the door, and said in a tremulous voice, “Who is
there?”

“Only Bruin, ma’am,” was the reply, in a meek
growl.

Oh, how relieved the grandmother was! With
hands that still trembled she unfastened the door.
“Oh, Mr. Bruin!” she cried. “Dear Mr. Bruin,
I am so glad you have come! Can you tell me
anything about Toto? He has not come home,
and I am very anxious indeed. I fear he may
have met some wild creature, and—”

“Well, ma’am,” said the bear slowly, “as for
being wild—well, yes; perhaps you _would_ call her
wild. And I don’t say she was amiable, and she
was certainly very free in the matter of claws;
very free, indeed, she was!”

“What _do_ you mean, Mr. Bruin?” cried the
poor old lady. “Claws? Oh! then I know he _has_
been attacked, and you know all about it, and
have come to break it to me. My boy! my boy!
Tell me quickly where he is, and what has happened
to him!”

“Don’t be alarmed, ma’am,” said Bruin. “Pray
don’t be alarmed! there are no bones broken, I
assure you; and as for _her_, you need have no
further anxiety. I—I saw to the matter myself,
and I have no reason to think—no, I really have
_no_ reason to think that you will have any further
trouble with her.”

“_Her!_” said the bewildered old grandmother.
“I don’t—I _can’t_ understand you, Mr. Bruin. I
want to know what has become of Toto, my
boy.”

“Certainly, certainly,” said the bear hastily.
“Very natural, I’m sure; don’t mention it, I beg
of you. As for a little blood, you know,” he added
apologetically, “that couldn’t be helped, you see.
I didn’t come up quite soon enough; but we know
the blood is _there_, after all; and a little of it outside
instead of inside,—why, what difference does it
make? He has plenty left, you know.”

“Bruin, Bruin!” cried a faint voice, “do stop!
You will frighten her to death with your explanations.
Here I am, Granny dear, safe and
sound, barring a few scratches.” And Toto, who
had been gradually recovering his senses during
the last few minutes, raised himself from the doorstep
on which the bear had laid him, and flung his
arms round his grandmother’s neck.

The poor old woman gave a cry of joy, and then
burst into tears, being quite overcome by the sudden
change from grief and anxiety to security and
delight.

At the sight of her tears, the worthy Bruin
uttered a remorseful growl, and boxed his own
ears several times very severely, assuring himself
that he was quite the most stupid beast that
ever lived, and that he was always making a
mess of it. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,
ma’am,” he said, “I didn’t indeed; but I am such
a stupid! And now,” he added, “I think I must
be going. Good-night, ma’am.”

“What!” cried Toto, turning from his grandmother,
and throwing his arms in turn round the
bear’s huge shaggy neck. “Going, before we
have thanked you? Going off without a word,
after saving my life? Oh, you unnatural old
Bruin! you shall not stir! Do you know, Granny,
that he has saved my life from the owls, and that
if it had not been for him you would have no Toto
at all, but only a hundred little bits of him?” And
he told the whole story in glowing words, while
Bruin hung his head and shuffled from one foot to
another, much abashed at hearing his own praises.

And when the grandmother had heard all about
it, what did she do? Why, she too put her arms
round the huge shaggy neck; and if ever a bear
came near being hugged to death, it was that
bear.

“And now,” said the grandmother, when she
had recovered her composure, and had thanked
and blessed Bruin till he did not know whether he
had one head or seven, “it is very late, and I am
sure you must be tired. Why will you not stay
and spend the night with us? There is a beautiful
fire in the kitchen, and a nice soft rug in front
of it, on which you could sleep very comfortably.
Do stay!”

The bear rubbed his nose and looked helplessly
at Toto. “I don’t think—” he began.

“Of course he will stay,” said Toto decidedly.
“There isn’t any ‘thinking’ about it. He will
stay. Walk in, old fellow, and sit down in front
of the fire, and Granny will give us both some
supper. Oh! my Granny dear, if you _knew_ how
hungry I am!”

It would have been a pleasant sight, had there
been any one there to enjoy it, to see the trio
gathered around the bright wood-fire an hour
later. The grandmother sat in her high-backed
arm-chair, in snowy cap and kerchief, knitting and
smiling, smiling and knitting, as happy and contented
as a grandmother could possibly be. On
the other side of the hearth sat the bear, blinking
comfortably at the fire, while Toto leaned against
his shaggy side, and chattered like a magpie.

“How jolly this is!” he said. “It reminds me
of Snow-White and Rose-Red, when the bear came
and slept in front of the fire. By the way, Bruin,
you are not an enchanted prince, are you? The
bear in that story was an enchanted prince.
What fun if you should be!”

“Not to my knowledge,” replied the bear,
shaking his head. “Not—to—my—knowledge.
Never heard of such a thing in our branch of the
family. I had a cousin once who travelled with a
showman, but that is the only thing of the kind
that I know of.”

“Tell us about your cousin!” said Toto, eager,
as usual, for a story. “How came he to take to
the show business?”









“The man taught him to beat the drum.”



“It took him,” said Bruin. “He was taken
when he was a little fellow, only a few months
old. The man who caught him made a pet of him
at first; taught him to dance, and shake paws,
and beat the drum. He was a drummer in the
army,—the man, I mean. He was very kind,
and my cousin grew extremely fond of him.”

“What was your cousin’s name?” asked Toto.

“They called him ‘Grimshaw;’” said Bruin.
“His master’s name was Shaw, and he was grim,
you know, when he didn’t like people, and so
they called him ‘Grimshaw.’ He mostly _didn’t_
like people,” added the bear reflectively. “He
certainly didn’t like the showman.”

“Then Shaw was not the showman?” said Toto.

“Oh, dear, no!” said Bruin. “A war broke
out, and Shaw’s regiment was ordered off, and he
couldn’t take Grimshaw with him. He was very
big then, and the other soldiers didn’t like him.
He had a way of going into the different tents
and taking anything he happened to fancy for
supper; and if any one said anything to him, he
boxed that one’s ears. They always tumbled down
when he boxed their ears, and they made a great
fuss about it, and so finally his master was obliged
to sell him to the showman. _His_ name was Jinks.

“He taught my cousin several new tricks, and
took him all over the country, exhibiting him in
the different towns and villages. You see,” said
Bruin apologetically, “he—I mean Grimshaw—didn’t
know any better. He was so young
when he was taken that he didn’t remember
much about his family, and didn’t know what an
undignified sort of thing it was to be going about
in that way. One day, however, Jinks undertook
to make him waltz with a piece of meat on his
nose, without attempting to eat it. Grimshaw
would not do that, because he didn’t think it was
reasonable; and I don’t think it was. So then
Jinks attempted to beat him, and Grimshaw boxed
his ears, and he tumbled down and didn’t get up
again. Grimshaw waited a few minutes, and finding
that he did not seem inclined to move, he ran
away and took to the woods.”

“But why did not the showman get up?” inquired
the grandmother innocently.

“I think it highly probable that he was dead,
madam,” replied Bruin. “But I cannot say positively,
as I was not there.

“After this Grimshaw lived alone for some time,
wandering about from one forest to another. One
day, as he was roaming up and down, he came
suddenly upon a party of soldiers, three or four
in number, sitting round a fire, and cooking their
dinner. The moment they saw the bear, they
dropped everything, and ran for their lives, leaving
the good chops to burn, which was a sin. It
was a good thing for Grimshaw, however, as he
was very hungry; so he sat down by the fire and
made a hearty meal. After he had dined comfortably,
he began to look about him, and spied a
big drum, which the soldiers had left behind in
their flight. Seizing the drumsticks, he began to
beat a lively tattoo. In a few moments he heard
a rustling among the bushes, and saw a man’s
head thrust cautiously out. What was his delight
to recognize his old master, Sergeant Shaw! He
threw down the drumsticks and uttered a peculiar
howl. It was answered by a shrill whistle, and in
another moment Shaw and Grimshaw were in
each other’s arms. When the other soldiers ventured
to return, they found the two gravely dancing
a hornpipe, with great mutual satisfaction.”

“Oh! how delightful!” exclaimed Toto. “And
did they stay together after that?”









“They found the two dancing a hornpipe.”



“No, that was impossible,” replied the bear.
“But they spent a couple of days together, and
parted with the utmost good-will.

“After roaming about for some time longer, my
cousin met some other bears, who invited him to
join them. To their great amazement, one of
them turned out to be Grimshaw’s elder brother;
he recognized Grimshaw by one of his ears, out of
which he had himself bitten a piece in their infancy.
This was a very joyful meeting, and led
to the restoration of Grimshaw to his parents, who
were still alive. He spent the remainder of his
life in peace and happiness; and that is all there is
to tell about him.

“And now,” continued Bruin, “you ought to
have been asleep long ago, Toto, and I have been
keeping you awake with my long story. Off with
you, now! And good-night to you too, dear
madam. I will lie here in front of the fire; and
if any creature, human or otherwise, comes to
disturb the house during the night, I will attend
to that creature!”




CHAPTER XIII.


THE grandmother thought, the next morning,
that she had not passed such a pleasant
evening, or such a comfortable and restful night,
for a long time. “Dear me!” she said, after Bruin
had departed, with many thanks and at least ten
profound bows,—“dear me! what a difference it
makes, having a bear in the house! one feels so
secure; and one does not think of waking up to
listen, every time a branch snaps outside, or a
door creaks in the house. I wonder—” But the
grandmother did not tell Toto what she wondered.

The next fine afternoon, the animals all came to
the cottage in good season, for they were to have
a story from their kind hostess herself this time,
and it was to be about a giant.

“And if you will believe it,” said the raccoon,
“our poor Chucky here does not—ha! ha!—actually
does not know what a giant is! Will
you kindly explain to him, dear madam?”

“Ugh!” grunted the woodchuck. “I don’t believe
you know yourself, Coon, for all your airs!
You said this morning it was a kind of vegetable,
and now—”

“Stop quarrelling, and listen to the story, will
you?” said Bruin. “Wow!”

When the bear said “Wow” in that manner, all
the others knew it meant business; and as he lay
down at the grandmother’s feet, they all drew
nearer, and were silent in expectation.

“A giant,” said the grandmother, “is like a
man, only very much bigger; very, _very_ much
bigger. The giant about whom I am going to
tell you was one of the largest of his kind, being
no less than fourteen miles high.”

There was a general murmur of amazement.

“Fourteen miles high!” the old lady repeated.
“His name was as short as he himself was long,
for it was neither more nor less than _Crump_; and
he fell in love with the Lady Moon. He fell so
deeply in love with her that it was quite impossible
for him to get out again; so he informed her
of the fact, and begged her to marry him.


‘Come and share my mammoth lot,

And shine in my gigantic cot!’


That was what he said, or words to that effect.

“But the Lady Moon replied, ‘Dear Crump, I
would gladly do as you suggest, but the thing is
not possible. I have no body, but only a head;
and I could not think of going into church to
be married without any body, to say nothing of
legs and feet.’

“‘Is that your only objection?’ asked Giant
Crump.

“‘The only one, upon my lunar honor!’ replied
the Lady Moon.

“‘Then I think I can manage it,’ said the giant.
Accordingly he went and gathered together all
the silver there was in the world at that time, and
out of it he made a beautiful silver body, with
arms and legs all complete. And when it was
finished he made a silver dress, and silver slippers,
and a silver moonshade, and dressed the body up
in the most fashionable and delightful manner.
Then, when all was ready, he called to the Lady
Moon, and told her that her body was ready, and
that she had only to come down and put it on.

“‘But I cannot come down,’ said the Lady
Moon. ‘Nothing would induce me to come down
without a body. You must bring it up here.’

“Now that was not an easy thing to do; for
though Crump was very big, he was not nearly
big enough. What are fourteen miles, compared
with two hundred and forty thousand? However,
he was a very persevering giant, and had no idea
of giving up; and he was very clever too. So he
sat down on the ground and reflected for the
space of seven years, and at the end of that time
a thought struck him.

“He rose at once, and went to work and made a
pair of stilts, high enough to reach to the moon.
That was quite a piece of work, as you may
imagine; but when they were finished, a new
difficulty arose: how was he to get up on them?
This required more reflection, and Crump sat and
thought about it for six weeks more. Then
another thought struck him, which was really an
extremely clever one. He made a long ladder,
as long as the stilts. He set this up against one
of the stilts, and climbed up and put one foot on
it; and then he set the ladder against the other
stilt, and climbed up and put the other foot on
that; this was very difficult, but it was also very
clever. I forgot to say that he took the silver
body up with him. Then he called out to the
Lady Moon, ‘Here I am, dear Lady Moon, and
here is your silver body. Stop now, stop your
rolling, and let me fasten it on for you, and then
come down and be my beautiful silver bride.’
And he held up the silver body, which shone and
sparkled in the most enchanting manner.









“Here I am, dear Lady Moon.”



“But the Lady Moon replied, ‘Stop rolling,
indeed! that is quite out of the question, I assure
you. I have never done such a thing, and I am
not going to begin at my time of life. No, no,
Giant Crump; if you want me, you must catch
me!’ and she went rolling on in the most heartless
and unfeeling way.

“There was nothing for the poor giant to do but
follow; so, tucking the silver body under his arm,
he set off on his tall stilts, and walked after the
Lady Moon. Round and round the world went
she, and round and round went the giant after
her; and as I have never heard of his catching
up with her, he is very likely walking round and
round still.”


“Is that all?” inquired the insatiable Toto.
“What a very short story, Granny!”

“It is rather short,” said the grandmother;
“but I don’t see how it could be made any longer.
I will, however, if you wish, tell you another
short story, and that will be equal to one long
one. Listen, therefore, and you shall hear the
story of Hokey Pokey.”

So they listened, and heard it.

“Hokey Pokey was the youngest of a large
family of children. His elder brothers, as they
grew up, all became either butchers or bakers
or makers of candlesticks, for such was the custom
of the family. But Hokey Pokey would be
none of these things; so when he was grown to
be a tall youth he went to his father and said,
‘Give me my fortune.’

“‘Will you be a butcher?’ asked his father.

“‘No,’ said Hokey Pokey.

“‘Will you be a baker?’

“‘No, again.’

“‘Will you make candlesticks?’

“‘Nor that either.’

“‘Then,’ said his father, ‘this is the only fortune
I can give you;’ and with that he took up
his cudgel and gave the youth a stout beating.
‘Now you cannot complain that I gave you nothing,’
said he.

“‘That is true,’ said Hokey Pokey. ‘But give
me also the wooden mallet which lies on the shelf,
and I will make my way through the world.’

“His father gave him the mallet, glad to be
so easily rid of him, and Hokey Pokey went out
into the world to seek his fortune. He walked
all day, and at nightfall he came to a small village.
Feeling hungry, he went into a baker’s
shop, intending to buy a loaf of bread for his
supper. There was a great noise and confusion
in the back part of the shop; and on going to
see what was the matter, he found the baker on
his knees beside a large box or chest, which he
was trying with might and main to keep shut.
But there was something inside the box which
was trying just as hard to get out, and it screamed
and kicked, and pushed the lid up as often as the
baker shut it down.

“‘What have you there in the box?’ asked
Hokey Pokey.

“‘I have my wife,’ replied the baker. ‘She
is so frightfully ill-tempered that whenever I am
going to bake bread I am obliged to shut her up
in this box, lest she push me into the oven and
bake me with the bread, as she has often threatened
to do. But to-day she has broken the lock of
the box, and I know not how to keep her down.’

“‘That is easily managed,’ said Hokey Pokey.
‘Do you but tell her, when she asks who I am,
that I am a giant with three heads, and all will
be well.’ So saying, he took his wooden mallet
and dealt three tremendous blows on the box,
saying in a loud voice,—


‘Hickory Hox!

I sit by the box,

Waiting to give you a few of my knocks.


“‘Husband, husband! whom have you there?’
cried the wife in terror.

“‘Alas!’ said the baker; ‘it is a frightful giant
with three heads. He is sitting by the box, and
if you open it so much as the width of your little
finger, he will pull you out and beat you to
powder.’

“When the wife heard that she crouched down
in the box, and said never a word, for she was
afraid of her life.

“The baker then took Hokey Pokey into the
other part of the shop, thanked him warmly, and
gave him a good supper and a bed. The next
morning he gave him for a present the finest loaf
of bread in his shop, which was shaped like a large
round ball; and Hokey Pokey, after knocking
once more on the lid of the box, continued his
travels.

“He had not gone far before he came to another
village, and wishing to inquire his way he entered
the first shop he came to, which proved to be that
of a confectioner. The shop was full of the most
beautiful sweetmeats imaginable, and everything
was bright and gay; but the confectioner himself
sat upon a bench, weeping bitterly.

“‘What ails you, friend?’ asked Hokey-Pokey;
‘and why do you weep, when you are surrounded
by the most delightful things in the world?’

“‘Alas!’ replied the confectioner. ‘That is just
the cause of my trouble. The sweetmeats that I
make are so good that their fame has spread far
and wide, and the Rat King, hearing of them, has
taken up his abode in my cellar. Every night he
comes up and eats all the sweetmeats I have made
the day before. There is no comfort in my life,
and I am thinking of becoming a rope-maker and
hanging myself with the first rope I make.’

“‘Why don’t you set a trap for him?’ asked
Hokey Pokey.

“‘I have set fifty-nine traps,’ replied the confectioner,
‘but he is so strong that he breaks
them all.’

“‘Poison him,’ suggested Hokey Pokey.

“‘He dislikes poison,’ said the confectioner,
‘and will not take it in any form.’

“‘In that case,’ said Hokey Pokey, ‘leave him
to me. Go away, and hide yourself for a few
minutes, and all will be well.’









“The confectioner thanked him warmly.”



“The confectioner retired behind a large screen,
having first showed Hokey Pokey the hole of the
Rat King, which was certainly a very large one.
Hokey Pokey sat down by the hole, with his mallet
in his hand, and said in a squeaking voice,—


‘Ratly King! Kingly Rat!

Here your mate comes pit-a-pat.

Come and see; the way is free;

Hear my signal: one! two! three!’


And he scratched three times on the floor. Almost
immediately the head of a rat popped up through
the hole. He was a huge rat, quite as large as a
cat; but his size was no help to him, for as soon
as he appeared, Hokey Pokey dealt him such a
blow with his mallet that he fell down dead without
even a squeak. Then Hokey Pokey called
the confectioner, who came out from behind the
screen and thanked him warmly; he also bade
him choose anything he liked in the shop, in payment
for his services.

“‘Can you match this?’ asked Hokey Pokey,
showing his round ball of bread.

“‘That can I!’ said the confectioner; and he
brought out a most beautiful ball, twice as large
as the loaf, composed of the finest sweetmeats in
the world, red and yellow and white. Hokey
Pokey took it with many thanks, and then went
on his way.

“The next day he came to a third village, in
the streets of which the people were all running
to and fro in the wildest confusion.

“‘What is the matter?’ asked Hokey Pokey,
as one man ran directly into his arms.

“‘Alas!’ replied the man. ‘A wild bull has
got into the principal china-shop, and is breaking
all the beautiful dishes.’

“‘Why do you not drive him out?’ asked
Hokey Pokey.

“‘We are afraid to do that,’ said the man; ‘but
we are running up and down to express our emotion
and sympathy, and that is something.’

“‘Show me the china-shop,’ said Hokey Pokey.

“So the man showed him the china-shop; and
there, sure enough, was a furious bull, making
most terrible havoc. He was dancing up and
down on a Dresden dinner set, and butting at the
Chinese mandarins, and switching down finger-bowls
and teapots with his tail, bellowing meanwhile
in the most outrageous manner. The floor
was covered with broken crockery, and the whole
scene was melancholy to behold.

“Now when Hokey Pokey saw this, he said
to the owner of the china-shop, who was tearing
his hair in a frenzy of despair, ‘Stop tearing
your hair, which is indeed a senseless occupation,
and I will manage this matter for you. Bring
me a red cotton umbrella, and all will yet be
well.’

“So the china-shop man brought him a red cotton
umbrella, and Hokey Pokey began to open
and shut it violently in front of the door. When
the bull saw that, he stopped dancing on the Dresden
dinner set and came charging out of the shop,
straight towards the red umbrella. When he
came near enough, Hokey Pokey dropped the
umbrella, and raising his wooden mallet hit the
bull such a blow on the muzzle that he fell down
dead, and never bellowed again.

“The people all flung up their hats, and cheered,
and ran up and down all the more, to express their
gratification. As for the china-shop man, he threw
his arms round Hokey Pokey’s neck, called him
his cherished preserver, and bade him choose anything
that was left in his shop in payment for his
services.

“‘Can you match these?’ asked Hokey Pokey,
holding up the loaf of bread and the ball of sweetmeats.

“‘That can I,’ said the shop-man; and he
brought out a huge ball of solid ivory, inlaid with
gold and silver, and truly lovely to behold. It
was very heavy, being twice as large as the ball
of sweetmeats; but Hokey Pokey took it, and,
after thanking the shop-man and receiving his
thanks in return, he proceeded on his way.

“After walking for several days, he came to a
fair, large castle, in front of which sat a man on
horseback. When the man saw Hokey Pokey,
he called out,—

“‘Who are you, and what do you bring to the
mighty Dragon, lord of this castle?’

“‘Hokey Pokey is my name,’ replied the youth,
‘and strange things do I bring. But what does
the mighty Dragon want, for example?’

“‘He wants something new to eat,’ said the
man on horseback. ‘He has eaten of everything
that is known in the world, and pines for something
new. He who brings him a new dish, never
before tasted by him, shall have a thousand
crowns and a new jacket; but he who fails, after
three trials, shall have his jacket taken away from
him, and his head cut off besides.’

“‘I bring strange food,’ said Hokey Pokey.
‘Let me pass in, that I may serve the mighty
Dragon.’

“Then the man on horseback lowered his lance,
and let him pass in, and in short space he came
before the mighty Dragon. The Dragon sat on
a silver throne, with a golden knife in one hand,
and a golden fork in the other. Around him were
many people, who offered him dishes of every description;
but he would none of them, for he had
tasted them all before; and he howled with hunger
on his silver throne. Then came forward
Hokey Pokey, and said boldly,—

“‘Here come I, Hokey Pokey, bringing strange
food for the mighty Dragon.’

“The Dragon howled again, and waving his
knife and fork, bade Hokey Pokey give the food
to the attendants, that they might serve him.

“‘Not so,’ said Hokey Pokey. ‘I must serve
you myself, most mighty Dragon, else you shall
not taste of my food. Therefore put down your
knife and fork, and open your mouth, and you
shall see what you shall see.’

“So the Dragon, after summoning the man-with-the-thousand-crowns
and the man-with-the-new-jacket
to one side of his throne, and the man-to-take-away-the-old-jacket
and the executioner
to the other, laid down his knife and fork and
opened his mouth. Hokey Pokey stepped lightly
forward, and dropped the round loaf down the
great red throat. The Dragon shut his jaws together
with a snap, and swallowed the loaf in two
gulps.

“‘That is good,’ he said; ‘but it is not new. I
have eaten much bread, though never before in a
round loaf. Have you anything more? Or shall
the man take away your jacket?’

“‘I have this, an it please you,’ said Hokey
Pokey; and he dropped the ball of sweetmeats
into the Dragon’s mouth.

“When the Dragon tasted this, he rolled his
eyes round and round, and was speechless with
delight for some time. At length he said, ‘Worthy
youth, this is very good; it is extremely good; it
is better than anything I ever tasted. Nevertheless,
it is not new; for I have tasted the same
kind of thing before, only not nearly so good.
And now, unless you are positively sure that you
have something new for your third trial, you really
might as well take off your jacket; and the executioner
shall take off your head at the same
time, as it is getting rather late. Executioner, do
your—’









“People,” he said, “I am Hokey Pokey.”



“‘Craving your pardon, most mighty Dragon,’
said Hokey Pokey, ‘I will first make my third
trial;’ and with that he dropped the ivory ball
into the Dragon’s mouth.

“‘Gug-wugg-gllll-grrr!’ said the Dragon, for
the ball had stuck fast, being too big for him to
swallow.

“Then Hokey Pokey lifted his mallet and struck
one tremendous blow upon the ball, driving it
far down the throat of the monster, and killing
him most fatally dead. He rolled off the throne
like a scaly log, and his crown fell off and rolled
to Hokey Pokey’s feet. The youth picked it up
and put it on his own head, and then called the
people about him and addressed them.

“‘People,’ he said, ‘I am Hokey Pokey, and
I have come from a far land to rule over you.
Your Dragon have I slain, and now I am your
king; and if you will always do exactly what I
tell you to do, you will have no further trouble.’

“So the people threw up their caps and cried,
‘Long live Hokey Pokey!’ and they always
did exactly as he told them, and had no further
trouble.

“And Hokey Pokey sent for his three brothers,
and made them Chief Butcher, Chief Baker, and
Chief Candlestick-maker of his kingdom. But to
his father he sent a large cudgel made of pure
gold, with these words engraved on it: ‘Now
you cannot complain that I have given you
nothing!’”




CHAPTER XIV.


“YA-Ha!” said the raccoon, yawning and
stretching himself. “Ya-a-_hoo_! Hm-a-yeaow!
oh, dear me! what a pity!”

“What, for instance, is the matter?” demanded
the squirrel, dropping a hickory-nut down on the
raccoon’s nose. “I knew a raccoon once who
yawned till his head broke in two, and the top
rolled off.”

“Hm!” said the raccoon. “Not much loss if
it was like some people’s heads.

“I was sighing,” he continued, “you very stupid
Cracker! to think that summer is gone, and
that winter will be here before we can say ‘Beechnuts.’”

“Ah!” said the squirrel, looking grave. “That,
indeed! To be sure; yes.”

“The leaves are falling fast,” continued the
raccoon meditatively; “the birds are all gone,
except Pigeon Pretty and Miss Mary, and they are
going in a day or two. Very soon, my Cracker,
we shall have to roll ourselves up and go to sleep
for the winter. No more gingerbread and jam, my
boy. No more pleasant afternoons at the cottage;
no more stories. Nothing but a hollow tree
and four months’ sleep. Ah, dear me!” and Coon
sighed again, and shook his head despondingly.

“By the way,” said Cracker, “Toto tells me
that he and his people don’t sleep in winter any
more than in summer. Queer, isn’t it? I suppose
it has something to do with their having only
two legs.”

“Something to do with their having two heads!”
growled the raccoon. “They don’t sleep with
their legs, do they, stupid?”

“They certainly don’t sleep _without_ them!”
said the squirrel rather sharply.

“Look here!” replied the raccoon, rising and
shaking himself, “should you like me to bite
about two inches off your tail? It won’t take me
a minute, and I would just as lief do it as not.”

Affairs were becoming rather serious, when
suddenly the wood-pigeon appeared, and fluttered
down with a gentle “Coo!” between the
two friends, who certainly seemed anything but
friendly.

“What are you two quarrelling about?” she
asked. “How extremely silly you both are! But
now make friends, and put on your very best
manners, for we are going to have a visitor here
in a few minutes. I am going to call Chucky
and Miss Mary, and do you make everything
tidy about the pool before she comes.” And off
flew Pigeon Pretty in a great hurry.

“_She?_” said Cracker inquiringly, looking at
Coon.

“She _said_ ‘she’!” replied Coon, bestirring himself,
and picking up the dead branches that had
fallen on the smooth green moss-carpet.

“Perhaps it is that aunt of Chucky’s who has
been making him a visit,” suggested the squirrel.

“Oh, well!” said the raccoon, stopping short
in his work. “If Pigeon Pretty thinks I am
going to put this place in order for a woodchuck’s
aunt, she is very much mistaken, that’s
all. I never heard of such—” But here he
stopped, for a loud rustling in the underbrush
announced that the visitor, whoever she might
be, was close at hand.

The bushes separated, and to the utter astonishment
of both Coon and Cracker, who should
appear but the grandmother herself, escorted by
Toto and Bruin, and attended also by the wood-pigeon
and the parrot, who fluttered about her
head with cries of pleasure.

Toto led the old lady to the mossy bank beside
the pool, where she sat down, rather out of breath,
and a little bewildered, but evidently much pleased
at having accomplished such a feat.

The raccoon hastened to express his delight in
the finest possible language, while the little squirrel
turned a dozen somersaults in succession, by
way of showing how pleased he was. As for the
worthy Bruin, he fairly beamed with pleasure, and
even went so far as to execute a sort of saraband,
which, if the grandmother could have seen it,
would certainly have alarmed her a good deal.

“My dear friends,” said the old lady, “it gives
me great pleasure to be here, I assure you. Toto
has for some time had his heart quite set on my
seeing you once—though, alas! my _seeing_ is only
_hearing_—in your own pleasant home, before you
separate for the winter. So, thanks to our kind
friend, Mr. Bruin, I am actually here. How warm
and soft the air is!” she continued. “What a
delightful cushion you have found for me! and
is that a brook, that is tinkling so pleasantly?”

“That is the spring, Granny!” said Toto eagerly.
“It bubbles up, as clear as crystal, out of
a hole in the rock, and then it falls over into the
pool. And the pool is round, as round as a cup;
and there are ferns and purple flags growing all
around it, and the trees are all reflected in it, you
know; and there are turtles in it, and there used
to be a muskrat, only Coon ate him, and—and—oh!
it’s so jolly!” and here Toto paused, fairly
out of breath.

Indeed, it was very lovely by the pool, in the
soft glow of the Indian summer day. The spring
murmured and tinkled and sang to them; the
trees dropped yellow leaves on them, like fairy
gold; and then the sun laughed, and sent down
flights of his golden arrows, to show them what a
very poor thing earthly gold was, after all. So
they all sat and talked around the pool, of the
summer that was past and the winter that was
coming. Then the grandmother made a little
speech which she had been thinking over for some
time. It was a very short speech; but it was very
much to the point.

“Dear friends,” she said, “you are all sad at
the prospect of the long winter; but I have a
plan which will make the winter a joyous season,
instead of a melancholy one. I have plenty of
room in my cottage, warmth, and food, and everything
comfortable; and I want you all to come
and spend the winter with Toto and me. There
is a large wood-pile where you can climb or sit
when you are tired of the house. You shall sleep
when you please, and wake when you please;
and we will be a happy and united family. Come,
my friends, what do you say?”









“Then the grandmother made a little speech.”



What did they say? Indeed, they did not
know what to say. There was silence around the
pool for a few minutes. Then the bear looked at
the raccoon, the raccoon looked at the squirrel,
and the squirrel looked at the wood-pigeon; and
finally the gentle bird answered, as she usually
did, for all.

“Dear, dear madam,” she said, “we can imagine
nothing so delightful as to live with you and our
dear Toto. We all accept your invitation thankfully
and joyfully; and we will all do our best to
be a help, rather than a burden, to you.”

All the animals nodded approval. Then Toto,
who had been waiting breathless for the answer,
seized the bear by the paws, and the raccoon
seized the squirrel, and they all danced round and
round till there was no breath left in their bodies;
and the woodchuck—who had been asleep behind
a tree, and had waked up just in time to hear the
grandmother’s speech—danced all alone on his
hind-legs, to the admiration of all beholders. And
then Cracker went and brought some nuts, and
Coon brought apples, and Bruin brought great
shining combs of honey, and they sat and feasted
around the pool, and were right merry.

And then they all went back to the cottage,—the
grandmother, and Toto, and Bruin, and Coon,
and Cracker, and Chucky, and Pigeon Pretty, and
Miss Mary,—and there they all lived and were
happy; and if you ever lead half such a merry
life as they did, you may consider yourself
extremely fortunate.

THE END.



_Messrs. Roberts Brothers’ Publications._


MRS. DODGE’S POPULAR BOOK.









A Portrait of Dorothy at Sixteen.



DONALD AND DOROTHY.


By MARY MAPES DODGE.


Beautifully Illustrated and Bound. Price $2.00.

_An honest tribute from an admiring friend._


“Dear Mrs. Dodge,—I have just finished your book called ‘Donald and
Dorothy’ for the third or fourth time, and would like very much to know
whether Dorothy is a real person, and if so, what is her name? I am nearly
as old as Dorothy was at the close of the book, so am very much interested
in her. I would also like to know how old she is, and where she lives. If you
would be kind enough to reply, you would greatly oblige

“Your admiring friend,” ——.


ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston











“Do you remember how you used to play ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ when you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have me
tie my piece-bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks, and rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the cellar to
the house-top.”—_Vide_ “Little Women.”


A GIFT BOOK FOR THE FAMILY.


LITTLE WOMEN.


_ILLUSTRATED._


This, the most famous of
all the famous books by Miss
Alcott, is now presented in
an illustrated edition, with

Nearly Two Hundred Characteristic
Designs,

drawn and engraved expressly
for this work. It is safe to
say that there are not many
homes which have not been
made happier through the
healthy influence of this celebrated
book, which can now
be had in a fit dress for the
centre table of the domestic
fireside.

_One handsome small quarto
volume, bound in cloth, with emblematic
cover designs. Price,
$2.50._

ROBERTS BROTHERS,
_Publishers, Boston_.