The nursery was quiet except for the ticking of the clock and a sniffling sound from Betsy, who was crying very, very softly so that mother would not hear.
"Oh, oh!" whimpered the little girl. "It's my birthday, and I'm 6 years old at last, and I was to have had a party, but I can't 'cause Robin's got a sore throat and Mamma's too busy--I mustn't even cry or Mamma'll scold--I want a party--I want a--"
Before Betsy had finished speaking, a wee small voice reached her from the bureau top:
"Hush! hush! hush!"
Betsy stopped at once. She was ashamed to be seen crying by one of the dainty red and white troop.
"That is better," declared the fairy in the gingham apron. I'm sorry to hear that you can't have your party--but you shouldn't fuss--it makes me think of the Naughty Mackerel."
"Who is that?" Betsy wiped her eyes and looked curious.
"He is a fish, Betsy. How would you like to visit Coral Mansion and see him, my dear? It is your birthday today, but it is also the birthday of the Spring Mermaid, and as I want you to be happy, I shall show you the way to her party."
So Saying, the red and white gingham fairy flew down to Betsy and took her hand. That made Betsy tiny enough to get into the toy silver airplane which was lying on the floor-mat.
Whiz-z, whir-r, went the propeller and Betsy and the fairy sailed out of the window, above the housetops, far out and over the dancing waves of the sea. After a few moments the plane dipped suddenly and headed for an island of rock.
The island was really a broad, flat stone, and when they had landed safely, Betsy and the fairy climbed out and sat down. The ocean was all around them. You could not see land anywhere except for the little brown island.
Then, out of the water someone came, flashing and leaping. Betsy had never seen a mermaid before. She liked this beautiful creature with her flowing black hair, in which were many jewelled combs, and her sweet, smiling face. Betsy thought it queer that the mermaid had no legs at all, and that half her body was like that of a fish.
The mermaid gave a low, murmuring laugh like the noise you hear when a sea-shell is placed over your ear.
"Climb on her back," ordered the gingham fairy, "but first you must swallow this powder so that the water will not harm you."
Down--down--down.
Betsy found herself going far down into the depths of the ocean. She held tight to the mermaid's hair, as she was afraid of the fish that passed above and below them--huge creatures with round, cruel eyes.
The bottom of the sea is a wonderful place. The pale green grasses are as tall as your head. You could get lost among the knobby forests of brown seaweed.
The mermaid passed over stretch after stretch of sand and shells and lovely strange plants never heard of on the upper earth, right along to Coral Mansion, which had been built by tiny animals, and which floated all pink and shining, with pearls left there by the oysters.
"Listen!" cried this mermaid. "My sisters are singing while the fish, our servants, prepare everything for the feast. Get down from my back now, and swim to Coral Mansion."
Betsy was pleased that she had learned to swim the summer before. She paddled right up the steps and into a large, if watery, dining-room, where dozens and dozens of handsome mermen and pretty mermaids were gathering about a table set with nice things to eat.
Well, Betsy had a splendid time at that party. She was given delicious cakes out of golden dishes, and she drank seaweed milk that tasted like cold honey.
"But if this is the Spring Maiden's party, why isn't she here?" asked Betsy suddenly.
"She is up in the attic, hard at work, but she has promised to come down and cut her birthday cake," said the mermaid who had brought Betsy there. "Let's go and tell her that it is time she came, as the king of all the fish is waiting."
What do you suppose the Spring Mermaid was doing? Prettier even than her sisters, with her golden hair and eyes, she was pouring something into numbers of bottles that stood in rows on shelves lined up on the walls of the bright attic room.
"How do you do!" she said to Betsy. "I'm glad to see you, my dear. Every spring, you know, Betsy I spend hours making life-sap for the trees and flowers that you mortals love. I pour this liquid into the ocean, and the rivers and streams carry it to the soil. In this bottle is some of this sap, which is very precious, because without it, many trees would never be green."
Betsy sat down on a cushion and watched the golden-haired mermaid mix spring breezes and warm spring mists that would later on be rain after the sun had drawn them up into the clouds.
Then came a bump against the side of he floating mansion. The whole attic shook, and a bottle of the green liquid tipped and would have fallen had not Betsy cleverly reached and caught it in her hands.
"Thank you a thousand times!" declared the Spring Mermaid. "It's that horrid mackerel banging his head with rage against our house just because he was not invited to my party. He's so big and greedy that he eats up our little fish servants. He does not harm Coral Mansion much, but he does hurt his head. Don't you think bad temper is foolish, Betsy?"
"Oh, yes," Betsy agreed, but she remembered how she had fussed and fumed that very afternoon because there was to be no party, and she felt just a mite sorry for the naughty mackerel. She looked out of the pearl window and saw an enormous fish, mottled with green and blue, bumping his head against the wall of Coral Mansion. Betsy was glad she was inside and safe.
"Dear me!" groaned Betsy, who was just five, as she sat beside the cot watching Robin, her small brother, kick up his heels. "I do wish I could play dollhouse with Martha, and not have to mind the baby till he goes to sleep. Every time it's Monday mamma cleans our clothes and hangs them out to dry, and while she does it, she makes me play with Robin."
While Betsy was speaking, the nursery had become very quiet, and the baby stopped cooing and shut his eyes.
"I just know he's not asleep," said Betsy crossly. "He's making 'tend, and if I leave him, he'll cry hard. I wish--I wish I was a fairy, and I wouldn't have to mind Robin, because there wouldn't be a washday then at all."
"Oh! wouldn't there be--"
Betsy jumped. She had heard the tiny voice, but she couldn't tell where it was.
Who's that?" she asked.
"Look up on the mantelpiece, Betsy," the teeny-weeny voice whispered, "I'm standing beside the cuckoo clock."
Betsy looked, and what do you think she saw?
A small person, no higher than my hand, in a red and white gingham apron. Of course, it was a fairy, although Betsy had always thought they wore pink silk dresses, but the little girl saw, behind the checked apron, on the back of the small person, there were sparkling wings.
"I'm a fairy," went on the tiny voice, "one of the Monday troop, Betsy, and as soon as the Queen heard you say we hadn't any wash-day, she sent me at once to bring you to Fairyland."
"How can I leave Robin?" Betsy asked.
"He's asleep now," the fairy said, "so he won't mind it you go away."
Fairy Dance
At that the gingham fairy danced down from the mantel, climbed up on a chair, and took hold of Betsy's hand with her own wee one. A queer thing was happening. Either the fairy grew bigger, or Betsy became smaller, for in a moment they were exactly the same size. On the nursery floor stood Betsy's toy silver aeroplane, only it was much larger than before, large enough for the fairy and Betsy to sit in it.
There was the dearest little propellor on the plane, and when the fairy touched it, it went whir-r, whir-r, and before Betsy knew what was happening, she and the fairy went flying out of the window, way up over the housetops.
In about a minute Betsy couldn't see even the roof of her house, for the plane was slipping through a lovely rose-colored cloud, and was gliding into a new country.
The plane landed in a gorgeous green field, where birds of every size and color were singing, as merry as could be.
There was a high, golden gate, and the gingham fairy told Betsy that it was the gate to Fairyland.
They climbed out of the plane
and walked to one side. do you know poor Betsy couldn't see a thing until the gingham fairy remembered to sprinkle some of the dust in her pocket in Betsy's blue eyes.
"I see it!" shouted Betsy. "It has big, bubbly clouds above its towers, just like soap suds. Oh! Oh! Isn't it clean looking?"
"That cloud above the suds, that is so blue, can you guess what causes it?" asked the fairy.
"It looks like blueing, the kind mamma uses," replied Betsy, as the gingham fairy led her up slippery steps into a great high hall, where a whole army of gingham fairies were skipping and singing around a washing machine that was as huge as a house. The light soap bubbles rose up to the ceiling and disappeared through chimneys.
So Cute and So Happy
Betsy could have watched the workers forever, they were so cute and happy, but the gingham fairy said she wanted to show her everything quickly, as she had to work soon, too.
"This is where the fairies bring their soiled clothes every Monday. See that big air oven, that's where the wings are dried. Every fairy except the Queen, is busy today, for that bad Scrags undoes all our hard work. He's the wicked dwarf from the coal mine."
After saying this, the fairy showed Betsy the glass wall of Suds Castle, through which they could see the sunlit courtyard, where more red and white gingham fairies were having a gay time pinning pink and blue and yellow dresses to the line.
"I wish I had a dress as pretty as that--"
Betsy stopped speaking, for a dreadful thing was happening. Who should come creeping into the courtyard when the gingham fairies weren't looking, but an ugly black dwarf, bent over from carrying a heavy bag.
"Scrags! Beware of Scrags!" shouted the fairy who was with Betsy, but it was too late. This nasty dwarf who adored dirt and who lived under the ground, swept out his house every Monday. He put the sweepings of coal and dust in a sack and came round to annoy the fairies because he hated clean people or clean things.
"You bad, bad dwarf!" the gingham fairies cried, as Scrags tossed his bag in the air and the soot lit upon the pretty frocks.
"Ha-ha!" the dwarf laughed, as he ran away with the fairies at his heels. "You'll have all your trouble over again, now!"
Fairies Set to Work
The busy gingham fairies set to work, carried the clothes inside and put them in the tub to be scrubbed once more.
"I must take you home," said the fairy at Betsy's side. "I should be outside watching for naughty Scrags while they hand out the clothes, but I did want to show you what the fairy sisters do when it's wash-day here."
She led Betsy up three flights of stairs and into a room full of baby cots. Little fairy babies, who made Betsy think of Robin, were lying on their beds playing with their pink toes or were fast asleep, while sweet and smiling sister fairies in white caps and aprons sat telling stories and singing songs or shaking rattles.
One baby seemed to have no nurse, so Betsy sat and played with it a while. She felt so tired all at once that she put her head on the pillow.
Betsy heard the gingham fairy say in a small voice, "Good-bye, good-bye, little girl, I'm going to send you home now."
Then there was Betsy's mother bending over her saying, "Get up, dear; you and Robin have been asleep for hours."
"My, mamma, I've just come from Fairyland," cried Betsy, "and the fairies do wash clothes, and oh! after this I'll never be cross when you're busy and I have to mind Robin, because that's the way to be a good sister fairy."
"Don't be too sure you know everything," Mrs. Blue Grouse often chirped to her children, and they all listened carefully - all but Gertie, the tiniest and the darkest blue.
They lived in the bushes at the foot of a hill, and they thought that the world began at the fence and ended at the hilltop where the moon rose every night.
Gertie Grouse used to remark: "Wheet, wheet! It would be nice to climb the hill and wait for the moon which, I feel sure, is a big yellow bowl with worms in it" Her mother warned her again. "Home is certainly best for baby birds."
Gertie had soft feathers all over her body, and there was a yellowish spot on her neck. Perhaps that is why she liked yellow, and liked to watch the moon. She was the child about whom Mother Grouse worried most, for she never hurried when she was given the sign to hide.
One day the boy who lived in the cottage at the foot of the hill came plunging through the bushes and stopped outside their home. Mrs. Grouse and her children did not see him, but they knew that he was there all the same. The boy was taking his new pumpkin lantern to his friend's house. But Mrs. Grouse, who did not understand that the boy was using the path through the bushes as a short cut, was stiff with fear. Suppose, oh, just suppose he were to step on one of her children!
Mrs. Grouse signaled to them: "Don't follow me. I'll lead him away. You babies run to the big oak tree and hide beneath the leaves."
They all minded quickly except Gertie, whose busy grouse brain was thinking "I won't hide under the leaves, and I won't go with mother, but I shall try to find the road to the top of the hill where the moon comes every night, and there I'll wait for nice, fat worms."
So while the boy was following Mrs. Grouse and the baby birds were slipping under the oak leaves, silly Gertie Grouse flew over the twigs and the ditches until she came at last to the open road.
"This is what I've always wanted, wheet, wheet!" screamed Gertie Grouse as she ran along. "But, oh, what a long time it takes to reach the top of the world! I'm getting so tired, and my wings feel as if they will break if I fly any longer. I wonder if I'm near the place where the moon comes."
And just then something happened. With a brittle sound the bushes parted, and the boy, who was wearing the pumpkin mask with its glaring eyes and its big black teeth, stepped out on to the road. How terrible his shout was to the ears of poor Gertie! No, Gertie did not stay long in that spot. She was off, down the hill in quick time, flying toward home.
And then, in grouse language, she said to her brothers and sisters: "Wheet wheet! I'm a brave grouse, for I have climbed the hill alone, and I have seen the moon up close. It isn't a big yellow bowl at all, as we've always thought, but it makes a dreadful noise, and it has ugly teeth in its round head, and -- and it looks something like a boy! Really it is a very ugly thing; I think mother must have known all about it, and that's why she wanted us to follow her. I will never disobey again."
Published October 13, 1929 - from "The Sunbeam"
Tap--tap--tap--
It was Miss Prink's pointer making this sound as it paused under each big letter on the blackboard.
"I wish it was half-past two," whispered Peterkin to himself, as he dipped his paintbrush in the paste and daubed it on some paper, "I would like to be out on the hill with Dan and Nancy flying my new red kite that Uncle Jacob gave me."
You see, Peterkin was only six years old and he had not been in school more than two weeks, so that he was not used to having to sit still. He liked school sometimes, and he liked dainty Miss Prink, his teacher, but today something made him very restless.
Miss Prink was too busy to notice that naughty little Peterkin was letting the paints in his box all run together. He had a new paintbook, and there was in it a smart-looking rooster to be colored but he was letting the paint splash over the sides of the rooster. Tap--tap--tap went Miss Prink's pointer as she taught B class the alphabet.
Peterkin yawned and put his dark head on his arms. He heard the big clock on the wall strike twice, and as he looked up the hands started to whirl faster and faster - until Peterkin could no longer see them. When he was able to see again the oddest thing in the world had happened. Peterkin wasn't where he had been before. Oh, no! He was standing on the desk, and queerer still, Peterkin had become a wee boy no bigger than your thumb.
"My the classroom looks big!" cried Peterkin, right out loud, forgetting that he must not talk in school. He looked around to see what Miss Prink would say when she heard him speak, but he could not see his teacher anywhere. "How big the desk is!" Peterkin added. "Dear me, I hope that I don't fall into the ink-well, as I didn't learn to swim very well when I was as the beach this summer."
"Ahem!" Somebody coughed behind Peterkin, and turning about, the little boy saw a strange untidy figure with a big, yellow head like an oblong, and long skinny legs and arms. Peterkin burst out laughing for the stranger had a mouth that turned down and a sharp, pointed nose, and watery eyes.
"Who are you?" asked Peterkin.
"No wonder you don't know me," replied the small figure sadly. "You have never paid much attention to me before, Peterkin. I am Yellow Paint Man."
"Oh!" exclaimed Peterkin. "Where do you come from?"
"I live in your paintbox, and you are to blame for the terrible condition I am in." Then the yellow figure danced up and down, crying.
"Paintmen, rally to my call. Come Blue, come Red, come brothers all."
At these words, Peterkin saw a big black box open and more funny little men jumped out. One looked sort of blue, one sort of red, one green, one brown, one orange, one black, and one white. They were all as untidy as Paintman Yellow, who had splashes of red and green on his face. They marched up and down and around the desk top, standing at attention before Peterkin.
"Where's Mr. Brush?" asked Paintmen Yellow, sharply. "Didn't he hear me call?"
"He wouldn't come," said the Red Paintman. "He pretended to be having a nap, but I'm sure he wasn't, because one of his eyes was open."
"We must see about this," said Paintman Yellow. "Come, Peterkin, follow me to our Paintbox home and we'll find out what has happened to Mr. Brush.
The Paintmen and Peterkin walked over to the black box, and at the paintman's magic words, it slowly opened. There in the hollow place lay Mr. Brush pretending to be sound asleep.
"Get up--get up at once!" ordered Paintman Yellow. "And tell us why you did not come when you were called."
The long and skinny Mr. Brush wobbled to his feet and bowed first to the Paintmen and then to Peterkin. "If you please," he said, "I was ashamed of my hair. It's all glued together by the sticky white paste that the boy who owns me tossed me into this morning. We brushes have our feelings and I like to have my hair smooth and clean before I let folks see me. I was ashamed, and I am ashamed." And the poor brush burst into tears.
"Yes, and we are ashamed of ourselves too," cried all the Paintmen together. "That's why we are letting you see us close up. Look how our faces have all the wrong paint on them. Look inside our home and see how the white walls have been smeared by a careless boy. Oh dear! We wish Bobby owned us!"
"Here is a telescope," said Paintman Yellow. "Look at that desk across the aisle and you will see how well Bobby has cleaned up his paintbox before he put it aside."
"And he doesn't use his brush for gluing," wailed Mr. Brush. "I wish he owned me."
"Well-well!" stammered Peterkin. "Please give me another chance and I will make everything straight. I will--"
But the Paintmen and Mr. Brush had suddenly popped back into the box and the lid was shut on them. Somebody was shaking Peterkin gently.
"Wake up," said Miss Prink. "It is time to go home, my dear." "Just a minute, cried Peterkin, rubbing his eyes. "I've not been good to my paints, Miss Prink, but I know better now. I've got to clean them up so that Mr. Brush will never feel badly any more."
Then Peterkin went to work with a will, and he made such a good job of his paintbox that as far as anybody knows the Paintmen and Mr. Brush had mo more fault to find with him.
"I've taken lessons for four months now," groaned Douglas to himself, "and I can't play a thing and these scales get worse and worse." (That was because he really never did one bit of good practicing. He only sat there and wasted time.)
Just then Bill, from next door, stood in the doorway. "Hello, Bill" said Doug. "Let's go to the ball-game. I don't feel like practicing."
"Oh, I'm not so keen about it," answered Bill. "I'll go with you Saturday.
"Suit yourself," answered Doug. "Say, did you know the Rovers are going to choose a mascot to hold the bat when they go to Medville Monday? And my Uncle is a friend of Red Stanley and I'm hoping they'll ask me."
That would be great," said Bill. "I just dropped in to see if you would mind lending me those college songs of yours. I think I'd like to learn some of them."
"Sure, help yourself," said Doug. He really had no idea which book they were in, because he never looked in any of his books, except what he had for his lesson, and he only skimmed carelessly through that, but he had no objections to Bill looking them up himself if he wanted them. So off he started to the game, leaving Bill behind to look through the coveted music. Bill did not have much music himself but Doug was always generous about lending. In fact, Doug was glad to have someone use the books. It saved him the trouble.
The game was great. Of course Red Stanley, with that left-handed pitch of his, nearly drove the Blue Hill players mad. Everybody knew the Rovers would win, even before they started. After the game Doug saw his Uncle chatting with none other than the great Red Stanley; so thinking this a good time to meet Red, he joined them.
How about coming to my house for supper?" he heard his uncle say to Red. Of course Doug was included in the invitation and soon Doug found himself seated at the table with Red and several
other Rovers, listening to the baseball chatter he loved so well and having the time of his life.
Later in the evening Red suggested, "How about having some songs? I see you have a piano and wondered who could play for us to sing." "Well, Doug is taking lessons. Would you like to try some accompaniments, boy?" Doug would have given anything he possessed to say "Yes," but he had to refuse. It really was too bad. Here were the Rovers just in the mood for singing and no one to even plunk out a few chords. (But then Doug had never done any practicing, although he had excellent opportunities and a fine teacher).
Suddenly Doug thought of Bill. Just the one to ask! He'd love to oblige them and he could play most anything, and read well, to. It did not take a minute to get Bill, and as soon as he came in he sat down and started in with the Stein Song, good rhythm, too. They all roared out parts of it, and hummed parts of it. And they kept Bill at the piano for nearly two hours.
Then Red Stanley turned to his chums and said, "Bill must come to Medville with us. He'll be our musical mascot." Lucky Bill!
At first Doug was terribly hurt. Then he realized that Red could ask any body he wanted to. He'd have to see if Uncle Jack would take him along even if the Rovers did not invite him to be mascot.
He decided then and there that perhaps there was something in knowing how to play the piano after all. Perhaps it really was worthwhile to practice. Perhaps he would try to make up for lost time. And he made up his mind that the next time any songs were wanted by the crowd he would be the one to play them.
"Wisht we could have some bread'n butter," sighed Robin. Betsy and her little brother were both on the floor of the playhouse in the back yard. They were not allowed indoors because mother was putting up strawberry preserves and the kitchen was crowded with bottles and rubber rings and boxes of berries.
It was no place for children, especially for Baby Robin.
"I'll mind him," Betsy agreed, as she really liked to help her mother. The day was warm, but it was cool and shady in the playhouse. Yet there was nothing for Betsy to do but make block houses for Robin to knock down. She was glad when, at last, he lay back on the floor, shut his eyes, and napped.
"Dear me!" murmured Betsy, "I'm hungry, too. If only mamma wouldn't cook strawberries. They are much nicer raw, anyhow. I'd rather be in Fairyland 'cause I'm sure fairies don't fuss with preserves."
"Oh, don't they?"
Betsy was surprised to hear the whispered words, which seemed to have drifted from a tiny sprite who had appeared of a sudden from nowhere and was now standing on the doorstep of the playhouse.
"I heard what you said, Betsy, while I was driving by on my hummingbird, Featherling. I've a mind to take you to Bottle Villa."
"Oh, thank you very much," replied Betsy to the fairy, who had on a dainty, checked, red and white apron. "You're a gingham fairy, aren't you? I'd love the trip, but I must be back before Robin wakes up."
While Betsy was speaking, the fairy clapped her slender hands, and something green, gold and red made a bow of color in the air and came to rest at the feet of the fairy, who then sprinkled magic dust on Betsy's head, which made the little girl as small as herself.
Betsy and the fairy climbed on the back of the hummingbird, Featherling, and at once it soared into the air.
Up--up--up----
High above the circles of black smoke which rose from the chimney of Betsy's home they went, through rosy clouds, above snow-capped mountains and dark blue seas. Betsy held on so tightly to the back of the hummingbird that her fingers pulled out one of its soft lustrous plumes.
"Keep it in the pocket of your pinafore," the fairy told Betsy. "It has magical powers and may be useful to you alter on----"
While she was speaking the hummingbird dipped and swooped towards land. Betsy glanced downwards and saw that they had reached a country where stretched fields and fields of ripe strawberries. But to the left of these the earth was dry and barren. When the hummingbird reached the ground the little girl noticed that ahead of them was a shining house like a big preserving bottle.
"Um--m! It does smell good!" Betsy sniffed in delight. "Doesn't nobody mind a little girl being here? I think I will look through the glass and watch the workers bringing in the berries."
As Betsy was doing this, she heard a buzzing sound, and then a screaming noise. She cried out as she saw the tiny workers flying towards Bottle Villa.
"Witch Squibs -- run--run!" they shouted, while they sobbed betterly and wrung their hands. Following them was a gaunt, ugly witch, above whose bent head swarmed clouds of angry, noisy wasps.
"Now just look at that!" groaned the gingham fairy guide to Betsy. "That mean Witch Squibs has been so jealous this summer because her crop was ruined by the hailstones and ours wasn't. Just out of pure spite she is bringing her wasps to bite our workers, and if we don't get those berries in today they will be spoiled entirely."
"Can't you scare her some way? Isn't she afraid of anything?" Betsy wanted to know.
"Well!" declared the fairy guide thoughtfully. "She simply hates giggling or laughing or a teeny-weeny smile or--or tickling."
"And she can't hurt little girls like me?" Betsy continued with her questions.
"No, she won't bother with humans. She is angry at present with us alone. Anyway, her wasps are magic wasps and their bites only hurt fairy people.
"Then I have a plan. Perhaps I can help you" cried Betsy gayly, as she rushed out to where the gloomy old witch stood waving her arms at the wasps as if to urge them on to the attack. Betsy crept up behind her and, taking the plume from the pocket of her pinafore, she tickled the old witch on the back of the neck. And Betsy chanted all the while:
"Old Witch Squibs,
I'll tickle her ribs!"
At this piece of nonsense the witch could not help allowing the corners of her mouth to curve into a smile. She giggled, then she laughed aloud and finally shook all over with mirth. Her power over the wasps was destroyed immediately for they swirled and flew straight homewards.
"I'll catch you!" the old witch called out in a chuckling tone, although she was really terribly annoyed, poor jealous thing! "I'll boil you for my supper--ha--ha!"
But she did not have a chance to reach Betsy for the hummingbird appeared and Betsy climbed on his back in a hurry and was carried off.
In the twinkling of an eye Betsy found herself home again, while from a long distance away a voice seemed to be saying: "Farewell, dear Betsy. You have saved our berries for us, and we thank you one and all. We hope you will come again next year to Bottle Villa---"
Then the voice changed to that of Betsy's mother, who was standing in the door of the playhouse and who was saying:
"How very good and quiet you have been. It is nice to have such helpful children . . . I have brought this tray with your lunch and you shall have a party, a reward for your good behavior.
And so ended Betsy's adventures in the country of Magic Preserves.
Published Saturday, August 10, 1929.
"He didn't leave even one teeny-weeny valentine, only an old letter," Betsy moaned, as the postman walked out of the gate.
It was the fourteenth of February. Valentine Day, and no one had sent the little five-year-old girl any Valentines. Mother was in the kitchen making a cake.
"Dear me!" she cried, as Betsy gave her the letter the postman had left, "I'm all out of icing sugar, and I'm too tired to change my shoes, and, anyway, Mrs. McBrittle's store is only a block away, so-run and get me some; do, Betts."
The little girl didn't want to go. It looked nasty and blowy outside, and the kitchen was cozy, but Betsy knew that her mother had worked hard all day, so she said:
"All right! Give me the money. I'll buy some sugar."
She dropped the fifteen cents into her woolly coat picket, put on her hat and mittens and went down the street.
Br-r! It did seem cold. A wicked wind came and blew Betsy's hat off. While she was chasing it, she stumbled, and tripped on a knobby green stone, and fell to the pavement.
Now, strange to say, the stone that Betsy had slipped on, was an Enchanted Pebble. When Betsy sat up, after rubbing the dust off her knees, she noticed, right away, a great change in everything. Yes, the sky was still blue, and the road was grey, but--
Oh! how funny the houses were. Why, they weren't the same houses at all, but cottages; small, green, brown and orange cottages with odd-looking, light-green grass for lawn, and huge knockers on the low doors. A mist lay over the street, so that Betsy could see only a few of these homes at a time.
"Dear me!" she cried, "I'm lost--quite lost--I don't see our house at all--and--where, oh where has Mrs. McBrittle's grocery gone?"
Puff! Puff! Puff!
"Our of my way, young lady!"
Puff! Puff! Puff!
This noise and these words coming from behind Betsy, made her turn about quickly. She burst out laughing, because two fat pigeons with their breasts as white as snow were pulling a wagon-load of bundles. And sitting in the cart, ho9lding some twine-like reins, was an old chap with long grey whiskers. On his head he wore a tall black hat, and his suit was a creamy yellow.
It was the pigeons, all out of breath from hurrying, who puffed.
Betsy asked, as she jumped aside to let them pass, "Please can you tell me where Mrs. McBrittle's grocery is? I can't find it anywhere, and my mamma wants sugar."
"Never heard of it," sniffed the driver of the pigeons, staring hard at Betsy. "I can tell you're a stranger, but if you want to buy tarts, you can't do better than to follow me to the Enchanted Tart Shop, the best sweet store in Fairyland."
"How nice!" cried the little girl, "here I am in Fairyland!"
She thought, as the elfin delivery man called out "Gif-dap, Filbert and Jibert," that he might have offered her a ride, but when the pigeons stopped, and the old chap had carried loads of bundles into the shop, Betsy wondered how the small wagon could have held so much.
Betsy and the pigeons were standing before a dear little pastry shop. It was low, like the cottages, and its walls were of bright, colored stones. The roof was like a shell, and it gave out musical wounds every time the door opened and closed. In front of the shop was a sign with these letters on it:
"HEARTS--FOR--SALE"
and although Betsy couldn't read, she knew what that spelt, because beautiful, heart-shaped tarts, with jelly in the centres, lay in rows on trays, right where anyone passing could touch them. Betsy's mouth watered. My! She did feel hungry!
"Come right in," somebody called in a tinkly voice, and when Betsy opened the door, she saw, inside a lovely fairy in a long, white robe, and silver crown and wings, sprinkling a can of pepper over a tray of pastry hearts. "Oh! Stop!" Betsy cried, "who will want to eat tarts with pepper in them?"
"Who, indeed! Nobody," declared the fairy, but she went right on with her work. Then she tip-toed out of the door, and placed the tray beside the other tarts in front of the shop
Betsy looked around. It was a strange store. Everywhere were Hearts--big hearts, little hearts, red and white hearts, blue and pink hearts, fudge hearts, taffy-hearts! Oh, almost every kind of heart!
But the prettiest of all was a pink cake heart with chocolate icing and pink rosebuds on top. Yum! Delicious! Betsy longed to eat it, but she only had fifteen cents. The lovely fairy shook her head as Betsy handed her the money.
We never take silver for these. Tell me little girl, can you remember a kind deed--some nice thing that you did today for someone?"
Betsy thought, and thought, but no, she couldn't think of any.
"Too bad!" said the fairy, "I can't sell it to you"
She had scarcely said these words, when a fearful howling was heard coming from outside the shop. In the street, a crowd of fairies and elves had gathered to watch a fellow dressed in a red uniform. The little chap was screaming with rage. He had let fall a platter of the tarts he had taken from in front of the store.
On seeing him with his hands clasped over his mouth, the fairy shopkeeper cried:
"Aha! You naughty Jack of Hearts! Will you ever learn that stolen sweets aren't sweet at all in Fairyland? Each year on Valentine Day you snoop about taking the tarts owned by some honest person. I put pepper in those pastry hearts on purpose."
At her words, the knave ran away, crying bitterly, while the fairy and the little girl went into the shop again.
"I know one good deed I did today," whispered Betsy, "I helped my mamma by going to the store for her to get the sugar."
"Well, you can have the pretty cake. I shall be your Valentine," said the fairy.
Betsy thanked her and then she took a bite of the sweet heart. As she did so, the fairy vanished. In her place was a nice old lady with spectacles, sitting behind the counter holding out a cake to Betsy.
It was Mrs. McBrittle. "Here's a Valentine for you, dear," she said, "did you want white or brown sugar?"
"Icing sugar, please," Betsy said happily. "I guess I'm not in Fairyland any more, but the Valentine is very nice, Mrs. McBrittle, and I'm glad nobody put any pepper in it."
From: "The Province", February 12, 1933, Page 42
There was once a mouse so tiny and wee that its mother begged it never to go out alone. But on Valentine's Day, when she was out shopping for tarts, Kippy, the small mouse, became so lonely that he ran out of his basement home and up the street to a bakeshop.
"My goodness!" he exclaimed, hearing Miss Kitty Croolpaw. "I must hide at once."
In his excitement he dived into a bowl of white paste. When the cat went off down the street, Kippy came out as white as snow, licking the icing from his long whiskers. Before his heart had stopped thumping, he heard heavy footsteps and in came a man like a giant. Kippy hid in the window beside a number of pastry tarts on a long tray. Then the door of the shop clanged, and in walked a little girl with bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and long fair curls.
"Good afternoon, Monsieur Patipon," she said.
"Good afternoon, Ma'mselle Faith," returned the baker. "Now what can I do for you today?"
"I want six of those lovely crab-apple tarts that I saw in the window," declared Faith. "They are for my best friends."
Monsieur Patipon picked up a bag and reached for the tarts. He took three the first time. The next time his hand went out, his little finger caught in Kippy's tail and the mouse was swung with two other tarts into the bag. As he was near-sighted, the baker believed Kippy to be just another tart with perhaps some of the jelly spilled.
Before the poor mouse realized what had happened, he was swinging in the bag suspended from Faith's wrist. He wondered if she would be kind to him when she discovered him there. Or would she eat him? Horrors!
At last they were in Faith's house. She put the bag down on a table and reached inside.
She murmured: "I'll pack each of you pretty tarts in a nice box and send you to my friends, Maisie, Sally, Tommy, Rob, Ellie and Mary. But no. I won't give Mary one because she never asks me to visit her. She doesn't even like me well enough to let me walk home from school with her, so I certainly won't waste valentines on her."
In spite of his great terror, the white mouse was interested because he had often seen Mary and knew very well why she didn't let Faith accompany her home.
Before Faith put her hand in the bag to pull out what she thought was a pastry tart, Kippy dived out of the opening, found a window and was off down the street.
"Oh, dear me! My tart is running away all by itself!" cried Faith in great surprise. "Come back at once, you naughty valentine!" And she ran out of the doorway and down the street after the white mouse.
Kippy had never hurried so fast in all his short life. How he wished now that he had minded his mamma! He dashed down a stairway and crouched behind a flowerpot in an open window. Then he saw, to his surprise, that he wasn't far from his own home and that also he was just outside Mary's house.
By and by, Faith came along looking for her runaway valentine, but she scarcely noticed Kippy, for she spied Mary on the other side of the window. Mary was rocking her baby brother to sleep while her mother lay on a sofa, looking thin and pale and very, very tired. It was a poor sort of place; worn furniture and a table set with scrappy food, crusts of bread and an empty porridge pot.
Oh, poor little Mary! No wonder she didn't want her friends to know! Faith felt like crying. To think that she had just been thinking meanly of Mary!
**
Kippy heard Faith whisper as she turned away: "I'm going to give Mary a lovely surprise for her valentine. I'll have my mother pack a basket of the nicest things to eat, and I'll give Mary my biggest, prettiest doll."
Then Faith began to hunt again for her missing valentine. Kippy kept so quiet that she never noticed him at all.
"I guess it must have been enchanted," sighed Faith. "I suppose it was the best one of all. Really, I quite meant to keep it myself and eat it."
"Just as I thought," Kippy told himself. "I'm lucky to be alive. I think I'll hurry right home and tell my mother all about my narrow escape."
And so it happened that evening when Kippy was having his supper under the basement stairs he hears Faith come with her nice Valentine surprise for Mary, and in his mousey way he was extremely pleased.
Long ago, in the big white orphanage on the hill lived the nicest, sweetest old cook in the world. She had snow-white hair and eyes like bluebells and she had been a real mother to Michael.
He had never forgotten her, nor her stories of the dear, wee folk that garland the woods of Ireland. Now, because it was stormy March, he remembered her say: "In Saint Patrick's month, when you put your shoes on the wrong feet, sometimes up pops a bit leprechaun who grants you your heart's wish."
Oh, but Michael had a wish now. Perhaps if he tried Mrs. Hagen's plan for seeing a fairy. Thinking about it just made him cry. He wiped his eyes on the bedspread quickly so that Ellen, the maid, wouldn't laugh at him. Then he put his beautiful new oxfords on the wrong feet and mumbled: "Leprechaun, wherever you are, find my lost pup, Timmy."
"Still looking for that fool bull-pup?" snapped Ellen, whisking her broom from a corner. "I hope he never comes back, the work he makes."
Then off she flew, quite heartless. If Ellen were only Mrs. Hagen, what fun he would have! She would go hunting Timmy with him. She would make being adopted really interesting. She would leave bits of scraps for Timmy outside the door. She would tell more splendid stories about leprechauns until you could see them peeping at you from behind every tree. You could find the pattern of their faces in the wallpaper and in the curves of the frilly curtain.
Michael sauntered out into the sweet-scented gardens, gay with daffodil and narcissus. He would look for Timmy. No, he would first find a little man with pointed toes and ears, a broad smile and a round, Irish nose. Over the leprechaun's shoulders would be slung fairy boots for the mending.
Sometimes when you want a thing very much, things begin to happen. Michael was sure he heard a small voice whisper: "Follow the path to the old snake fence and look for Timmy at the Home. Perhaps he has gone there to find Mrs. Hagen."
"Thanks to you, Leprechaun!" said Michael with a funny little bow. "It's queer to me that I never thought of hunting there for him."
Michael's feet felt more natural -- he had put his shoes back on the right way -- when he took the well-worn trail. His heart leaped and for a moment being adopted seemed a miserable condition, when he saw Johnny, his old pal, learning over the fence not bothering about being clean or tearing clothes or correct posture. But Johnny didn't realize that Michael envied him. The orphanage lad only saw the new blue suit, the fancy shirt and bow tie. "So they've turned you into a dook, or somepin'!" he snapped. "We make mincemeat of dooks here, Sir Michael Cotter."
Michael wilted completely. "Honest, Johnny, I'm not stuck up," he pleaded. "I want still to be best friends with you and Molly." At the mention of her name, Molly lifted her mop of red curls and crept out from behind a stump. "Any time you come to see us, huh!" she said. "I know what you want. You want Timmy, but we ain't allowed dogs here now since they sent Mrs. Hagen away."
"I don't believe it! They couldn't" exclaimed Michael, his heart dropping down into his boots. "Where'd they send her to?" "We don't know, dook!" Johnny told him crossly. "Come on, Molly, I hear the bell. We got to eat hash tonight while Sir Michael will have apple pie with ice cream."
Michael couldn't bring himself to tell them that he would love to be with them again, arguing over the simple meal, rather than eating a fancy dessert under Ellen's watchful eyes.
"You fooled me, Leprechaun," he cried reproachfully as he walked away. "I don't believe in you any more--and--I guess I just dreamed Timmy and Mrs. Hagen--they aren't anywhere any more."
Then Michael heard a curious piping noise at his elbow. "Even when you forget about us," said a tiny voice. "we are beside you, waiting, hoping to serve you. Look down hill there and you will see your puppy." Michael stared. He began to run, calling and calling: "Timmy, come back!" Faster and faster he went, and Timmy flew faster and faster. Michael knew it was Timmy by the nice chocolate brown color and the bit of white fur on the crooked tail that a truck had run over.
After many blocks, up many hills and down, Timmy rushed into an alley that led to a big grey building. Michael had learnt enough letters to know that the painted sign over a doorway spelled "Home for Aged Ladies." What could Timmy be doing here, and why did he wait so eagerly at a side window?
Michael understood Homes. The red, cranky face of a cook woman who scolded Timmy didn't worry Michael. She opened the window and cried: "Off with you, thieves, or I'll call the police! I'll teach you to take me cake when me back's turned!"
"Who's a thief, Maggie?" called a soft voice in a doorway. "Why it's Timmy come to visit me again, only this time he brought Michael! Blessed Saint Patrick!"
"Mrs. Hagen!" cried Michael. "The leprechaun sent me, and he helped me find Timmy!" "I knew he would," she returned smiling. She looked nice in her pink frilled apron, her hair fluffy and white above her face all in folds like pie crust. She wasn't like Ellen, who minded when Timmy kept pawing her. She sat down on a step and took Michael and Timmy right on to her lap. "A story about fairies, please," demanded Michael. "I'd almost forgotten them, she murmured, her eyes filling with tears. I thought I was a bit old and a bit silly and perhaps there weren't any.
"Listen," said Michael with a far-away look. Then all three fancied they could hear a tiny, piping voice crying: "Even when you forget us, we are beside you, waiting, our greatest happiness is to serve you."
The nursery was quiet except for the clock ticking and a sniffling sound from Betsy who was crying very, very softly so that mother would not hear.
"Oh, oh!" whimpered the little girl. "It's my birthday and I'm six years old at last, and I was to have had a party, but I can't 'cause Robin's got a sore throat and Mamma's too busy--I mustn't even cry, or Mamma'll scold me--I want a party--I want a----"
Before Betsy had finished speaking, a wee small voice reached her from the bureau top.
"Hush! Hush! Hush!"
Betsy stopped at once. She was ashamed to be seen crying by one of the dainty red and white troop.
"That is better," declared the fairy in the gingham apron. "I'm sorry to hear that you can't have your party, but you shouldn't fuss -- it makes me think of the Naughty Mackerel."
"Who is that?" Betsy wiped her eyes and looked curious.
"He is a fish, Betsy. How would you like to visit Coral Mansion and see him, my dear? It is your birthday today, but it is also the birthday of the Spring Mermaid, and as I want you to be happy, I shall show you the way to her party."
So saying, the red and white gingham fairy flew down to Betsy and took her hand. That made Betsy tiny enough to get into the toy silver aeroplane which was lying on the floor-mat.
Whiz-z, whir-r, went the propeller, and Betsy and the fairy sailed out of the window, above the housetops, far out and over the dancing waves of the sea. After a few moments the plane dipped suddenly, and headed for an island of rock.
The island was really a broad, flat stone, and when they had landed safely, Betsy and the fairy climbed out and sat down. The ocean was all round them. You could not see land anywhere except for the little brown island.
Then, out of the water someone came, flashing and leaping. Betsy had never seen a mermaid before. She liked this beautiful creature with her flowing black hair in which were jeweled combs, and her sweet smiling face. Betsy thought it queer that the mermaid had no legs at all, and that half her body was like that of a fish.
The mermaid gave a low, murmuring laugh like the noise you hear when a sea-shell is placed over your ear.
"Climb on her back," ordered the gingham fairy, "but first swallow this powder so that the water will not harm you."
Down--down--down--
Betsy found herself going far down into the depths of the ocean. She held tight to the mermaid's hair as she was afraid of the fish that passed above and below them--huge creatures that glared out of round, cruel eyes.
The bottom of the sea is a wonderful place. The pale green grasses are as tall as your head. You could get lost among the forests of knobby brown seaweed. The mermaid passed over stretch after stretch of sand and shells and lovely strange plants never heard of on the upper earth, right along to Coral Mansion, which was built by tiny animals, and which floats about, all pink and shiny, with pearls left there by the oysters.
"Listen!" cried the mermaid, "My sisters are singing while the fish, our servants, prepare everything for the feast. Get down off my back now and swim into Coral Mansion."
Betsy was pleased that she had learned to swim the Summer before. She paddled right up the steps and into a large, if watery dining-hall, where dozens and dozens of handsome mermen and pretty mermaids were gathering about a table set with nice things to eat.
Well, Betsy had a splendid time at that party. She was given delicious cakes out of golden dishes, and she drank sea-weed milk that tasted like cold honey.
"But if this is the Spring Mermaid's party, why isn't she here?" asked Betsy suddenly.
"She is up in the attic, hard at work, but she has promised to cut her birthday cake." said the mermaid who had brought Betsy there. "Let's go and tell her that it is time she came, as the king of all the fish is waiting."
What do you suppose the Spring Mermaid was doing? Prettier even than her sisters, with her golden-colored hair and eyes, she was pouring something into numbers of bottles that stood in rows on shelves lined up on the walls of the bright attic room.
"How do you do!" she said to Betsy. "I'm glad to see you. Every Spring, Betsy, I spend hours making life-sap for the trees and flowers that you mortals love. I pour this liquid into the ocean, and the rivers and streams carry it to the soil. In this bottle is some of this sap, which is precious, because without it, many trees would never be green."
Betsy sat down on a cushion and watched the golden-haired mermaid mix Spring breezes and warm Spring mists that would later on be rain after the sun had drawn them up into the clouds.
Then came a bump against the side of the floating mansion. The whole attic shook, and a bottle of the green liquid tipped and would have fallen to the floor had not Betsy caught it in her lap.
"Thank you a thousand times!" said the Spring Mermaid. "It's that horrid Mackerel banging his head with rage against our house just because he was not asked to my party. He's so big and greedy and he eats up our little fish servants. He does not harm Coral Mansion much, but he does hurt his head. Don't you think bad temper is foolish, Betsy?"
"Oh yes," Betsy agreed, but she remembered how she had fussed and fumed that very afternoon because there was to be no party and she felt just a mite sorry for the naughty Mackerel. She looked out of the pearl window and saw an enormous fish, mottled with grey and blue, bumping its head against the wall of Coral Mansion. Betsy was glad that she was inside and safe.
"Now, let's go cut the cake!" said the Spring Mermaid.
They went downstairs, swimming into the dining-hall, and Betsy was biting on a piece of the birthday cake when--
Where do you suppose she found herself?
Why, right at home, sitting on the mat in the nursery, and Mother was speaking in a cheerful way.
"Good little Betsy! You have kept so quiet that Robin has slept away his sore throat. He is awake now, and much better, so that tomorrow, I think you can have your friends to tea."
"Hurrah!" cried Betsy, "then that will be two parties!" And while Mother was setting the table for supper, Betsy told all about the pleasant visit to the Spring Mermaid of Coral Mansion.
Coming Soon!
A bridge table beside a shaded lamp -- the dismal whine of the police dog next door -- the wind rattling the window pane -- the flash of a street lamp on and off, outside --
Not a very opportune moment to direct the channels of conversation towards the supernatural, but Evelyn, the dark and gloomy member of the family, is like that.
"Do you believe in spooks, Uncle Duncan?" What a question to ask this big railroad man who is so utterly practical!
An enigmatic snort was his response. It is absolutely terrifying to play bridge with him. If you play a poor game, you will be so utterly ignored that you will feel like a worm -- he may even tell you that you played your no trump like a sausage . . . . If you put up a fight, he always wins anyhow, and when he leaves you he gives you a book on bridge. Once he even wired Work collect . . . But I must not digress. Let it be understood that Uncle Duncan is more used to being the intimidator than the intimidated.
I had noticed a reminiscent twinkle in his eye when Evelyn asked him her question, and so I persisted.
"Were you ever scared? I mean downright chilled--to the narrow of your bones, like the time my sister stayed with us out in the country and we forgot about her being there, and we heard a window being opened, and I wanted your nephew to climb up on the chiffonier and do a Douglas Fairbanks leap at the burglar---"
A sudden kick from beneath the table decided me to forget that anecdote at once. Uncle Duncan said in his slow, decided voice, "Yes, I was severely alarmed at one time. In fact, one might say that I was terrified..."
He had been sent to inspect a lonely post several miles from the city. A train was to pass there, and he was to meet it and give the engineer some information. It did not add to the peace of mind of Uncle Duncan when he read that a desperate criminal was at large in that district. Nor did he enjoy hearing from a friend that the deserted station was supposed to be haunted. But he set out on his errand, and at length he arrived there without anything alarming happening.
He set his lantern down on the platform and walked along the creaking boards towards the other end of it. The moon was only a thin wafer behind a cluster of dark clouds. The leaves of the plants along the platform rustled faintly, and then---
As Uncle Duncan faced about sharply, he saw that the light had gone out. He walked hurriedly back towards the lantern to discover, when he reached it, that his imagination must have been playing him tricks---the lantern was on.
Laughing at his own fears, he set the lantern down in the same place and again walked the full length of the platform. He turned sharply. The lantern was utterly dimmed. A dense, Cimmerian blackness met his gaze where it had been. Just the pale wisp of a moon, the glowering sky, the over-shrouding silhouette of fir trees, and then--Uncle Duncan was frozen with fear.
Yet he resolved to be courageous. He must attack this criminal, or ghost, as the case might be. He rushed down the platform. He sprang towards the lantern. And it shone at him cheerfully.
This occurred a number of times. He would walk away and the lantern would go out; he would return and it would be suddenly alight. Emotionally exhausted, he stood quite still, trying to think what he would do next.
Below the station platform was a deep trench. Into this Uncle Duncan dropped and, stooping, he crept along, being careful to make his approach is quiet as possible. He did not lift his head until he reached the place where he had left the lantern.
Then he stood up with a jerk.
Two porcupines sat side by side, effectually blotting out the light from his lantern with their dark outlines. When he had come upon them before, they would hide in the shadows, returning again, as he walked away, to their position in front of the lantern.
"And that," Uncle Duncan concluded with finality, as he dealt out the cards, "is why ghosts haven't worried me much since."
Coming Soon!
"We're not pirates any more, we're tame as house cats," was Dicky Ludd's plaintive cry.
"Who picked this mud hut for a home when we retired from the sea, my hearty? Didn't I know it was no place for pirates with rheumatism and gout? But I gave in to you, miserable little runt that you be." So saying, Hanky Panky picked up the butcher knife--and trimmed the edges of a pie he held in his plump hand.
While Dicky Ludd was blonde, sharp-eyed and nimble, in spite of his wooden leg, Hanky Panky, who wore a red bandana kerchief over one eye, was slow and fat and pug-nosed.
I'm taking a walk, you slug!" retorted Dicky Ludd, insolently, as he hopped outdoors on his best leg. Hanky's eyes followed him. Beyond, the fat pirate saw that the trees were bursting into bud, the meadow larks were flying with some seagulls. The crisp air that entered when Dicky left made the mud hut seem stuffy and stupid.
Hanky Panky popped the butcher knife in its case at his side, plunked the pie in the oven, and followed his pal along the waterfront, his round eye searching eagerly for an empty boat that somebody might have left there and forgotten. Panky yearned for the good old days when he and Ludd used to climb to the crow's nest to spy out sailing vessels. Ahead of him he heard Dicky Ludd chanting one of their old songs:
"Let gore drip from the deck and scupper,
And crocodiles have meat for supper,
We pirates laugh at men of rank,
All whom we capture walk the plank."
"Dicky, puffed Hanky, "we must have a capture soon, or I'll--I'll bust." Dicky marched on scornfully, muttering: "Pair of cripples! Haven't got a boat; haven't got a skull and crossbones! A capture--Huh!" Hanky's shoulders sagged visibly; then quite suddenly he straightened. His round eye was lit up like a street lamp. "Dicky!" he cried, excitedly, managing at last to catch up to his friend. "See, Dicky--over there!" "It's a boat--a houseboat with a good engine, I'll wager," said Ludd, wonderingly.
They both stood rooted to the spot, staring at the neat little craft tied to the quay. It was yellow, with bars of purple and green, and a white flag flew above it, with strange black crisscross marks on it. Beyond were snowcapped hills and misty horizons. "A capture!" breathed Hanky Panky.
"Come on," urged Dicky Ludd, drawing his cutlass. "No one's aboard, and if they are--" He made a horrid gesture with the weapon, causing Hanky Panky to shudder. They boarded the strange vessel, Dicky screaming: "We're the most horridest pirates that ever pirated!" Hanky lumbered after him, searching the decks from keel to gunnel, and calling out" "Come out and die, cowards!"
After a time, receiving no response to their bitter invitations, they sat down on a pile of rope. "Someone must walk the plank," hissed Dicky Ludd. Hanky Panky asked: "But who?"
"But who?" A raucous voice had repeated the words. Together they rose, keen for slaughter, and were disgusted to find that the words came from the beak of a green parrot perched in the cabin window. Dicky lunged at it with his cutlass, and it flew ashore, alighting on the head of a grinning, slim Chinese man in white jacket and trousers.
"Come aboard," said Hanky Panky in a silky, kindly voice. "Our victim -- just made for the plank!" mumbled Dicky Ludd under his breath.
Unconscious of his impending, hideous fate, the Chinese man, with the parrot clinging to his hair, glided across the gangplank to the houseboat. He didn't seem to mind when Dicky Ludd caught him by the collar. He looked rather amused. "My, but he's young," thought Hanky Panky, as he glanced over the rail at the greenish water below. "What's your name?" he asked the man. "Me -- Si Loo." "Can you swim?" demanded Ludd. "Eee -- what you mean swim? Maybe yes, maybe no." The Chinese boy's lips parted, showing his strong, white teeth. Dicky Ludd scowled. "You'll cook us heap good dinner before you walk the plank, see!" The youth replied: "Me fine number one cook. I show you." And he ran into the cabin.
Such a meal he brought them on the deck of the houseboat! Pork and vegetables and a delicious jam tart that made Hanky Panky praise him many times. When Dicky Ludd suggested that they start the plank-walking business, the man said, with a broad grin: "No time tonight -- me too busy mop deck, feed parrot, mend rail -- long way I come from China -- See?"
Let's have him walk the plank next week, on Thursday," suggested Hanky Panky, eagerly, before Dicky Ludd could cry out: "Tomorrow." Hanky liked the idea of having a week of nice meals. He was awfully tired of his own cooking.
They took up residence in the houseboat with a good deal of pleasure, and the week went by rapidly. Dicky wondered why he saw so little of Hanky, who often slipped away early in the morning for long walks with Si Loo. Dicky began to talk to Si Loo also, and in spite of himself, he learned to like the Chinese boy. He didn't want to make Si Loo walk the plank, but he had said he would, and pirates kept their word.
On Thursday evening, preparations were made for poor Si Loo to walk the plank. Hanky Panky stood by, holding his butcher knife in limp, trembling fingers, while Dicky Ludd fiercely clutched at his cutlass and made passes at the boy, who nonchalantly marched to the end of the board.
"Splash -- swish -- splash -- swish!" Si Loo had dropped like a log. Then overboard leaped Dicky Ludd, with a hoarse, strangled cry, and Hanky Panky followed in a clumsy dive. In vain they searched for their victim. Full of shame, they paddled ashore and stretched themselves exhausted on the sand. Suddenly they glanced up and out to sea. They noticed the green parrot shrieking from the top of the white flag. They heard a voice, a familiar voice, calling to them: "By-by, Si Loo heap good swimmer. Laugh all time fat man, Panky, teach him swim. Laugh because foolish, one-leg man jump overboard think he save best swimmer boy in China. Ha-ha-ha!"
"Ha-ha-ha!" cried the parrot, as the houseboat floated far out in the bay.
"A couple of fools we were!" muttered Hanky Panky, as he rose and shambled over the rocks to the mud hut. "Stop kicking. I knew he could swim all the time." lied Dicky Ludd. "It was a grand adventure, wasn't it? I wonder if he owns that boat. Think of it, Hanky! We made a sea captain walk the plank!" "Aw, go chase yourself, little runt." But in spite of the fierceness in the voice of Hanky Panky, Dicky Ludd knew that he too thought it had been a grand and glorious adventure.
There were once two pirates who had retired from business and who lived in a mud hut in the winter, and on a creaky boat with one sail in summer time. One of them was called Hanky Panky and the other was Dicky Ludd.
Hanky Panky was very fat and could cook a little and wore a black bandana handkerchief over his head. He used to shout "Odds bodkins!" and stab at beefsteaks when they spattered drippings on him.
Dicky Ludd was spindling, one-eyed, one-legged, and always complaining of life on shore. He was the most terrible pirate of the pair.
One day, early in February, while Hanky Panky stirred a heavy batter pudding, Dicky Ludd, who sat on the table swinging his one leg, muttered: "I'm sick of life, Panky! The blood in me bones is turning weak tea."
"I understand," replied Hanky Panky, putting down the egg-beater. "Last night I dreamt we were buccaneers again and acting something horrid."
Dicky Ludd began to hum in his squeaky way, and his friend took up the chorus:
"Yoho! Let's fight before our supper
A battle on the deck and scupper;
We'll make the captain walk the plank,
Shoved by Dick Ludd and Hanky Pank."
Dicky Ludd thumped the table with his fist. "I'm going to sea again," he screamed. "What care I if you get the gout in your toe, or my cough returns!"
Then, all of a sudden, Hanky Panky tossed the batter pudding out of the window and pried a dollar in loose change from an iron pig bank. He picked up the butcher knife, thrust it in his belt and hobbled out of the mud hut. Ludd followed him to the shore where the boat with the one sail creaked and groaned in the February wind.
Days later, when they were out on the wide ocean, Dicky Ludd was still most unhappy.
"Looky here, Hanky Panky," he wailed, "we haven't sighted a single galleon yet, and all because you're afraid to sail far from shore."
"A watched pot never boils, and a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," Panky replied, not knowing what else to say. Dicky always blamed him for everything.
Nary a ship appeared on the horizon for ten days and nights. Then they heard a queer noise. It was an airplane overhead, but they thought it was a giant bird and were afraid. They were quite sarcastic with each other, Dicky calling Hanky the Nameless Horror, and Hanky calling Dicky the Dread of the High Seas. And so they grew blood-thirstier and crosser and meaner and more cantankerous every day until only one mouthful of water was left in the water bag.
At last Dicky cried, hoarsely: "With my one eye I spy a derelict."
"Where?" asked Hanky Panky, hoping they'd find food in it and not treasure. He turned his head and saw a flat little rowboat floating on the waves close by. Inside it was a half-naked boy who lay as if dead. They took the lad into their own boat, and Hanky Panky wrapped him in the large bandana handkerchief he wore on his head.
"Hand me that water bottle," Hanky ordered.
Dicky hung back. "Remember, it's the last drop. Oh, never mind! Give it to Him!"
After drinking the water, the lad revived and murmured: "Thank you, sirs."
We're not gentlemen; we're pirates," Dicky Ludd explained proudly. The boy's cheeks became rosy and his eyes grew bright. "You're too kind to be pirates forever," the boy said. "You ought to have nice homes and sweet old wives to make your coffee and bring you your slippers."
"We did have homes and wives once," Hanky said, beginning to cry, "but we ran away to sea . . . . . . Ouch" You just kicked my gouty toe, Ludd!"
Dicky Ludd set up a frightful coughing and ker-chooing.
"Look!" cried the lad. "There's the shore right over there. I'll turn the boat about for you." Without delay he took the wheel, and the boat moved slowly inland. Hanky Panky and Dicky Ludd were much too tired to notice a thing until the boat drew into a pleasant port. Then they saw, standing on the dock, the two sweet old wives they had deserted to go and be pirates.
"Prue!" exclaimed Hanky Panky, holding out his hands. "Why did I ever leave home? Forgive me!"
"Sue!" sighed Dicky Ludd. "It's time I had you to do my cooking! Hanky Panky was terrible! You must mix me a blackberry drink for my cough right away."
"Welcome home, dear Valentines!" cried the two old women with happy tears. "And many thanks, Dan Cupid, for steering homewards the boat with our husbands!" But the little boy had disappeared, taking Panky Panky's best bandana kerchief with him. Growling and grumbling, but most awfully happy, the two ex-pirates hobbled home with their devoted wives. And to my knowledge, they never sailed the high seas again.
The Hollow Tree Club, who held their meetings on Kelly Wimble's property down by the water lily pool, were in a state of high excitement. "Yes, he did!" cried Lorry Green. "Doc Wedge really promised his son Billy's bicycle to the fellow that dresses up as the best spook on Halloween. It's because Billy has a new motorcycle and doesn't need it."
Ten little country boys pricked up their ears, for none of them had bicycles except Kelly Wimble, whose people were wealthy. Lorry particularly longed for a bicycle. He was 9 years old and he knew how to ride, having learned on his cousin's wheel, but the Greens couldn't afford to buy him one.
"That's great news!" declared the president of the club, Kelly. "I could use another bicycle myself. Oh, I know I have one, but I'd like to take one to pieces and make a new invention out of it and become famous!"
Then the meeting continued with all the boys packed close together within the hollow tree, each one wishing and wishing and planning what he would do to win the coveted prize. Lorry explained that on Saturday, which was Halloween, Doc Wedge would be there at 8 o'clock to judge the competition.
The next morning Lorry asked his mother if she could let him have some money to spend on materials for his costume. "No, Lorry, dear," she replied. "I have only a few cents for my own use, but I tell you what I'll do. I'll let you have these two old pillow-slips. Here's a needle and thread. Sew them together and paint a face on them."
Lorry did his best with the big needle and thread and a box of water-colors. When he donned his costume, he went into his room and glanced at himself in the mirror. It was just as he supposed. Nothing unusually funny about the thing! An amateur spook! He'd be ashamed to wear it. He was certain he wouldn't win and his heart felt heavy in his chest.
Late Saturday afternoon he met Kelly returning from town. "Look, Lorry!"" Kelly shouted, waving a parcel in the air. "I've just bought the keenest mask -- and Mom's going to trim me with some black and orange crepe paper, and Dad's letting me wear his riding boots, and Granddad's lending me a real bayonet with a spike a mile long. Guess I'll look pretty terrible in it!"
"That's fine!" returned Lorry, dully.
"How about you? Is your outfit ready?" Kelly asked, curiously. "Is it something special?"
"Not extra," mumbled Lorry, walking away quickly. He felt annoyed at Kelly. Some boys were too lucky for anything. To think that all Kelly wanted the bicycle for was to take it to pieces. A shame!
Lorry decided that he wouldn't go to the meeting that night to see Kelly win and flaunt his prize boastfully. Kelly always won, either in sports or at school, and never cared about his prizes much afterwards. But at 8 o'clock that night, it being Halloween and the whole neighborhood lively with lights and eerie sounds, Lorry discovered that he couldn't stay away from the Hollow Tree. He had to go and find out who won the bicycle.
He was in the kitchen putting on his white costume when his mother called to him" "If you see Bub, send him home at once. It's much too late for a little boy of 5 to be out. I've called and called, but he hasn't answered."
"All right," replied Lorry, shutting the screen door and walking off down the path. The moon rose like a clean, yellow pumpkin from green stalks that were the boughs of a tall fir tree. Soon Lorry reached the farm next to the Wimble property. A little boy stood in a corn field behind the dismal, grey barn, and he was biting on a ripe stalk. It was Bub. Lorry shivered. Farmer Hopper, who owned the corn, was no friend to small boys who trespassed. Lorry waved his arms and shouted: "You hurry home, Bub, Mamma wants you."
His little brother turned his back stubbornly. If Lorry stood and argued, he knew he would be later for the meeting. He had just decided to go on, when out came Farmer Hopper with his barking black spaniel. Poor little Bub" Lorry dashed through the hole in the fence and ran with his brother to an open door that led into the grey barn. He hoped Farmer Hopper hadn't seen Bub.
The boys crept under a pile of hay. Evidently Farmer Hopper had no suspicion that two trespassers were in his barn, for he walked off in the direction of the orchard. The boys got up from the hay, eager to escape from the farm, but Lorry, fumbling in the dark, sprawled over a big pail. Lorry felt something cold pour all over his pillowcase shirt. "It's tar!" Bub informed him, as the liquid flowed in a purple pool to a moonlit corner of the stall.
The noise the boys made brought the spaniel on the run to the barn, and in order to escape him the trespassers had to fly into another room in the building. Bub plopped down on a loose white bag, and feathers of all colors came floating out until the air seemed full of them. Bub brushed them aside, but they clung to the tar on Lorry's costume. Lorry's hands were covered by the pillow-slips so that he couldn't seem to free himself from the soft cloud.
"Help!" whispered Lorry. "Mrs. Hopper must have been saving duck feathers to make a pillow."
It wasn't long before Farmer Hopper called to the spaniel and returned to the house. At last the boys could escape in safety. Panting and breathless, they crawled through the fence to the road. Then Bub stared at Lorry and began to laugh. "What's the matter?" Lorry wanted to know. "You look funny!" exclaimed Bub. They walked on until they came to the iron gate outside the Wimble property. They could see the hollow Tree surrounded by pretty pumpkin lanterns, and a number of queer figures. There, too, stood big Doc Wedge, his spectacles on the end of his round nose, his plump hands holding the bicycle which was almost as good as new. How comical and clever all the spooks looked! Lorry recognized Kelly in his pirate outfit, and Johnny who wore a huge pumpkin on his head.
Suddenly Doc turned around and stared at the gate. "Why, there's the funniest spook--the funniest I've ever seen!"
And his great voice boomed out in a laugh. The other boys looked and roared, for Lorry was like no other spook in the world. Duck feathers hung wispily from his comically-painted head. Duck feathers stuck to him outlandishly, and the black tar plastered here and there against the white made him look like a creature from another world.
"I say that the feathered spook is the best of you all," chuckled Doc Wedge. "And I'm going to give him the prize."
How the boys shouted as Lorry opened the gate, scarcely daring to believe that it was all true! And what fun they had, especially Lorry, who gave rides to all the other boys and to Bub, his little brother.
"Gracious," Lorry thought several times, "if I hadn't gone into Farmer Hopper's to rescue Bub, I never would have won the bicycle. I guess I'm the luckiest spook that ever happened."
Coming Soon!
Coming Soon!