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Seven O'Clock Stories
by Robert Gordon Anderson
The First Night
The Three Happy Children
Not once upon a time but just now, in a white house by the side of a road,
live three happy children.
Their mother and father gave them very odd names, for two old uncles and
one aunt, which pleased the old people very much. Their names are all
written in the big family Bible,—Jehosophat Green, Marmaduke Green, and
Hepzebiah Green.
Jehosophat is just seven years old. His birthday comes on Thanksgiving Day
this year. It does not come on Thanksgiving Day every year, of course. See
if you can guess why.
Marmaduke is five, "going on six," he always says. Little Hepzebiah, who
toddles after her brothers, tells everyone who comes to visit that she is
"half-past three." She heard her brother say this once and she imitates all
he does and says. Perhaps that is why her father calls her a "little
monkey."
These happy children all live in the country. They do not know much about
elevated trains and subways and automobiles and moving pictures but they
do know a great deal about flowers and birds and chestnuts and picnics and
lots of things which you would like too, if you lived in the country.
Each place you see has its advantages. All good is not found in the
country, nor all in the city. If we keep both eyes open we will see lots of
enjoyable and beautiful things wherever we are.
The house in which Jehosophat and Marmaduke and Hepzebiah live is large. It
has many rooms to sleep in and eat in and play in. It is painted white and
has wide windows with green blinds.
Around the house are large trees. The branches seem to pat the house
lovingly and to protect the children when the sun is too hot or the rain
comes down too fast.
They are fine for swings and bird-houses, these trees, and some throw down
acorns and others cones and soft pine needles for the children to play
with.
Behind the house and gardens are red barns, chicken yards—and oh lots of
animals,—the three dogs, Rover, Brownie, and little yellow Wienerwurst and
all the rest. You will come to know them later. Each has his funny ways and
*** tricks just like people. Around the house are fields with growing
plants and oh—we almost forgot the pond where Jehosophat and his brother
sail boats.
Mother, that is Mrs. Green, is not too thin nor yet too plump. She is just
what a mother ought to be, with kind, shining eyes, and soft cheeks. She
is always cooking things or doing things for Jehosophat and Marmaduke and
little Hepzebiah.
Father—the neighbours call him Neighbour Green—is very strong. He can
lift big weights and manage bad horses. He can do lots of work and yet
somehow he finds time to do things for the children too.
His eyes are blue, while mother's are brown. When he laughs, Marmaduke
thinks it sounds like the church-bells on Sunday. Once he had a
moustache but that went when mother said he would look younger without
it. Now sometimes, when he works hard, he does not have time to shave
every day. On Sunday mornings Hepzebiah loves to watch him take the
brush and cup. The cup has flowers painted on it. When he turns the
brush in the cup it makes something like whipped cream, or the top of
mother's lemon pies.
And after he takes it off with the razor his face is red and shiny and
smooth. Hepzebiah always likes to kiss her father, but she likes to kiss
him best on Sunday mornings.
Tonight you have met all the family so we must stop for the clock says
"after seven." Tomorrow we will meet all the animals and they are really
part of the family too.
End of the First Night
The Second Night
The Playmates of the Three Happy Children
The three happy children have many playmates, who live in the barnyard.
Some have four feet and some only two, but _these_ have two wings
besides to make up for the missing feet.
Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and Hepzebiah like the dogs best. And just as
there are three children so there are three dogs. Let's shake hands with
them, one by one.
The great big dog is named Rover, the middle-sized one Brownie, and the
little yellow curly one Wienerwurst.
A wise fellow is Rover. From a cold country called Newfoundland his great
grandfather came. And he seems to think life is a very serious matter. His
coat is black with snow-white patches. His hair curls a little. It feels
very soft when you lay your head against it.
He doesn't play as much as the other two doggies. But once when Hepzebiah
fell in the pond after her doll, Rover swam in and caught her dress in his
mouth and brought her to shore. Not long after that Mr. Green gave him a
new shiny collar.
Brownie is a terrier and is coloured like his name. He is a frisky dog and
often chases the horses and buggies that go up and down the road in front
of the house. Sometimes the drivers lash at him with their long whips but
he is too quick for them and scampers out of their reach.
The funniest doggie in all the world is little yellow Wienerwurst. He is
even more full of mischief than Brownie and loves to run after all the
other animals in the barnyard.
When the pigeons fly down from their little house on the top of the barn to
take an afternoon walk and perhaps pick up a few extra grains of corn, this
little yellow doggie spoils all their fun. He soon sends them flying back
to their house on the roof, where they chatter and coo in great excitement.
But they do not lose their tempers like "Mr. Stuckup," the turkey, or old
"Miss Crosspatch," the guinea-hen with the ugly voice.
Once little Wienerwurst caught a pretty pigeon by its tail and bit it. Then
Mr. Green took him over his knee, just as he did Jehosophat when he threw a
stone at the window, and spanked little Wienerwurst.
Each dog has a house. One is big, one middle-sized, and one small, and
each has a door to fit the doggie who lives there. Their houses are called
kennels, and they are something like the pigeon's home way up on the roof.
The pigeons are very pretty, grey and white and pink coloured. When the sun
shines brightly their necks shine too, like the rainbow silk dress which
Mrs. Green wears whenever there is a wedding.
One pair of the pigeons sit a great deal of the time on the ridge-pole of
the barn and swell out their chests like proud, fat policemen. Farmer Green
calls them pouter pigeons.
They do not have harsh voices like the guinea-hen or the old black crows
which steal the corn from the field when Mr. Scarecrow gets tired and goes
to sleep. (We will introduce you to Mr. Scarecrow some evening very soon.)
But the voices of the pigeons are soft and low like mother's, especially
when Hepzebiah is sick and she sings her to sleep.
They will not have much to do with the chickens, these pigeons. Perhaps
they are like the people who live on the top floor of tall city houses and
do not go down often to talk with the people in the streets.
What a lot of chickens Farmer Green has! Almost two hundred, if they would
ever stay still long enough for Jehosophat to count them. They are called
White Wyandottes and they are very white and plump, with combs as red as
geraniums.
You know there are many kinds of chickens just as there are many kinds
of people, English, French, and Americans. Rhode Island Reds, Plymouth
Rocks, Cochins, and Leghorns are some of the chicken family names, but
Jehosophat's father does not believe in mixing families, he says, so only
the White Wyandottes live on the Green farm.
Jehosophat and Marmaduke love the big rooster best. The red comb on the
top of his head has teeth like a carpenter's saw, and is so large it
will not stand up straight. His white tail curves beautifully like the
plumes on the hats of the circus ladies. When he throws back his head,
puffs out his throat, and calls to the Sun, he is indeed a wonderful
creature.
The little chicks are the ones Hepzebiah loves best. She can hold them in
her two hands like little soft yellow balls or the powder puffs which Nurse
uses on new little babies. The little chicks have such tiny voices, crying
"cheep, cheep, cheep," almost the way the crickets do all through the
night.
The chickens have cousins who—but there goes the clock—so that is
tomorrow night's story.
End of the Second Night
The Third Night
Noisy Folks
Do you remember what we were telling about last night when that little
tongue told us to stop? The little tongue in the Clock-with-the-Wise-Face
on the mantel?
Oh yes, the first cousins of the chickens who lived in the yard of the
three happy children.
Their first cousins are called ducks. Most of them are white but a few
are black. Their coats are very smooth, and the skin under them sends out
little drops of oil like drops of perspiration. This keeps the water and
the rain from wetting the ducks through and through. You have heard people
say sometimes: "The way water runs off a duck's back." Well, now you know
the reason why.
In rainy weather Hepzebiah wears a blue waterproof with a little hood but
the ducks do not need anything like that. Their everyday coats of white
and black are just as good. If the White Wyandottes cannot get under the
chicken coop or the barn quick enough when it rains, their feathers are all
mussed up but the ducks seem always dressed in their best.
Their bills are different from their relatives'. They are not short and
pointed like the chicken's but broad and long.
And they have what are called web feet. Between the toes are pieces of
skin, thick and tough like canvas. These web feet are like small oars or
paddles. With them they can push against the water of the pond and swim
quite fast.
The ducks are very fond of the pond but their cousins think it a dreadful
place.
"Cluck, cluck," say the White Wyandottes, "what a foolish way of spending
your time, sailing on the water when there are fat, brown worms to dig for
in the nice earth!"
You see animals, like people, like different things. The world wouldn't be
half so interesting if we all liked the _same_ things, would it?
The other night Jehosophat felt very foolish when he came in to supper. His
mother looked behind his ears and said: "Why you are just as afraid of the
water as the chickens."
Did you ever hear of such a thing!
Now the chickens have _second_ cousins too. Their second cousins are
the white geese.
They live on the other side of the tall fence that looks as if it were made
of crocheted wire. Sometimes Jehosophat's father opens the gate in the
fence and lets the geese wander down to the pond. A silly way they have
of stretching out their long white necks and crying, "Hiss, hiss!" This
frightens Hepzebiah who always runs away. Then the geese waddle along in
single file, that is one by one, like fat old ladies crossing a muddy
street on their way to sewing society.
Jehosophat says that the chickens have third cousins too,—the swans. There
they are, way out on the pond, sailing along like white ships. Their necks
are very long and snowy white and they bend in such a pretty way. And their
soft white wings look something like the wings of the angels on the
Christmas cards.
Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and Hepzebiah do not like one barnyard neighbour
very much. It is the guinea-hen. She has a grey body, plump as a sack of
meal, with little white speckles, a funny neck and such a small head with a
tuft on top. She screeches horribly and Marmaduke calls her "Miss
Crosspatch."
But the turkey with his proud walk is just funny. And yet Farmer Green says
he hasn't any sense of humour. Ask _your_ father how that can be if he
is funny.
"Mr. Stuckup" the children call the turkey. He walks along slowly, swinging
from side to side. His feathers are brownish-black or bronze, and his tail
often spreads out like a fan. He has the funniest nose. It is red and soft
and long and flops over his bill on his chest.
He calls "gobble, gobble, gobble," all the time, yet he does not gobble as
much as the busy White Wyandottes all around him who are forever looking
for kernels of corn or worms or bugs.
But who is this magnificent creature coming along over the lawn under the
cherry-tree? Uncle Roger, who sails around the world in a great ship with
white sails, gave him to the children. He brought him from a land very far
across the seas.
He is the peacock and is all green and gold and blue. On his head is a
little crown of feathers. His tail, too, can spread out like a fan the way
"Mr. Stuckup's," the turkey's, does. But it is ever so much more beautiful.
It is green and has hundreds of blue eyes in it. The three children call
him the "Party Bird" for he is always so dressed up, but their father says
he is "a bit of a snob." He means that he is vain and will not have much to
do with his plainer neighbours of the barnyard—
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven." There goes the clock again.
Tomorrow night, if you are good all day, we will tell you about the rest
of the barnyard friends of the three happy children. Then the next night,
about the exciting things that happened to them.
Good-night! Sweet Dreams!
End of the Third Night
The Fourth Night
Just Before Supper
In the afternoon the sun grows tired of his hot walk across the sky. Beyond
the Green farm are the blue hills behind which he sleeps each night.
When he is almost there the three happy children go down to the barn to
watch their four-footed friends come home.
Sometimes Frank, the hired man who helps Farmer Green, is late and does
not go for the cows. All day long they have been in pasture. Sometimes
they eat the grass and pink clover. Sometimes they wade in the little
brook which flows there. But when it grows late, even if Frank does not
come, they know it is supper time and leave the pasture.
When they reach the barnyard fence they stand outside calling to be let in.
Then Frank comes and lets down the bars. They walk into the yard and
through the doors into the big red barn.
There are ten cows but Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and Hepzebiah love four of
them better than the rest. Their names are "Primrose," "Daisy,"
"Buttercup," and "Black-eyed Susan."
Now just as there are different kinds of chickens so there are several
kinds of cows—Guernseys, Jerseys, Alderneys, and Holsteins.
"Primrose," "Daisy," and "Buttercup" are Jerseys and are a pretty brown.
"Black-eyed Susan" belongs to the Holsteins and is black and white.
"Black-eyed Susan" gives more milk than her companions but their milk has
richer cream.
Each cow has a stall to sleep in. In front of each is a box or manger.
Frank climbs up the tall ladder to the loft, which is the second story of
the barn, and throws down the hay. Then he takes his sharp pitchfork and
tosses a lot of hay in each manger. You would never think cows could eat
so much. One box of shredded-wheat would do for all the Green family and
visitors too, but "Primrose" and "Daisy" and all the rest each eat enough
hay to fill many shredded-wheat boxes.
Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and Hepzebiah love to stand in the doorway of the
barn and smell the hay as the cows chew it. It is very sweet smelling.
They do not go too near the stalls, for while the cows are eating their
supper, they switch their tails to keep off the flies. Once "Black-eyed
Susan" switched her tail across Marmaduke's face. It felt like a whip and
he ran away crying. But "Susan" didn't mean it for she is a very gentle
cow.
And once Jehosophat came too near old "Crumplety Horn," the white cow with
the twisted horn. She kicked at Jehosophat and over went the pail of milk
which his father had almost full.
The children like to see their father and Frank sit on their three-legged
stools in the stalls and milk the cows. The milk spurts into the pails and
it sounds very pleasant.
The milk is very warm when it comes from the cows so Farmer Green puts
it in great cans as tall as Jehosophat. Then he carries the cans to the
spring-house where it is cool, and leaves them overnight by the well. The
children will drink some of it in the morning. Tonight they will drink
_this morning's_ milk, which is cool now.
About the time the cows come home the horses come back too.
First comes "Hal" the red roan. A red roan is a horse that is red-coloured,
sprinkled with little grey hairs. Then there is "Chestnut" who is called
that because he is coloured like chestnuts when they are ripe in the fall,
and "Teddy," the buckskin horse. He is tan-coloured and has a black stripe
on his backbone. Farmer Green got him from the West. There is a little mark
called a brand on his flank which tells that.
"Old Methuselah" and "White Boots" do not do much work now. "Old
Methuselah" is all white. He was pretty old when Farmer Green bought him so
he was nicknamed for the oldest man in the Bible. "White Boots" is a bay
mare. That means a red-brown mother horse. She has four white feet. By her
side runs a little black colt with funny legs. Jehosophat gave him
_his_ name, "Black Prince."
"Hal" and "Teddy" and "Chestnut" are very tired for they have been pulling
the plough, the wagon, or doing some farm work all day.
Very glad they are to get their heavy leather collars and harness off and
rest in the cool barn. They have hay to eat but they have been working hard
so they have oats besides. Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and Hepzebiah eat oats
too but theirs are flattened out and cooked. We call it oatmeal. The oats
for the horses are not flat but round like little seeds, and are not cooked
on any stove. Farmer Green cuts the stalks in the oat field. Then he takes
them to the threshing-machine, which knocks the little oats off the stalks.
Then they are put in bags to keep for the horses.
But the little black colt with the funny long legs does not eat them.
_He_ gets milk from his mother. He is just a baby horse, you see, but
when he gets bigger he will have oats and hay too.
Now all the animals are busy eating, the pigs with their curly tails, the
sheep, the lambs, the cows, the little calves, the horses, and the colt
with the funny legs. It is time for the three happy children to have their
supper so they run back to the house. Soon, very soon, they will be fast
asleep in Slumberland, which is where the Little-Clock-with-the-Wise-Face
says you should be now. Good-night.
End of the Fourth Night
The Fifth Night
The Toyman
Farmer Green has a man who helps him plough, feed the cows and horses,
and with all the work on the farm. His name is Frank, but Jehosophat,
Marmaduke, and Hepzebiah call him "the Toyman."
Winter nights around the fire he makes wonderful toys for them.
His knife is like a fairy's wand. With it he whittles boats for Jehosophat,
kites for Marmaduke, and dolls for Hepzebiah. He paints them pretty colours
too. So I think they gave him the right sort of nickname when they called
him "the Toyman."
He hasn't many clothes and no house of his own and no relatives of any
sort. He isn't exactly a handsome man. But the three happy children love
the Toyman very much.
Yesterday he sat by the edge of the pond. On one side sat Jehosophat,
Marmaduke, and big Rover. On the other side sat Hepzebiah, Brownie, and
little yellow Wienerwurst.
They were all looking down at the water of the pond. It was very clear.
"Keep still, Wienerwurst," said the Toyman, "or you will scare the fishes."
They were swimming through the waters. Near the banks were little baby
fishes, hundreds of them, called minnows. They had a nickname too,
"minnies." Out farther, once in a while, the children saw a fish shining
like gold. It was a sunfish or "sunny" as they sometimes called it. And the
Toyman told them all about these fishes and the perch, too, and the long
pickerel and the wicked carp, who hunts the other fish and kills them.
Then all at once the Toyman put his hands in his pockets. Mother Green says
his pockets are like ten-cent stores. They are so full of all sorts of
things.
The three children watched him closely. First came a piece of wood with a
fishline wound around it.
Then with his knife he cut three poles and near the top of each a little
notch. The fishlines were tied around the poles. At the other end he put
little curved fish-hooks, and about two feet above them little pieces of
lead, called "sinkers." The sinkers were to keep the hooks near the bottom
of the pond where the fish stay most of the time.
Then from his pockets the Toyman took three pretty things which he had made
the night before. They were whittled of wood and shaped like lemons with
sharper points. The red and blue one was tied on Jehosophat's line, the red
and yellow one on Marmaduke's, and the blue and yellow on little
Hepzebiah's.
"What are those pretty things?" asked Marmaduke.
"Floaters," the Toyman answered. "Watch and you will see what we do with
them."
"Now you keep still, you Wienerwurst, or we will put you back in the
kennel," called the Toyman to the little yellow dog, who felt very frisky
and wanted to bark all the time.
By the feet of the Toyman was a tin can. He put in his hand and pulled out
a worm. This was put on Jehosophat's hook, another on Marmaduke's, and
another on Hepzebiah's.
Then the Toyman threw the three hooks in the water. The two boys held their
poles tight but the Toyman had to help little Hepzebiah hold her pole, for
her hands were too small.
"Now quiet, everybody!" said the Toyman once more and they all sat watching
the red and blue, the yellow and blue, and the red and yellow floaters out
on the water.
"When the floater goes under, you will know that a fish is biting at the
worm on the hook."
The Toyman had no sooner said this than he called out loud:
"Watch 'er!"
The red and yellow floater was pulled way under the water. The string on
Marmaduke's pole tightened and the pole bent.
Three times the floater went under the water.
Then Marmaduke threw his pole back quickly and the hook came out of the
water. On it something wriggled. The thing fell plop into Hepzebiah's
lap. She screamed while it flopped there. It was a little bigger than the
Toyman's hand and round and flat and shiny red and gold. No, it was not a
goldfish. It was a sunfish.
After the Toyman had taken the sunfish from the hook and put another worm
on it, he threw the line back into the water.
Then all the three children and the two dogs sat watching the little rings
in the water around the floaters. Sometimes farther out they saw larger
rings, and a fish feeling pretty happy, because of the cool September
weather, would jump out of the water and turn a somersault through the air.
Then all of a sudden the blue and yellow floater went under and little
Hepzebiah caught a sunfish, too.
Jehosophat felt disappointed because he was the oldest and hadn't caught
any fish at all. But the afternoon was not gone when he felt a big tug at
his line. It took him a long time to pull that fish in. When the hook came
out of the water a long wriggly thing was on it.
"Oo, oo, it's a snake," screamed little Hepzebiah.
"No, it's only an eel," said the Toyman, "he won't hurt you."
But he had to take it off Jehosophat's hook himself, the eel was so
slippery and wriggled so. Before the sun went down, the children had each
caught two fish. There were three sunfish, two perch, and the wriggly eel.
The Toyman cleaned them all. And Mother fried them with butter and flour
in a pan. It was a good supper they had that night, for they had caught it
themselves. When supper was over three little heads were nodding and soon
the three happy children were taking a little sail way on into Dreamland.
That is a beautiful place where you would like to go too. So you had better
follow them quickly. Perhaps you can catch up with them. Good-night.
End of the Fifth Night
The Sixth Night
The Willow Whistle
The Toyman sat by the pond under the "Crying Tree." That is what Marmaduke
calls it, though the Toyman says it is a weeping willow. It's leaves are
a very pretty green, much lighter than the leaves of the other trees. And
the branches bend over till they reach the water. They really do look like
showers of tears. Sometimes little leaves fall into the water and float
away like silver-green boats, rowed by tiny fairies.
Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and Hepzebiah came up to the "Crying Tree."
"What are you doing, Toyman," asked Marmaduke.
"Watch and you will see."
They were always asking him that question and he was always telling them to
watch and see.
So they did.
In his hand he had his knife, which could make as many things as a fairy's
wand. It had four blades and a corkscrew.
The Toyman cut some thin branches from the tree. From these he cut three
pieces, each about as long as his first finger and about as thick as his
little finger.
One end of each piece of wood he cut like the stern of a boat, then he cut
a notch near the end.
Then he worked with his knife very carefully. Soon the green bark came off
each little piece of wood. The bark came off whole, like a little roll of
green paper.
"See," said the Toyman, "the bark is the skin of the tree and in spring the
sap which is the blood of the tree flows fast. It isn't coloured red, it
is just like light juice, but it makes the bark slip off this wood very
easily."
On the grass he laid the round pieces of green bark. Then he took the white
bits of wood which had been under the bark and he whittled away at the
ends. Soon he was through.
Then he slipped the pieces of bark, which looked so much like little
rolled-up green papers, back on the white pieces of wood.
They fitted perfectly.
One he gave to Jehosophat, one to Marmaduke, and one to Hepzebiah.
"What are they?" asked Marmaduke.
"I know," said his brother Jehosophat, "they are whistles."
"Yes," said the Toyman. "They are willow whistles. Now put them in your
mouths and blow."
Each put the end of his whistle in his mouth and blew.
It sounded very pretty, the three whistles—and then—what do you think?
Not far from the weeping willow or the "Crying Tree," was an elm tree. It
was taller than the willow and darker green.
In it something shone very bright—like an orange, only it moved.
"It's an oriole," said the Toyman.
They looked hard and, sure enough, there among the leaves was the prettiest
bird they had ever seen. He had an orange-coloured body and black wings.
His nest was on the end of a branch. It was grey-coloured and hung low like
a little bag, made of knitted grey wool. Father and Mother Oriole had made
it themselves. Mother Oriole is there sitting in it on little eggs.
But Father Oriole heard the three willow whistles and he turned and began
to whistle back—oh such a pretty song. It was really prettier than the
sound of the three willow whistles for it had different notes and a tune
like the songs Mother plays on the piano.
"We must watch that nest," said the Toyman. "Some day soon we will see the
baby orioles."
But there—the Little-Clock-with-the-Wise-Face is scolding again. So the
story must stop for tonight.
When you're asleep if you listen very hard, maybe you can hear the three
happy children blowing the willow whistles, and maybe the beautiful oriole
will answer back.
Good-night.
End of the Sixth Night
The Seventh Night
Mr. Scarecrow
Under the big oak by the brook sat the three happy children with Rover,
Brownie, and little yellow Wienerwurst. They were watching the Toyman cut
the ripe corn.
"Isn't that funny?" said Jehosophat.
"What's funny?" asked Marmaduke.
"Wot's funny?" repeated Hepzebiah.
"Oh! I was just thinking," said Jehosophat, "how he seems just Frank when
he's ploughing or harrowing or cutting the corn. But when he's through work
and tells us stories or makes us things, why then he is the Toyman."
"Yes," his brother agreed. "He looks as if some fairy godmother changed him
nights and Sundays."
But they were rudely interrupted.
"Caw, caw!" said a voice.
It was a rascal's voice.
"Caw, caw!" said another.
The Toyman jumped. He shook his fist.
"You old thief!" he called.
"Rogue, rogue, rogue!" growled Rover in his deep voice.
"Run, run, run!" barked Brownie.
"Rough, rough—rough, rough!" said little Wienerwurst in his funny voice.
"There he is," said the Toyman, "Mr. Jim Crow and all his wicked chums. See
there!"
All the children looked in the direction in which his finger pointed. Over
in the far corner of the field a flock of crows flew up from the waving
corn. A white horse, drawing a buggy, was trotting along the road by the
side of the cornfield. The driver had scared Mr. Jim Crow and all his
chums. They flapped their big black wings as they flew. And they flew very
straight, not like the pretty barn-swallows with their dark-blue wings. The
swallow is a happy bird and skims and dances in the air like a fancy skater
on the ice. But Mr. Jim Crow flies like an arrow. That is because he is
always up to some mischief and forever running away when someone finds
him out.
"Caw, caw!" he called.
"Caw, caw!" called all his black mates.
The Toyman ran to the fence and picked up a shotgun. It had two barrels
that shone in the sun.
"***, ***!" went the gun.
One black spot dropped to the earth like a stone.
The Toyman ran out in the cornfield. He bent over until his straw hat was
hidden by the waving corn.
Soon he came back. From his hand Mr. Jim Crow hung head downward. He
was very still.
"Oo, oo! You've hurted him!"
Little Hepzebiah began to cry.
"Don't cry," said the Toyman, patting her head. "Mr. Jim Crow was a bad
fellow. You couldn't teach him any lessons."
"What did he do?" Marmaduke asked.
"He stole all the corn and you wouldn't have any nice muffins if he had had
his way. I never shoot the orioles or the robins or the swallows or any of
the birds with consciences."
"What is a conscience?"
"Oh a little clock inside you, like the Clock-with-the-Wise-Face-on-the-Mantel. It
tells you when it is time to stop," explained their friend.
And Jehosophat and Marmaduke looked as if they knew just what he meant.
But Hepzebiah was too little yet to understand.
"See, Mr. Jim Crow is long and black. He has a bad eye."
So he buried Mr. Jim Crow under the oak tree while the children watched.
After that the Toyman said:
"I reckon Mr. Scarecrow has fainted."
"Who's Mr. Scarecrow?" asked the three happy children. "Is he Mr. Jim
Crow's cousin?"
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Toyman. "That is a good one. No, Mr. Scarecrow is
the policeman of the cornfield. Let's go over and set him on his pins
again."
So again he walked through the rows between the cornstalks and they came to
a little clear place in the middle of the field.
There, flat on his back, lay Mr. Scarecrow.
He too looked as if he were dead. But he was not.
For his body was only two sticks of wood nailed together like a cross. He
was dressed in Father Green's old blue trousers and the Toyman's old black
coat. His arms were outstretched. But he had lost his hat. His wooden head
stuck out.
The Toyman picked him up and stood him straight on his one wooden leg. Then
he put the old felt hat on his hard head.
"There, old wooden top," the Toyman spoke to him sternly. "Don't leave your
beat."
But Marmaduke was puzzled.
"How could he scare Mr. Jim Crow away like a policeman? He can't run with
that wooden leg."
"Silly," said Jehosophat, for he was older than Marmaduke and knew Mr.
Scarecrow very well.
"Ha, ha, ha, that's another good one," said the Toyman. "Of course he can't
run. But when all the Crows see him standing up in the cornfield they think
he is a real man. They are afraid Mr. Scarecrow will shoot. For they know
that things that wear coats and hats often have guns. And guns have killed
their chums. So they do not come very near when Mr. Scarecrow is around."
"Caw, caw!" sounded the old rascals again. But the crows were far away. The
three happy children could see them way up in the old chestnut tree over on
the edge of their neighbour's wood.
In the fork of two high branches was a great round nest—oh ever so much
bigger than the thrush's and the oriole's. It was a crow's nest. Sailors
often call the little turret built around the mast, where they stand and
look out over the sea, a "crow's nest." It looks something like that.
But Mr. Jim Crow's chums didn't come near the cornfield that day.
At night, when they were ready for bed, Jehosophat said to Marmaduke:
"I wonder if old Mr. Scarecrow is out there now."
"Course he is," his brother assured him.
"Let's see!"
So they jumped out of bed and, in their white nightgowns, tiptoed over the
floor to the window. The Old-Man-in-the-Moon was up. He looked as round
and fat as a pumpkin in the sky.
He winked at them.
The Old-Man-in-the-Moon made it very bright so that they could see.
Sure enough, way out in the cornfield stood Mr. Scarecrow.
His hat and coat were on and he was standing up like a man, very straight
and still. His arms were outstretched to tell Mr. Jim Crow's chums that he
was ready for them.
But though they are thieves, the Black Crows are not night burglars and
they were fast asleep in the nests in the wood.
The Man-in-the-Moon winked at them three times, once with his right eye,
once with his left eye, then again with the right.
And the three happy children thought they heard him say three times:
"Back to bed, back to bed, back to bed!"
Then they heard the sound of bells. Seven times they sounded. It was from
the church over in the town,—the big white church with the long finger
pointing at the sky. And the Little-Clock-with-the-Wise-Face-on-the-Mantel, answered back.
So they obeyed the old yellow Man-in-the-Moon and scampered like little
white mice back to bed.
End of the Seventh Night
The Eighth Night
The Prettiest Fairy Story in the World
"Tell me a story—a fairy story," said Jehosophat to his Mother.
The three happy children loved really true stories and fairy stories too.
Sometimes they wanted one, sometimes the other. Sometimes the Toyman
mixed his stories up so it was hard to tell which they were.
This morning it was spring. The sun was warm and Jehosophat felt very lazy.
"No," said Mother. "I have too much work to do. But if you will help me dry
the dishes I won't tell you but I'll _show you_ one of the prettiest
fairy stories in the world."
"It is true too," she added.
"Mother, how can that be," said Marmaduke. "A fairy story that is a true
story?"
"Just be patient," she replied, "and you will see."
So the boys took the dish towels and helped dry the dishes, without any
accidents. But little Hepzebiah was too small, so she sat on the floor with
her finger in her mouth and watched them.
"Come," said Mother Green when they were through.
Out in the vegetable garden, back of the raspberries they went.
"See there," said Mother.
Three square little garden plots with nice brown earth were waiting for
seeds.
"Father dug them for you—one for Jehosophat, one for Marmaduke, and one
for Hepzebiah."
The three happy children couldn't help but think that was fine.
Just then along came Father.
His arms were full.
He had three little rakes, three little hoes, and three little spades.
The three happy children did not need to ask whom they were for.
"But where's the fairy story, Mother?"
"That you will make," she said. "The jolly old Sun, the gentle Rain, and
brown Mother Earth will help you."
Jehosophat laughed.
"Oh! I see now. But we can't finish that fairy story all in one day."
"No, it takes time and it takes work. But it's a prettier story than any in
books. And you can make it come true yourselves."
Then Marmaduke piped up:
"What do we do first?"
"Well," his Mother explained, "your Father has dug the ground for you. You
must rake it first, make it smooth and even. Mind, no hard lumps now!"
So the three happy children set to work with their three shiny rakes.
Father had to help Hepzebiah, of course.
Then when the earth was smooth and fine, like brown powder, they made
little furrows or lines in the earth. In other parts of the little gardens
they scooped out tiny holes with their hoes.
Out of his pockets Father took some square envelopes. On them were printed
pretty flowers and ripe vegetables.
"There," said Mother, "are the pictures of the _end_ of the fairy
story. But you'll never know the end unless you try hard."
Father tore open the envelopes and sowed the seeds in Hepzebiah's garden,
some in the little holes, some in the furrows. Then he let the two boys sow
their own gardens.
After the envelopes were all empty and the seeds all scattered they covered
them over with the fine brown soil.
"The little seeds must sleep for a while," said their Mother, "like babies
in a big brown bed."
So every day the three children watched. And the Sun shone and sometimes
the gentle Rain came. They did not feel sad when she was weeping, for
Mother told them she was a fairy too, not so jolly as the Sun but gentle
and kind. Jolly Sun, gentle Rain, and Mother Earth—they were all fairies
whom God had sent to help make the story come true.
Sometimes it was hard to finish breakfast, they were so anxious to see what
had happened in the little gardens during the night. Sometimes they even
forgot to ask Mother to "please excuse" them and they had to be called back
to the table, for that was very impolite.
At last one wonderful morning, as they stood around the flower beds,
Jehosophat said:
"There's Chapter Two!"
"What's that?" asked Marmaduke who didn't quite understand.
"Oh, just another step in the fairy tale."
"Where?"
He pointed to one of the gardens.
From the brown earth a little green head poked out.
Little Hepzebiah danced for it was in her garden, and toddled off to tell
Mother.
Next day there were five more little heads, some in each of the gardens.
They were light in colour and seemed weak but somehow the jolly old Sun and
brown Mother Earth took care of them as parents take care of babies. And
sometimes the gentle Rain came to water them with her tears. So they grew
strong and soon the gardens were covered with an army of sturdy little
green spears.
"It looks like a brown pincushion with green needles and pins," said
Jehosophat.
And the weeks passed and still the three good fairies worked hard over
them to help them live and grow up to be real vegetables and flowers. They
worked away very quietly, these three good fairies, as all good people
work, without any noise, without any fuss.
One day Farmer Green came back from a visit to the town.
With him he brought three green watering-pots.
"You must do some more work, yourselves," he told them as he handed each
one of the shiny green cans. "You must water them when the Rain fairy is
tired, pull up the bad weeds that steal the food Mother Earth keeps for the
flowers, and you must keep the soil loose around the roots, so that the
drops can sink way down deep. The more work you do the better you will like
your flowers when they do come. And the taller and prettier they will be."
So the little green stalks grew tall and strong. Then the little buds came.
And one by one the buds opened into flowers. And the flowers had on their
petals all the colours of the rainbow in the sky.
And the children took turns filling the vase on the supper table. They were
very proud of their flowers when their father leaned over and smelled them.
"My, how sweet they smell!" he would say every time. "I don't think I
_ever_ saw such flowers."
And when their vegetables came to the table—round plump red radishes,
crisp curling lettuce leaves, juicy tomatoes, and rows of peas in the pod,
like the little toes of the neighbour's baby, Father Green would say:
"I never did eat such vegetables!"
Then he would smile over at Mother.
And Marmaduke, after his turn one night, whispered to his mother—
"It _was_ a pretty fairy story, Mother. And we made it come true
ourselves."
"Yes, with the help of God and His fairies—the jolly Sun, the gentle Rain,
and brown Mother Earth. But the best part of it all is that _your own_
hands helped."
But the Little-Clock-with-the-Wise-Face-on-the-Mantle thought that the
children understood now. So he stopped this advice with his silver tongue.
And Mother, too, agreed that it was late. So she kissed them good-night and
tucked them under the coverlids as they had covered the tiny seeds in their
brown beds.
End of the Eight Night
The Ninth Night
Another True Fairy Story
Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and Hepzebiah were very happy as they watched the
fairy story of the flowers. They were happier still because they helped it
grow. But of course that did not take all of their time. So one morning
when Marmaduke had eaten up all of his oatmeal and the cream, which
Buttercup had given him, he laid his spoon down and said:
"Won't you show us another story, 'cause we can't watch our gardens all day
long?"
"Yes," said Mother, "let me think what it will be."
So Mother thought awhile.
"I'll get Mother Nature to show you another story. But you can't help with
this one. You'll just have to watch. It's made by the birds themselves."
Then she looked at the calendar.
"Why, it's the fourteenth of May. He ought to be here pretty soon."
"Who ought to be here soon?" asked Jehosophat.
"Why, the Oriole, the Baltimore Oriole, on his way back from the South,
where he lives all winter."
"How do you know he'll come soon?" the three children asked, all in the
same breath.
"He always comes back about the middle of May. City folks call May first
'Moving Day,' but the fifteenth is the Oriole's Moving Day."
So Mother led them out of the front door.
"Just sit in that swing or play with the pine needles and watch that elm.
Don't make too much noise now! Maybe he'll come today."
And the children played in the front of the house all the morning and
looked up at the dark green leaves of the elm every once in a while. But no
bright little bird messenger came.
They were very much disappointed but Mother said:
"Never mind, tomorrow is his Moving Day and I think he'll come then. He is
usually pretty prompt."
That night Uncle Roger came to the house with Aunt Mehitable. As a special
treat the children were allowed to stay up late and hear Uncle Roger's
stories of the great sea.
They stayed up very late, although the Little-Clock-with-the-Wise-Face-on-the-Mantle
spoke several times. So next morning they were very tired. The sun
was warm and while Jehosophat, Marmaduke and Hepzebiah sat on the porch they
fell asleep. Jehosophat's head nodded against one post, Marmaduke's
against another post, while little Hepzebiah fell asleep between them
on the floor of the porch.
"Wow, wow, wow," growled Rover, "let's go out in the barnyard and chase the
White Wyandottes. It's no fun playing with sleepy children."
"Wow, wow, wow!" answered Brownie and little Wienerwurst together, and this
in dog's language means "Yes."
So they romped away to the barnyard to chase the frightened White
Wyandottes.
That was not a good thing for the chickens but it was a good thing for the
children. For if the dogs had not run away they might have missed something
very wonderful.
What do you think it was?
First they heard pretty strains of music. It was something like a song and
something like a whistle.
They looked up in the elm tree.
There, shining among the dark green leaves, was a pretty thing with orange
and black feathers. He whistled away as if he did not have a care in the
world.
And they did not have to be told—they knew who it was. It was their old
friend, the Oriole.
He didn't stay still very long ever, for he was a busy fellow. But once he
swung on a twig for a little while. They saw that he was almost as big as a
robin, with head and shoulders of black, the wings black too, and most of
his tail. But the rest of his body was like the prettiest orange-coloured
velvet they had ever seen. He was singing something like this:
"What a fine day, what a fine day. I can sing and build, for work is play."
And every once in a while he would fly over to the apple tree and hop from
branch to branch between the pink and white blossoms, looking for food.
He was very fond of those caterpillars in the tree, you see. In between
mouthfuls he would whistle just part of his song,
"A-ver-y-fine-day!"
Then he would take another bite, hop to another branch and whistle again:
"A-ver-y-fine-day!"
He certainly seemed to be happy over the beautiful weather.
Then he would whistle again as if he were talking to someone.
The three sleepy children listened.
"Now that nest, dear, now that nest, dear. We must build that nest, before
we rest."
To whom could he be talking?
They looked around. And there, hopping about on a spray of beautiful apple
blossoms, was another bird. It was Mother Oriole. She was almost like
Father Oriole, only her coat was not as bright as his. It is funny the
way birds are dressed, isn't it? What would you think if some Sunday
_your_ Father went to church in a black coat with a yellow vest, while
Mother wore some very dull colour? You would laugh. But that is the way
with birds. The father bird always wears brighter colours than the mother.
The three happy children were glad that the mother bird had come with the
father bird up from the sunny South. They heard him whistle again:
"In the Winter we go South, dear, But in the Spring to the North we wing."
Then together they flew back to the elm. They were house-hunting. Back on
the roof of the barn there was a little house of wood with doors for the
pretty pigeons, but there were no houses of any kind on the old elm. Still
the Orioles did not worry about that. They were not lazy, oh no!
They were just looking for a place to build. They must have found it, for
the Oriole sang again (he was always changing his song):
"My dear, my dear, Sunny—quiet—lovely—here."
He had chosen a branch about thirty feet from the ground. Mother Oriole
quietly answered back that it suited her perfectly. They both flew down
to the ground, then back to the tree. And every time they travelled they
had little pieces of grass or bark in their bills. But Mother Oriole did
most of this work, which was quite proper, for mothers always do most of
the work about the house, don't they? Father Oriole, you see, was more
interested in getting fat beetles and caterpillars for food. And that was
quite right too. But once he sang out louder than ever, for he had found a
bit of string from Jehosophat's broken kite.
"The very thing, the very thing," he said to her.
And once Mother Oriole found, caught in the shutter, little threads of
Hepzebiah's hair.
Then the three happy children woke up. They rubbed their eyes. They had
been dreaming in the warm sun.
But their dream was true and the fairy story was true.
For there were the two birds, very pretty and very much alive. They were
busily flying to the earth again and back to the elm branch. And they were
carrying the materials for their new home in their beaks.
They perched on the branch and crocheted with their beaks. Yes, crocheted
the little bits of bark and string and grass and hair into a tiny nest.
Hanging down from the branch, it looked like the pretty soft grey bags
which ladies carry, only it was very small.
And between whiles Father Oriole would whistle in delight and Mother Oriole
would answer back quietly.
They were very happy birds and were quite content with the warm sun and
the cool elm leaves and the pretty apple blossoms and their breakfast and
dinner and supper. And they were very grateful to the good God who had
given these things to them, grateful and happy as all little children
should be.
But that is not the end of the fairy story. No, that is—but the
Little-Clock-with-the-Wise-Face-on-the-Mantel won't let us tell any more.
His silver voice says:
"Ting—ting—ting—ting—ting—ting—ting," which means:
"Tell—that—tale—a—noth—er—time."
So good-night.
End of the Ninth Night
The Tenth Night
The Happy Ending of the Oriole's Story
All stories should have an ending. It's fine, isn't it, when they end
happily?
And this story of the Orioles did end happily—oh, so happily!
It was this way, you see.
The little grey house on the elm was finished.
It hung down from the end of the green branch, under the leaves. It looked
both like a fairy house and a little crocheted bag.
Now for some days Mother Oriole didn't go out very much. She stayed in her
little house.
But Father Oriole kept about his work, hunting for the little brown
crawling things and the green crawling things that made their food.
He would whistle every once in a while to tell Mother Oriole that he was
near. Sometimes it was just a few notes to say:
"I'm still here—my dear, Still here, still here, still here."
Sometimes:
"All right, my love!"
Sometimes just:
"All's well!"
But if a strange man came too near the tree his song was sharp and angry.
"Look out, look out, look out! He's a rogue, an awful rogue, look out, I
say!"
But somehow he didn't seem to mind the children.
"Why does Mother Oriole sit so quietly on her nest?" Marmaduke asked his
own mother.
"I wish I could lift you up so that you could see. But the nest is too high
up. It's out of harm's way. Dicky Means, who has a cruel heart and robs
birds' nests, can't reach it way up there!"
"What's in it, Muvver?" asked little Hepzebiah. You see her little tongue
didn't work just right. She never could say words with "th" in them.
"Little eggs, dear. They are white, with little dark spots and funny dark
scrawls on them as if somebody had tried to write with a bad pen."
Then Marmaduke asked:
"And is she keeping them warm?"
"Yes, so that they will hatch out. They will, very soon now."
So for a number of days in the warm weather, and in the rainy weather too,
Mother Oriole sat faithfully on her nest. Bird mothers and the mothers of
little children are always very patient. Then came one fine morning when
the sun was particularly jolly and bright, and the blossoms smelt very
sweet and were beginning to fall from the trees. The three happy children
stood under the elm and looked up at the tiny hanging nest.
They heard new noises, strange noises.
It sounded like babies.
Yes, the little Oriole babies had broken their shells and had been born at
last.
They didn't have many clothes on. But some day their feathers will be as
pretty as their father's.
How they did cry for food! Somehow baby Orioles cry more than other bird
babies. They seem to want to eat all the time.
And how Father Oriole did work to keep them fed, whistling every once in a
while to make things pleasant for his family! I wonder if they appreciated
all the things he and Mother Oriole did for them. And the days passed and
the little birds grew fatter on the bugs and the beetles which their father
brought, just as fat as the little boys or girls on their oatmeal and bread
and milk, which their fathers work hard to earn for them.
The little Orioles were certainly noisy little birds, and when they cried
sometimes the children saw funny little heads and beaks poking out of the
nest.
Then more days passed and Father and Mother Oriole taught them to fly, just
as Father and Mother Green had taught little Hepzebiah to walk. Marmaduke
remembered how his Mother had held Hepzebiah and Father stood a little way
off. Then Hepzebiah had started. She was a little frightened at first but
she made the journey. It was only a few steps and her father caught her
before she fell. She tried this often and soon she could take a great many
steps.
And that was something like the way Father and Mother Oriole taught their
children to fly. The parent birds would fly to a branch a little way off.
Then they would call the little birds. And one by one they would fly to the
branch. Their wings were weak at first like Hepzebiah's little feet. But
soon they grew strong and before many weeks had gone they could fly as fast
as the old birds. And before the summer was over they were as big as their
parents. You see birds have shorter lives than real people. They do not
live so many years. So they have to grow up quickly or they wouldn't have
much time for work and play, would they?
So the children decided that the story of the Orioles was a very pretty
fairy story, indeed, and they liked it better because it was true.
And they found others—oh, so many stories like it.
For sometimes Mother and sometimes Father and sometimes the Toyman
showed them other little bird homes.
They climbed a ladder and found the barn-swallow's nest plastered under the
eaves of the barn. They liked the barn swallow who flew through the air,
almost as if he were so happy that he danced as he flew. And his dress was
so pretty, for he was dark blue on top, brown on the throat, and his little
stomach was white. His tail was forked too, cut like the coat of the man in
the circus who cracked the whip and made the horses perform tricks.
The barn swallow's nest was so cunningly made. It was plastered of mud and
grass, and had a soft grass lining. The little eggs in it were white and
had tiny brown spots.
Right near the bay window, in the thick lilac tree, Marmaduke spied Red
Robin's nest. He was a great friend of theirs. They always liked the cheery
way he hopped over the lawn, and his cheery red vest, and his song which
always said:
"Che-eer up—che-eer up!"
His eggs were the prettiest of all, a greenish blue, a robin's-egg blue,
the dressmakers call it. Mother Green's summer dress was coloured just like
it.
And in a bush by the roadside, Hepzebiah spied the brown thrush's nest. His
eggs were blue and spotted with brown.
And in the elderberry tree they found the grey cat-bird's nest. He was a
funny bird, always crying like a lost ***. And his eggs were green-blue.
So in the fields and the woods Jehosophat, Marmaduke and Hepzebiah saw
all kinds of birds and all kinds of nests and all kinds of eggs. They
saw them because their eyes were bright and sharp as yours must be too
when you go into the beautiful country.
And from the eggs funny little birds were born and grew up and flew and
sang.
And so the three happy children decided that the really true fairy stories
of Mother Nature were the prettiest of all.
And oh—we almost forgot! Perhaps we can tell the rest before that
Little-Clock-with-the-Wise-Face-on-the-Mantel tells us to stop.
Over near Neighbour Brown's fence they were peeping through the green
leaves at the song-sparrow's nest. Mother was with them and they saw
someone come out of their neighbour's house.
"Wouldn't you like to see her?" the strange lady whispered to Mother.
"Oh yes," Mother whispered back, "but they mustn't wake her up."
Who could they be talking about? Then they went through the gate.
"Be very quiet," said Mother as they entered the door, "and you'll see the
end of another true fairy story."
So they tiptoed in.
There in a bed lay Mrs. Brown, looking very happy.
And curled up in her arm she had—well, what do you think she had?
A little sleeping baby!
Like the little Orioles Baby had been born just a few days ago.
"That," said Mother, "is the prettiest fairy story of all."
And the children thought so too.
There—we've finished just in time. We hear the Little Clock. There goes
his silver tongue now.
Good-night! Sweet Dreams.
End of the Tenth Night �