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The Sixteenth Night
Sloshin'
Of course Marmaduke grew well again, and back from Uncle Roger's came
Jehosophat and Hepzebiah. They came back in the old creaking buckboard with
Methuselah the old, old white horse, and the Toyman.
No sooner had they jumped to the ground than Marmaduke asked, very proudly:
"Where do you think _I've_ been?"
"You've been sick."
Marmaduke shook his head.
"That's not what I mean," he said. "I've been to see the Old
Man-in-the-Moon."
"_Now_ you're telling _stories_" jeered Jehosophat. "You've just
been in _bed_ all the time."
"I'm _not_ telling any stories," said his brother stoutly. "I tell
you, I _have_ been to visit the Old Man-in-the-Moon."
But Jehosophat wouldn't believe him.
"That's a _whopper_," said he.
Marmaduke turned to his friend, the Toyman.
"I _have_ been there, haven't I?"
"Where?" said the Toyman.
"To see the Old Man-in-the-Moon."
"Of course you have," his good old chum replied, "and a heap of wonderful
things you saw."
The Toyman never laughed at the wonderful things they had done, nor at
the marvellous things they had seen—no never, for he understood little
children.
Now Jehosophat _had_ to believe him. He asked lots of questions, while
Hepzebiah listened, her eyes growing as round as big peppermint drops.
So Marmaduke showed them the little red and blue sleigh, and told them
all about the little driver, Jack Frost. And he didn't forget about old
Black-eyed Susan's great jump, nor the gold pennies, either.
Jehosophat felt just a little jealous. Perhaps that is why he was naughty
that day.
And this is how it all happened:
It was in the afternoon. Jehosophat was coming home from the schoolhouse,
which was up the road about a mile, a long way from the
White-House-with-the-Green-Blinds where the three happy children lived.
With him walked four of his friends—Sophy Soapstone and Sammy Soapstone,
who lived on the farm by the Old Canal; Lizzie Fizzletree, who lived on the
turnpike; and Fatty Hamm, who lived by the river road.
Sammy Soapstone had blue eyes and tow hair which stood up straight on his
head. It was as stiff as the curry comb with which the Toyman brushed the
horses. Sophy Soapstone had blue eyes, too, and two neat little pigtails
down her back.
But Lizzie Fizzletree had black eyes and hair that stuck out in all
directions. She had more safety-pins on her dress than a neat little girl
should ever have. And her stockings were forever coming down.
Fatty Hamm was so round and so plump that he looked as if he had pillows
under his clothes. And though he was only twelve he had two chins. Every
once in a while he would eat so much that a button would pop off.
He was eating apples now.
One, two, three, four, five, he ate. He did not offer one to his friends,
_not even the core_!
Another apple he took. That made six!
Pop went a button and—splash—it landed in a puddle of brown water.
For three days it had rained, washing the white snow away. The ruts in the
road were full of these puddles, nice and brown and inviting.
Sammy's eyes and Jehosophat's eyes followed the button as it landed in the
water, making little rings which grew larger all the time.
"Let's slosh," said Sammy.
"Let's!" cried Lizzie Fizzletree, "it's lots of fun, sloshin'."
Into a big puddle marched Sammy Soapstone, and after him marched Lizzie and
Sophy, and at the end of the procession waddled Fatty.
"Slop, slosh, slop, slosh," they went through puddle after puddle.
Glorious fun it was. Showers of spray flew all over the road.
But Jehosophat walked on ahead in the middle of the road. Hadn't his mother
told him, particularly, _not_ to get his feet wet?
"Come on in, it's fine!" they all shouted at Jehosophat.
"Aw, come on!" Sammy Soapstone repeated, and Fatty called:
"'Fraidcat!"
At that Jehosophat turned around. He just couldn't stand being called
"'fraidcat."
So _slosh, slosh_, into the biggest brown puddle he could find he
went.
_Slosh, slop, slop, slosh_!
Over his rubber tops went the water. Fine and cool it felt.
Splash went the water over the road. And he kicked it over Fatty till the
round fat legs were drenched too.
Then all the boys bent over the puddle, and scooped up great handfuls of
water, and threw them over each other.
It was a great battle. And when it was finished and they were soaked to the
skin, they splashed up the road, shouting and singing.
I guess they went into every last puddle between the schoolhouse and the
White-House-with-the-Green-Blinds by the side of the road.
They had reached it now.
All-of-a-sudden Jehosophat felt very funny near the pit of his stomach.
Something was sure to happen now.
In front of the house marched Mr. Stuckup, the Turkey. His chest was stuck
out and his tail feathers were spread out too, like a great big fan. He was
having a lovely parade all by himself.
"Rubber, rubber, rubber," he gobbled.
Jehosophat looked down at his feet. He felt guilty—but he thought it was
very mean of Mr. Stuckup to call attention to his wet rubbers that way.
"Keep quiet," Jehosophat shouted. "You don't need to _tell_ on me!"
"Rubber, rubber, rubber," gobbled Mr. Stuckup just the same.
Jehosophat kicked at him with his wet feet, and tried to grab the fat red
nose that hung down over the turkey's beak.
At that old Mr. Stuckup's feathers ruffled in anger, and he hurried off,
still gobbling "rubber, rubber, rubber," as loud as he could.
Around the house sneaked Jehosophat, trying hard not to be seen.
Half-way to the back door, who should he meet but a procession of the
Foolish White Geese.
By this time Jehosophat was not only wet clear through, he was angry clear
through too, so he kicked at them.
They stretched out their long white necks and called:
"Hiss! Hiss! Hissssssss!!"
They might be very foolish, these White Geese, but they were sensible
enough to know that Jehosophat ought to have been ashamed of himself that
afternoon.
To make matters worse, the sun was shining now. He sparkled so brightly on
the Gold Rooster on the top of the barn, that Father Wyandotte flapped his
wings and cried to all the world:
"Look, look, look, look! You're going to get it—hurroo!"
And all the White Wyandottes took up the cry:
"Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut—you'll get it."
Jehosophat wished he were as small as Hop-o'-my-Thumb, so that he could
creep through the keyhole and never be seen at all.
But he had one friend left—little Wienerwurst, who frisked up to him just
then, wagging his tail. He didn't scold Jehosophat at all, partly because
he was so often up to mischief himself. And then little Wienerwurst always
stuck by his friends anyway.
For a while nothing more happened, and Jehosophat tiptoed in at the back
door. Mother was nowhere to be seen, so over the floor he sneaked.
At every step the water oozed out and _slop, splosh, slop, splosh_,
still went his shoes.
But he reached his room safely, then quickly he rummaged in the drawers of
the bureau.
Quiet as a mouse he took off his wet clothes, and put them in the darkest
corner of the big closet. Quiet as a mouse he drew on the clean dry ones.
But someone was calling:
"Jehosophat—_Je-hos'-o-phat_!"
No answer made he.
"Jehosophat—_Je-hos'-o-phat_!"
No longer could he hide. So, making his face look as bold and as innocent
as possible, he walked into the dining-room.
But somehow, though he tried to look innocent, I guess he really looked
guilty.
"Jehosophat Green, what _have_ you been doing?" asked Mother. Her eyes
were almost always kind but they were a little stern just then.
Jehosophat tried another look on his face, for you can try different looks
on your face just as you try different hats on your head. This time he
tried the one that folks call "unconcern," a look as if he had no troubles
at all, as if he had nothing to hide.
"Aw, just playin'," he answered his mother.
Then his mother asked a very strange question:
"Where's the party?"
Jehosophat _was_ surprised. "Party" sounded fine.
"What party, Mother?" he asked.
"I don't know," his mother replied. "I just thought you were dressed up for
one."
And he looked down at his clean suit and his Sunday best shoes. And from
out the corner of his eye he saw wet places on the floor and muddy tracks,
about as big as his feet.
No answer now had Jehosophat. He guessed he would go into the parlour. So
he sat down at the marble-topped table, and looked at the picture book
which Uncle Roger had given him. It was full of great white ships sailing
the blue sea.
For a moment he almost forgot all his troubles, so interested was he in
looking at those great ships and their sails and all the wonderful fish.
Then suddenly he remembered.
He looked out through the door into the dining-room.
Mother wasn't saying anything. She was just busy. That was all.
But had she forgotten?
Somehow Jehosophat did not like the sad look on her face.
He went and shut the door. He thought he would feel more comfortable if he
couldn't see Mother's eyes. Then he sat down to look at the picture book
again. But he felt more miserable than ever.
***! he shut the book too. It was very strange. The things that usually
made him so happy weren't any fun at all just then.
Then he looked up at the mantel.
Above it hung a great picture. There was a man in a cocked hat. He had on a
fine uniform and he rode a tall white horse. Jehosophat knew very well who
that was. It would be _his_ birthday tomorrow—George Washington's
birthday. The teacher had told them all about it that very afternoon.
She had told them a story, too, about a hatchet and a cherry tree—and—a
lie!
The man on the horse looked down from the picture. The eyes were very
stern.
A lie!
Yes, that was just what he had told to Mother. He had told a lie, and acted
a lie.
Though there was no one else in the room but the great man in the big
picture, Jehosophat's cheeks grew very red. A lump came into his throat.
Now he never could be president nor have a sword—and ride a big white
horse—and call "Forward March" to the whole army. No—never!
To the window he went, and pressed his nose against the pane. The clouds
were grey. It all seemed very dark and not at all cheerful as the world
ought to be.
Once more he looked up at the picture.
And as he looked at the eyes of the man in the picture, they told him to do
something.
He decided to do it. And as soon as he decided he felt better—not
_all_ better—but better.
And out into the dining-room he marched. He had to close his fists tight,
for it is very hard sometimes to tell people you've done wrong to them,
especially if they are people you love.
"Mother," he said—not very loud.
She looked up.
"Yes?"
"Mother—I——"
He stopped. Mother looked up. She saw his lip tremble a little and wanted
to take him in her arms. But she didn't just then. He must tell what he had
to tell, first.
"Mother—I told a lie—I got my feet wet—sloshin'—and I said I was
playin' when I changed my clothes—an' I'm sorry an'—an'—I'll never do
it again."
Then Mother did take him in her arms and she kissed him and hugged him too.
"Well—I love my little boy all the more for this. It was very wrong to
disobey, worse still to tell a lie. But it was hard to tell me your own
self about it and you were brave."
So she kissed him. And her eyes weren't sad any more.
End of the Sixteenth Night
The Seventeenth Night
The Circus Comes to Town
Mother Green and Father Green were fast asleep in the
White-House-with-the-Green-Blinds. The Toyman was fast asleep too. Rover
and Brownie and Wienerwurst lay curled up in their kennels, with their eyes
tight shut. On their poles in _their_ house all the White Wyandottes
perched like feathery balls, their heads sunk low on their ***. On
the roof cuddled the pretty pigeons, all pink and grey and white. In the
barn Teddy, and Hal, and Methuselah, and Black-eyed Susan, and all the
four-footed friends of the three happy children, rested from the cares of
the day. Hepzebiah never stirred in her crib, and Jehosophat lay dreaming
of something very pleasant.
But the crickets, and the katydids, the scampering mice, and the big-eyed
owls, and the little stars, snapping their tiny fingers of light up in the
sky, and Marmaduke—_they_ were awake.
He had played very hard that day and he had leg-ache. Mother had rubbed it
till it felt better and he fell asleep, but now it began to hurt again and
he woke up. The Little-Clock-with-the-Wise-Face-on-the-Mantel struck, not
seven times but four. It was long past midnight—_it was four o 'clock in
the morning_!
But Marmaduke didn't call his mother. He thought that it would be too
bad to wake her up from that nice sleep. So he just tried to rub his leg
himself.
It was then that he heard that far-off noise like a rumble of thunder. But
it wasn't thunder. It was something rolling over the bridge down the road.
Marmaduke sat up in bed and looked out of the window into the dark shadows
of the trees.
There was another rumble, and another and another. There must be, oh, so
many wagons rolling by in the night. Then he heard the sound of horses'
hoofs on the road, the clank of rings and iron trace chains.
He rubbed his eyes this time and looked hard out into the darkness.
Yes, he could see the tops of the big wagons, moving slowly past, under the
trees and over the road.
It was a strange procession and he just had to jump out of bed, forgetting
all about his leg-ache. He ran to the window, pressing his little turned-up
nose against the panes.
Though it was dark still it must have been near morning. The moon was just
going down behind the Church-with-the-Long-White-Finger, that finger which
always kept pointing at the sky. The Old Man-in-the-Moon looked very tired
and peaked after sitting up so late.
There were so many of the wagons and so many horses. They must stretch
way back to the school-house, and miles and miles beyond that, Marmaduke
thought.
The horses seemed very tired, for they plodded along slowly in the dark,
and the drivers almost fell asleep, nodding on their seats. They looked
just like black shadows.
Under the axles of the wagons were lanterns, swinging a little and throwing
circles of light on the road.
Now and then one of the drivers spoke roughly to the horses. And sometimes
Marmaduke heard strange noises like the sleepy growls of wild animals.
Perhaps they were in those wagons!
Then Marmaduke laughed. He knew what it was. They were circus wagons! The
circus was coming to town! The Toyman had told him all about it, that very
day.
Once, one of the animals roared and the others answered back. Their noise
was louder than the rumble of the wagon-wheels on the bridge. Marmaduke was
frightened. But the roaring stopped, and all he could hear was the noise of
all those wheels on their way up the road by the river.
Then the last wagon passed and Marmaduke went back to bed and fell asleep.
But the long procession rolled on and on till it reached the church. There
was a large field nearby. Into it the wagons turned and all the horses were
unhitched.
Then the cooks started fires in the stoves on the cook-wagons, and all the
strange men and women had coffee. And then, just as the Sun was coming up
and the night was all gone, they went to work.
Up in the centre of the field they raised three tall poles. They were
almost as high as the Long White Finger of the Church. They drove many
stakes into the ground. And around the tall poles they stretched almost
as many ropes as there are on a ship.
Then they unrolled the white canvas and, when the Sun was just a little way
up in the sky and the morning was all nice and shiny and bright, the great
white tents were ready for the circus.
Back in the White-House-with-the-Green-Blinds, Marmaduke was eating his
oatmeal. He asked a question that he very often asked:
"What do you think _I_ saw?"
"Another dream?" said Jehosophat.
"No, it was _real_," replied Marmaduke. "I saw a lot of wagons,
hundreds 'n thousands, in a big line miles long. And there were wild
animals in the wagons."
"I'll bet that was a _dream_," his big brother insisted, but the
Toyman said:
"No, it wasn't a dream, it was the circus coming to town."
Then Father spoke up:
"That's so, I most forgot."
He looked at the Toyman:
"Frank," he said, "I've got to go over to the Miller farm to buy some
yearling steers. You'll have to take the youngsters to that circus."
The Toyman didn't seem worried about that. He looked just "tickled," "like
a boy himself," Mother said.
So, after dinner, old Methuselah was hitched up, and away they drove,—the
Toyman, Jehosophat, Hepzebiah, and Marmaduke, with little Wienerwurst, as
usual, in back. He was very happy, barking at all the carriages hurrying up
the road to the circus.
They came to the field with the big white tents and were just going to turn
in, when they heard music way off in the streets of the town.
"Why, I most forgot," said the Toyman to Jehosophat. "There's the circus
parade over on Main Street. In the big city they have the parade and the
circus all in one big building, but in the country towns they have the
parade first in the street, and the performance after, in the tents."
"Tluck, tluck!" he called to Methuselah, and jog, jog, jog, the old horse
trotted into town. In Uncle Roger's barn the Toyman unhitched him, and
gave him some hay and some oats too, for it was a grand holiday. Then
hand-in-hand the Toyman and the three happy children hurried over to Main
Street.
So many people were crowded on the sidewalk that the children could hardly
see. But Jehosophat ducked under the stomachs of two big fat men and sat on
the curb-stone. And the Toyman held Marmaduke on one shoulder and Hepzebiah
on the other. He was very strong. From their high perch they could look
right over the heads of all the people at that great circus parade.
Hark! They were coming!
First the band. They were dressed in gay uniforms of red and blue, with
gold tassels too, and bright brass buttons.
Ahead of them marched the leader of the band—the tall Drum Major. He had
on a high fur cap, twice as big as his head. In his hand he swung a long
black cane, called a "baton." It had a gold *** on it, bigger than a
duck's egg.
He raised the cane and the music began!
_Trrat——trrat——trrat—trrat—trrat_! went the little drums.
_Boom——boom—-boom—boom—boom_! went the big bass drum.
_hum_—
_hum_—
_hum_—
_Hum_—
_hum—hum_!
sounded the shiny horns.
_ter-loo_
_ter-loo_
_ter-loo_
_Loo-loo-loo_
_ter-loo-loo_!
gaily whistled the little fifes.
Then they all sounded together in a grand crash of music that made all the
people happy and excited, and they almost danced on the sidewalk.
And all the time the tall Drum-Major kept twirling that baton with the gold
*** on it till Jehosophat's eyes most popped out of his head.
My! how he could twirl it!
But other wonderful things were coming now, marching by very
swiftly,—ladies on horses that pranced and danced; cowboys on horses that
were livelier still; a giant as tall as the big barber's pole; and a dwarf
no higher than that tall giant's knee.
And great grey elephants, all tied together by their trunks and their
tails; and zebras like little horses painted with stripes; and cages on
wagons, full of funny monkeys, making faces at all the people; and lions
and tigers, walking up and down and showing their sharp teeth.
Then something happened!
One of the circus men must have been sleepy that morning, for he hadn't
fixed the lock on that cage just tight. And the big tiger felt very mean
that day. He snarled and he snarled, and he jumped at the bars of his cage.
Open came the door. Out leaped that wicked tiger right on the street, and
the people ran pell mell in all directions.
The two fat men were so frightened that they fell flat on their stomachs.
The barber shinnied up his pole, and hung on for dear life to the top.
The baker-man tumbled into the watering-trough, and all the rest rushed
higgledy-piggledy into the houses and stores.
The Toyman picked up Hepzebiah, Marmaduke, and Jehosophat, hurried them
into the candy-store, and shut the door tight.
It was full of beautiful candies,—chocolate creams and peppermint drops,
snowy white cocoanut cakes, black and white licorice sticks, and cherry-red
lollypops. But the three children never noticed those lovely candies at
all. They just looked out of the glass door at that tiger, walking up and
down the street, a-showing his teeth and a-swishing his tail.
The tiger looked at all the people behind the windows and doors. They were
all shivering in their boots, and he didn't know which one to choose. Then
he looked up at the man on the barber-pole, and he was shivering too.
Then all of a sudden the tiger stopped.
"_Girrrrrrrrrrrhhh_!"
He saw the butcher shop.
The door was open. Some nice red pieces of beef hung on the hooks.
He licked his chops and ran into the shop and jumped up at the first piece
of beef and ate it all up. He never saw the stout butcher, who was hiding
under the chopping block. The butcher's face was usually as red as the
beef, but now it was as white as his apron, and his feet were shaking as
fast as leaves in the wind.
But just as the tiger was gobbling the last morsel up, down the street
galloped a cowboy on a swift horse. He stopped right in front of the
butcher shop.
Out went his hand.
In it was a rope all coiled up.
Around his head he twirled it, in great flying loops. Then he let it fly.
And it fell around that wicked tiger's head and neck, just as he was
finishing his dinner.
Then the circus men came with big steel forks, and they ran at that tiger,
and they tied him all up in that rope very tight, and put him back in the
cage on the wagon, while he growled and growled and growled.
So the parade started again and all of the people came out of their
hiding-places, all but the fat men who hurried off home, as soon as they
found their breath, and the old ladies who said they guessed they'd go to
missionary meeting after all. A circus parade was too heathenish.
Soon it was all over, and the rest of the people hurried off to the field
with the big white tents.
And what they saw there we will tell you tomorrow night.
End of theSeventeenth Night
The Eighteenth Night
The Jolly Clown
Marmaduke was lost. There was such a crowd around those tents! He wriggled
between lots of pairs of legs, but nowhere could he find the Toyman's.
Near the door of the tent stood a man with a big black moustache, and a
silk hat on his head. He was selling tickets. The Toyman went up to him.
"Howdy," said the Toyman.
"Howdy, pardner," replied he.
"I'd like four tickets. Here is the money. One whole ticket and three half
tickets too."
The man counted the money and gave him the tickets. Then the Toyman asked:
"Did you see a little boy 'bout this high, with a little yeller dog?"
The man with the big black moustache and the tall silk hat shook his head.
"Sorry I can't oblige you, pardner. I've seen lots of kiddies but nary a
one with a yeller dog."
"Well then," said the Toyman, "will you kindly show these youngsters to
their seats while I look for that little lost boy and his dog?"
"Certainly, be most pleased," was the answer, for all circus men are very
polite on Circus Day.
So the man with the black moustache and the tall silk hat called a man in a
red cap. Jehosophat took Hepzebiah by the hand, and the man in the red cap
led them into the big tent. He showed them their seats, and they sat down
in the very front row.
Outside, the Toyman kept looking, looking everywhere. There was no sign of
Marmaduke's tow head nor of little yellow Wienerwurst.
_They_ were on the other side of the tent, outside too, mixed up with
men and women they didn't know, and hundreds of boys and girls. They could
see other men too, with striped shirts and loud voices, standing in small
houses. And the small houses looked just like little stores, and on the
counters were good things to eat,—popcorn, peanuts, cracker jack, and
something cool in glasses, like lemonade but coloured like strawberries.
Loud did the men shout, trying to sell those good things to everybody who
came near.
But Marmaduke couldn't buy even _one_ peanut. He didn't have any
money. How was he ever going to get into that circus!
Oh, where was the Toyman?
But he didn't cry. You know he didn't. He just shut his teeth hard, and
winked and winked.
At last Wienerwurst gave a little bark. He saw a little hole, and
Wienerwurst always liked little holes. It was under the tent and just his
size. Right into it he crawled. All Marmaduke could see of his doggie now
was his little tail like a sausage. The rest of him was under the tent.
Thump-thump-thump went the tail. And Marmaduke knew it must be pretty nice
inside.
Then the tail, too, disappeared. So down on his stomach went the little boy
and crawled right in after his doggie.
The tent had several big rooms and he was in one of them. On every side
were big cages with iron bars.
"_Girrrrrrrrrrrhhh_!" went something in one of the cages.
That wicked runaway tiger!
Marmaduke ran past all the cages very fast until he came to another room.
In it were lots of *** funny people.
He heard another voice, not like the runaway tiger's, but one just happy
and pleasant, though very deep.
"Well, look who's here!" it said.
That was a funny thing to say, Marmaduke thought, and he looked up.
He had to look up ever so high. There was the tall giant, sitting on a
great big chair. Big were his feet and his legs and his hands, and big were
his chin and his nose and his hat. Still he didn't look cross like the
giants in the story-books, just nice and kind.
Marmaduke stared up at him and he smiled down at Marmaduke.
It was very hot and the big giant took off his hat to wipe his forehead.
He set his hat down. He didn't look where he put it and it went over
Marmaduke's head and nearly covered him up. He couldn't see any sunlight.
It was all dark inside that hat.
"Let me out," he shouted. And he heard someone say:
"What's in your hat?"
"There _was_ a little boy around here," the giant replied. "Maybe I've
covered him up."
The giant leaned down and picked up his hat, and took it off the little
boy. Very glad was Marmaduke to see the light once more.
The giant bowed low to apologize and the great chair creaked.
"Very careless of me," he said. "A thousand pardons, Sir!"
Marmaduke felt very happy. It was fine to be called "Sir" by a great big
giant like that.
Then he felt himself being lifted up, and there he sat on the giant's knee.
The giant told him a story and gave him a big ring from his finger. It was
so large that Marmaduke could put his whole arm through it.
Then another voice spoke. It was a little tiny voice this time—no bigger
than a mouse's squeak or a cricket's "Good-night."
Marmaduke looked down from the giant's knee.
"Hello, little fellow," squeaked the funny little voice.
No, it was not Jack Frost. It was a dwarf, all dressed in a crimson velvet
gown, with a gold crown on her head. The top of the crown wasn't even as
high as the giant's knee. My, but she _was_ little!
Marmaduke was just going to say, "Little, _huh_! I'm as big as
_you_ are!" But he didn't. That wouldn't have been quite right when
all these circus people were so very polite to him.
So all he said was:
"Good-afternoon!"
And the little tiny lady in the crimson gown gave him something too,—a
silver button from her dress. Then the giant handed him over to a lady who
sat next. A very funny lady was she, for she had a woman's voice and a
woman's dress and a woman's hair, too, but on her chin was a long, long
beard, just like a man's.
The bearded lady kissed Marmaduke. He didn't like that, she tickled so.
He didn't go very near the one who sat next. Yet _she_ was a very
pretty lady with blue eyes and golden hair, but around her arms and neck
instead of necklaces were curled up snakes!
"They won't bite, little boy," she said smiling. "Look out for the
_snakes in the grass_, but don't mind these. They can't hurt you at
all."
With that she handed him some candy.
Marmaduke's hands were so full now, with the candy and the big ring and the
silver button, that he didn't know what to do.
Just ahead of him was little Wienerwurst's tail. The very thing! So he put
that big ring over that little tail. That felt so funny that Wienerwurst
tried to reach his tail and that round shiny thing on it.
Around and around he went in a circle, trying to bite it off. He looked
as if his head and tail were tied together. Like a little yellow
merry-go-round, whirling so swiftly after itself, was he. All the strange
circus people laughed and cheered and the giant clapped his huge hands till
they sounded like thunder.
All of a sudden the ring rolled off Wienerwurst's tail, and Marmaduke went
scrambling after it. It rolled right near the lady—and all those snakes!
Marmaduke didn't like _that_. He was glad when he heard another voice
call out, very cheerily.
"Here it is, Sonny!"
This was a very jolly voice, jollier than any he had ever heard in the
world except the Toyman's.
The man who owned that voice stood before him, such a funny man, in a baggy
white suit, with red spots like big red tiddledy winks all over it. He had
a pointed cap all red and white too. And his face was all painted white,
with long black eyebrows and a wide, wide, red mouth.
This was the way Marmaduke met Tody the Clown.
They had a long talk together and he seemed to understand little boys, just
like the Toyman.
"It must be fine to always live in a circus," said Marmaduke. "Wish I did."
"Well, Sonny, when you grow up, maybe you can," replied Tody the Clown.
Marmaduke looked at the wide mouth with its funny smile.
"You're always happy, aren't you?"
Tody nodded and answered:
"Sure—anyway _almost_ always."
"Don't you ever feel cross or have any troubles?"
Tody threw back his head at that and laughed way out loud.
"Sure I do," said he. "A heap of troubles, but I just think of all the
little girls and boys like you that I've got to make happy. Then I try hard
to make 'em laugh and—"
"An' what?"
"Why all my troubles fly away, quick as a wink," laughed Tody. "Yes,
just as quick as I do this." And _quicker_ than a wink he turned a
somersault. He turned a whole lot of somersaults and then he took Marmaduke
on his shoulder and galloped around the tent and they had a glorious time.
But the music was sounding out in the big tent just next them—drums and
horns and bugles and fifes. The circus would start in a minute now and all
the fun would be over.
"Where's your ticket, Sonny?" asked Tody.
"I haven't any," Marmaduke explained. "I've lost the Toyman—and he's got
my ticket an'—an'—I can't go in."
"Don't you worry about that. You'll have the _best seat in the whole
circus_." And Tody turned another somersault just to make him laugh.
Then he looked down at little Wienerwurst.
"But they won't let any doggies in there. We'll just tie him to this pole."
Marmaduke shook his head and tried hard to keep the tears back. Just one
little one rolled down his right cheek But that was on the other side of
Tody. Maybe Tody saw it anyway, for when Marmaduke said to him,—"Then I
can't go in either, my little pet doggie would feel so badly," the jolly
Clown answered:
"Well, we'll just have to fix it up some way. Can y' keep him quiet?"
"Quiet as a mouse," answered Marmaduke, "quiet as Mother Robin when she
sits on her nest."
And Wienerwurst barked out loud just to show how quiet he could be.
Tody spoke to another man. This one had on a bright red vest, red as Father
Robin's. He looked at the boy and the dog. His voice wasn't as pleasant as
Tody's nor the giant's, but what he said was all right.
It was just "Sure!" and Marmaduke and Wienerwurst slipped inside the big
tent, right near the front, where they could see all the wonderful things
that went on.
Wienerwurst sat pretty quiet on his lap and together they watched the
elephants stand on their heads, and the men way up in the air turn
somersaults on little swings, and the ladies in bright spangles gallop
round and round the ring, and the monkeys and the clowns do tricks—and
everything.
Tody was the funniest and happiest of all, and he made all the children
laugh and shout and clap their hands. Even Johnny Cricket, the lame boy,
who had come a long way to see the circus, smiled.
Marmaduke and Wienerwurst were so excited that they forgot all about
Jehosophat and Hepzebiah and the Toyman.
After a while Tody turned a somersault, a cartwheel, and a flipflop, and
landed right near their seat.
"How would you like to ride on an elephant?" he whispered in Marmaduke's
ear.
Of course Marmaduke answered:
"Better 'n anything I _ever_ did."
So Tody took him by the hand and led him into the little tent and put
a little pointed cap on his head, just like Tody's own. Then he lifted
Marmaduke into a big seat on top of Jumbo, the big elephant. And out they
marched under the tent and round and round the ring.
Marmaduke could look down on all the rows of people. He was up quite high
and their faces looked small, but he could tell Jehosophat, and Hepzebiah,
and Sammy Soapstone, and Sophy, Lizzie Fizzletree, and Fatty Hamm, too. And
_there_ was the Toyman walking around, looking everywhere for him.
"'Llo, Toyman," he shouted, and the Toyman looked up and saw Marmaduke in
his little pointed cap, way up on the back of the big elephant.
The Toyman waved his hand and smiled. I guess he was very glad to find that
Marmaduke wasn't lost after all.
But Jehosophat was wishing that _he_ had been lost, so that he could
have had that fine chance to be part of the circus.
Suddenly there was a chorus of barks. Marmaduke had forgotten all about
Wienerwurst.
He turned around to look for him and leaned back so far that he almost
fell flop off the elephant's back. Tody caught him just in time or there
_would_ have been trouble.
The trick dogs were coming into the circus now. Some of them were walking
on their hind legs.
Marmaduke listened.
There were so many different barks! Just as many as there were dogs,—deep
or squeaky, smooth or creaky, rough or happy, gruff or snappy, and one that
Marmaduke knew the very minute he heard it.
"_Run—run—run—run—runrunrun_!"
Yes, he knew that little voice. He could tell little Wienerwurst's bark
anywhere. Somehow it was different from any doggie's in the world. There he
was, frisking and scampering and biting at the other dogs' tails, just in
fun.
"_Run—run run—run—runrunrun_!"
And that is just what they did, right into the circus ring where the man in
the red cap held out big hoops of paper above the dogs' heads.
The first dog jumped through one hoop, and the second dog jumped through
another. Then the man in the red cap held up a third hoop bigger than all
the rest.
Another dog, a long tall greyhound, got ready to take his turn, but I guess
Wienerwurst decided all-of-a-sudden that _he_ wasn't going to be left
out. He just gave the tail of that big dog a little nip, and when the
big dog turned around to see what was the matter, why Wienerwurst jumped
through the hoop all by himself.
So pleased was he that he ran round the ring, looking up at the people in
their seats, with his little pink tongue hanging out in delight.
A great doggie was Wienerwurst.
But soon it was all over and the people left their seats, and walked out of
the tent to their homes and their suppers.
Tody the Clown just wouldn't let Marmaduke and little Wienerwurst go. He
invited them and his brother and sister and the Toyman, too, to have supper
in the tent.
At a long table they sat, with Tody, and the big giant, and the little
teeny dwarf, and the Lady-with-the-Long-Long-Beard, and the
Lady-with-the-Necklace-of-Snakes. But she put the snakes away and Marmaduke
wasn't afraid at all.
Tody the Clown sat by his side and kept his plate full and his cup full
too. He didn't forget little Wienerwurst either. _He_ had a nice big
bone all for himself.
But the time came to say "Good-bye," which they did, to one and all of the
kind circus people.
Tody the Clown didn't kiss Marmaduke. He just shook hands. Marmaduke was
glad of that. He felt like a real man now. For hadn't he been part of a
circus and ridden on an elephant! I guess so!
All Tody said to him was:
"Good-bye, pardner, you just keep smiling and make people happy, and you'll
be a circus man too, one of these days."
So the Toyman hitched up "old Methuselah," and the three happy children
rode home together, falling asleep in the buggy before ever they reached
the White-House-with-the-Green-Blinds by the side of the road.
When you visit that place ask Marmaduke to show you the silver button and
the big giant's ring. He keeps them still in his little bureau. But the
candy was gone, oh, long ago.
End of the Eighteenth Night
The Nineteenth Night
Wienerwurst's Brave Battle
Mr. Sun must have known that it was Jehosophat's birthday, he made it so
bright, not too sunny nor yet too cool.
The three children, Mother, Father, and the Toyman, were all crowding
about something which stood in front of the barn. The three tails of three
doggies wagged as if they thought it was fine. Mr. Stuckup came to take a
look. So did Miss Crosspatch and the Wyandottes; and the pigeons flew down
from their house on the roof and perched on its seat.
It was something for Jehosophat, of course. It was his birthday, and he had
tried hard to be good ever since he had had that talk with the tall man on
the white horse in the picture.
It was something he had always wanted,—a little cart with a real live pony
in the shafts. And the pony was all dressed in new harness, *** and span
and shiny.
Not very tall was the little pony. His ears twitched just on a level with
Jehosophat's head.
Jehosophat put his arm around his neck and patted his black coat, which was
almost as shiny as the harness itself. He looked at the tail. It was nearly
a yard long and very thick. That pony was certainly handsome. And Father
had given him—cart, harness, and all—to Jehosophat for his birthday, for
his very own, to keep just as long as the pony lived. And that was the
finest present any boy could have—ever.
The name was a very important matter. The boys each had a dozen they could
think of, but Mother and Father and the Toyman couldn't think of any. At
least they wouldn't give any suggestions. They thought it was Jehosophat's
right to name his own pony.
It was settled at last,—"Little Geeup." Where-ever Jehosophat got that
name nobody knew. I really believe he read a story once about a horse
called that. Or perhaps he remembered one of the circus ponies with the
same name. Anyway, that was the one he chose. So it can't be changed now,
any more than Jehosophat's own, or Marmaduke's, or Hepzebiah's.
A moment more they looked Little Geeup all over, from the black mane on his
neck down his sleek back to his fine full tail. A moment more they looked
at the little cart, its bright red body with the blue lines around it,
the wheels and spokes, which were bright yellow, and the shafts and the
whiffletrees, which were yellow too.
Then they got in. Little Hepzebiah sat on the seat with Jehosophat. He
proudly held the reins. Marmaduke sat behind, his legs hanging over the
tail-board, with Wienerwurst wriggling on his lap.
"Tluck, tluck," called Jehosophat. Little Geeup obeyed. The yellow wheels
turned, and down the driveway they went, Father and the Toyman hurrying
alongside, Rover and Brownie barking behind.
There were lots of fine carriages out that day, but never so fine a turnout
as that little red cart with the yellow wheels and the black pony in the
shafts.
Jehosophat didn't have to learn how to drive Little Geeup. Father had often
let him drive Old Methuselah when they went to town, and the little black
pony was quite safe.
At last Father and the Toyman stopped and waved good-bye. So off the
children drove, up the road by the river.
"Where shall we go?" asked Jehosophat.
Now Marmaduke was thinking over something Tody the Clown had told
him—about making other folks happy.
"Let's take Johnny Cricket for a ride," he suggested.
The driver agreed, so they turned from the road by the river and drove up a
lane. At the end was a house. It was a very small house and a poor one too.
Here lived Johnny Cricket, the lame little fellow, who never could run or
play like the three happy children.
There wasn't much furniture in his home, or much money either, hardly
enough to buy him new crutches, to say nothing of toys that little boys
like.
"Whoa!" called Jehosophat, in front of the gate.
Then he got out and knocked at the door.
It opened. Johnny's Mother was there.
Jehosophat took off his hat.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Cricket, can we take Johnny for a ride in my new cart?"
"Of course," replied she. "My! Won't Johnny be glad to go for a ride in
that pretty cart! He's been very lonesome."
So out hobbled Johnny, all smiles. Crunch, crunch, crunch went his crutch
down the gravel walk.
"Hepzebiah, you'll have to sit in the back with Marmaduke," commanded the
owner of the little cart.
So the little girl climbed over the back of the seat and sat with Marmaduke
and Wienerwurst. And they helped Johnny in carefully, and off they drove up
the lane, enjoying the woods and the nice warm sun. Johnny enjoyed it ever
so much, but not more than they. I guess the three children were quite as
happy, for to make others happy brings the best sort of happiness.
At last they turned round and drove back.
They were just trotting past the Miller Farm when they heard a great growl.
Over the fields, with great leaps, a big dog was running. Now Jake Miller's
dog, Prowler, was the worst dog in the neighbourhood. Often the three
children had heard Father say "He ought to be shot."
And there he was—running straight towards them, and little Wienerwurst had
jumped over the tailboard and out of the wagon, and was trotting alongside.
"_Urrururur_," growled Prowler. He had almost reached the gate. He
was long and big, and really looked more like a savage animal than a dog.
Pieces of chain hung from his neck and dragged alongside in the earth as he
ran. He must have broken away from his kennel.
Through the gate he bounded, then stopped still and growled in suspicion.
"_Out—out—out_!" he seemed to be saying. He thought they had no
right in front of his home, not even when they were driving on the road,
which was free to all.
The three happy children and Little Geeup didn't like the looks of things
very much.
"Here, Wienerwurst—come here," called Marmaduke. He wanted his little dog
to jump back in the wagon and be safe.
But Wienerwurst was no coward. Besides, he was a friendly little fellow,
and liked to be polite to everybody, dogs and people too, even if sometimes
he did chase the pretty pink pigeons and the White Wyandottes. But that was
just in fun, of course.
So he just stood still and looked at the big bad dog and wagged his tail in
a friendly way, and smiled.
But that big bad dog Prowler didn't appreciate that at all. He opened his
big jaws and showed his teeth and gave a deep growl.
"_Out—out—out_!" he repeated.
And then Wienerwurst gave his tail a wag, and advanced a step or two.
Quick as lightning Prowler jumped at him.
Wienerwurst didn't run. Yet he was so little and the other dog was so big.
And his ear hurt too, where the other dog bit him.
The big dog was jumping at him again and again and biting him too, but I
guess Wienerwurst must have heard Father and the Toyman tell the boys once
never to start a fight, but always to stand up for one's rights, and never
to be a coward, or run away.
That Prowler had no right at all to tell him to get off the road nor to
bite him!
And so, though he was only a yellow dog and small and weak, Wienerwurst
barked bravely and tried his best to fight off the big dog.
It wasn't a very happy chorus of growls and barks and squeals. It sounded
something like this:
"_Gurrrrr—gurrr-uh—ow—ow—gurr—gurr—ow—wuf—ar—gurr—ow—wow—uh- wuf—***—x_!!!"
Jehosophat pulled on the reins.
"We must stop that," said he. "Hepzebiah you sit here."
Out he jumped, but his brother was ahead of him, for Marmaduke loved
Wienerwurst even more than they did.
At the big dog's collar they pulled, and they grabbed tight hold of his
chain, trying to drag him away so that he wouldn't hurt little Wienerwurst.
But he was very strong, that wicked bad dog. They couldn't budge him at
all.
But just then they heard the sound of wheels. They were glad.
Help was coming at last!
A wagon drove up. It was the country postman, who delivered the mail to the
farms, in a wagon.
"Whoa!" the postman shouted and out he jumped with his whip!
He ran straight for the big dog, and out of the gate ran Jake Miller too.
I guess he felt ashamed of himself for keeping such a dog as Prowler. The
two men grabbed the chain and whipped the big bad dog till he let go of
Wienerwurst and ran back to his kennel.
Tenderly the two boys lifted their little friend into the cart, and drove
home as fast as they could.
They forgot all about the pony and the fine new cart, just thinking of
their poor hurt doggie.
Mother and the Toyman brought water in a basin, and the Toyman poured
something from a bottle, which coloured the water all dark. With a little
clean rag he washed out the cuts on Wienerwurst's face and the back of his
neck.
Then out to the workshop he went and brought back a little can. He
unscrewed the top and took out some of the salve inside. It was coloured
just like peanut-butter and was soft and healing. On each cut he put a
little of the salve, then wound the little doggie all up in nice soft
bandages too. And Wienerwurst licked the Toyman's hand to show how thankful
he was.
They made him a little bed, but he didn't stay in that long. The Toyman was
such a good doctor that Wienerwurst felt better already. Still he didn't
play very much that day.
Mother sent the Toyman over to the Cricket farm to ask Johnny's mother to
let her boy stay for the night.
He did—for _three whole days_—and great fun they had with Little
Geeup, and the red dogcart, and the little lame boy, giving Wienerwurst
rides to make him all well.
And Father and the Toyman made Jake Miller chain up the wicked dog—very
tight this time—with a chain that would never break.
And soon that bad dog died, which was a good thing too. Nobody wasted many
tears on him.
But little Wienerwurst got well and strong, and chased the pretty pink
pigeons—in fun of course—just as fast as ever he did.
End of the nineteenth Night
The Twentieth Night
The Lions of the North Wind
By the fire sat the Toyman.
He must have been seeing things in the flames, for he kept looking, looking
all the time.
He was all alone, for Father and Mother Green had gone to town to see a
fine wedding. It was not often that they stayed out so late, but this was
a grand event. And they knew the three happy children would be safe in the
Toyman's care.
They were all in the next room. Jehosophat and Hepzebiah were sound
asleep—but not Marmaduke. He was sitting up, a little bit of a fellow in a
big bed.
Outside, old Giant Northwind roared and roared. Now he seemed to be running
around and around the house, faster than any train. Now he stopped to knock
at the door and *** at the window panes. Now he trampled on the roof,
knocking off pieces of slate and a brick from the chimney, which fell,
_crash_, through the glass cover of the little greenhouse.
Marmaduke did not like the sounds cruel Giant Northwind made. And it
was very dark in the room. To tell the truth he was just a little bit
frightened. But he didn't say anything at all. For the Toyman had told him
always to be "game." That was a funny word, but Marmaduke knew what it
meant. A brave little boy must not cry even if he _is_ afraid.
Still the Giant Northwind kept running round and round the house with great
leaps. And the windows creaked, and the trees thumped the house with their
branches.
Suppose the Giant should break in and carry him 'way, 'way off!
The door of the next room was open. Through it he could see the bright
fire. Higher and higher leaped the flames, as if they wanted to jump up the
chimney and join the Northwind in his mad race.
Very comfy and bright looked the fire. Very funny were the shadows on
the wall, dancing and bowing to each other and jumping up and down like
Jacks-in-the-Box.
One shadow was like a man's, as tall as the ceiling.
Had Giant Northwind gotten in the house at last!
Marmaduke shivered and crept out of bed—and hurried into the next room.
He kept as far away from that giant shadow as he could. But he never cried
out. He was very brave.
On and on against the wall he tiptoed towards the chair by the fire, where
the Toyman sat, thinking his strange thoughts.
The Toyman felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked around. There stood
Marmaduke, pointing at the shadow.
That shadow was so big and Marmaduke was so small.
"Don't let him get me!" the little boy cried.
The Toyman reached down and in a second Marmaduke was safe in his arms.
"There's nobody here but me," said the Toyman.
Loud the Giant Northwind howled and roared, while the flames leaped up the
chimney.
"Look there!" cried Marmaduke. "There he is!!"
And again he pointed to the shadow on the wall.
"The Giant Northwind has got in our house!"
But the Toyman only laughed, hugging him tighter.
"That's not old Northwind, that's only my shadow," he explained.
Then Marmaduke laughed too.
"Tell me a story, Toyman," he asked, "'bout that ole Giant Northwind."
"It might scare you," the Toyman answered.
Marmaduke only shook his head.
"Nothing makes me scared when I'm _here_," he said. He wasn't afraid
of giants, or ogres, or wild animals, or anything, when he was safe in the
Toyman's arms.
For a while he looked up into his face. The Toyman's hair stood up, all
funny and rough. He was always running his fingers through it. His face
had wrinkles like hard seams, and it was as brown as saddle leather from
working outdoors. But Marmaduke thought that nowhere in the world was there
so kind a face, except his Mother's.
The Toyman put down his corncob pipe and began:
"Once upon a time, long time ago, before your mother was born, or your
grandmother, or your great-grandmother either, there was a King. He was
King of all the Winds. And he lived in a great big cave up in a high
mountain."
"Was the mountain as high as the church steeple?" asked Marmaduke.
"Oh, higher than that—as high as a lot of church steeples, stuck one on
top of another," the Toyman explained.
"Sometimes the King of the Winds took a little snooze in his cave, and then
everything was quiet. But when he woke up he would go out of his cave,
raisin' ructions all over the world.
"There was a lot of work for him to do, east and west, south and north. He
tossed the branches of the trees and made 'em crack, and he made the waves
in the ocean turn somersaults, and blew the wooden ships across the sea,
and chased the cloud-ships across the sky.
"And he had a lot of little chores too, like drying the clothes on Mondays,
and waving the flags on Fourth of July, and sailing little boy's kites high
in the air.
"When the King of the Winds was a young fellow, it was all great fun. But
after a while the trees grew bigger and bigger, and the ships taller and
taller, and there were so many clouds that he got very tired. He was
getting pretty old and he ached in all of his bones.
"So he said to himself, said he:
"'I'll let the kiddies do the work, and rest for a spell in my cave on the
mountains.'
"There were four of 'em—two boys and two girls—and each had a name, of
course. Southwind and Westwind were the girls, Eastwind and Northwind the
boys, two strapping big fellows.
"So he called his children together and sat in the door of his cave.
"First he took a big pinch o' snuff. That was a very bad habit folks had in
those days.
"_Kerchoo_! he sneezed, and blew two big clouds out of the sky.
"_Kerchoo_!!! he sneezed again, and turned upside down a whole fleet
of ships in the ocean.
"_Kerchoooooo_!!!! he sneezed a third time, and blew off the roofs
from all the houses in the city, a hundred miles away.
"When he was all through his sneezing he said to his children:
"'Get ye out to the four corners of the earth and take up my business.'
"Now for a cane the old King used a tree with the branches pulled off. He
picked it up and pointed to the south.
"'Southwind, you go there.'
"She was a pretty little thing, with blue eyes and roses in her hair. And
she answered him sweet as you please, 'All right, Daddy,' and out she
danced.
"Then with the big tree cane, the old King pointed to the west.
"'Westwind, there is your place,' he said.
"A very pretty girl too was Westwind, with kind eyes and a soft smile. Her
voice was soft and low, and she answered in a whisper:
"'Good-bye, Daddy dear.'
"She kissed him on the forehead, and floated away to her new home in the
west.
"Then the two boys came before the old King. The big tree cane pointed
east.
"'Get to work over there, Eastwind,' commanded the old King.
"Now Eastwind was a strong fellow, but he was surly and cross and he didn't
obey very quickly. So his father the King picked up his tree cane in a rage
and whacked him across the shins, and out Eastwind ran, crying and yelling
till the trees of the forests sobbed too. And he cried so hard that rivers
of tears ran from his eyes and over the earth.
"Once more the old King picked up his big tree cane, and said to the eldest
of his sons:
"'Northwind, your home is right here in the North.'
"Bigger even than his brother was Northwind. Strong were his muscles, and
his whiskers and hair were covered with icicles. When he breathed, millions
of snowflakes danced from his mouth.
"_Brrrrrrr_!! how one shivered when he was around.
"Then the old King's hand trembled and the big cane dropped to the floor.
He laid him down in the cavern and breathed his last. He had been a great
King but he was deader than a doornail now.
"So his four children took up his work.
"Up and down the south country wandered Southwind, with her rosebud mouth
and golden hair. And wherever she went she scattered posies and violets
upon the earth.
"Back and forth over her country floated Westwind with her soft smile and
gentle voice. She whispered lullabies to little children, and laid cool
hands on sick people's foreheads. She blew little boy's kites up ever so
high above the church steeple, and tried never to break them. And she blew
the white ships gently across the ocean. Folks liked to travel the waters
whenever she was about.
"But they didn't like Eastwind very much. Sometimes he was all right,
but usually he was bent on mischief, making trouble for every man Jack.
The seas he would tumble about, turn over the ships, and drown the poor
sailors. He would call his grey clouds together and they would weep till
the rivers were full. Then he would blow the rivers over the banks, and
spoil the gardens, and break the bridges, and drown the poor sheep, and all
the rest of the animals too.
"But the most cruel of all was Giant Northwind. Where his heart ought to
be was a chunk of ice. Sometimes he was pleasant enough, but most often he
was hard and unkind. He would breathe on people, and freeze their noses and
toeses, and leave many a poor fellow stiff on the snow.
"Northwind grew and grew till he was the biggest giant on earth. Most as
tall as a mountain himself was he, and when he raised his arm he could
nearly touch the sky. He kept walking up and down the earth, roaring and
hollering fit to blow his lungs out. And how he could travel! He could go
clear around the world in about a week.
"One fine day he went out for a walk and he saw Mr. Sun riding up high
in the sky. Mr. Sun was a strange sort of a chap, all dressed up in gold
armour. The gold armour shone so bright you could never see his eyes or his
nose or his mouth, when he walked in the sky.
"Giant Northwind grew very jealous of Mr. Sun. He wanted that fine suit of
gold armour, for all he had himself was his long whiskers and his fur coat
of snow.
"At Mr. Sun he shook his fist.
"Mr. Sun only laughed at him.
"'Ho, ho!' he said, 'Ho, ho!' and again 'Ho, ho!'
"'Ho, ho! you say,' mimicked Northwind, very angry, 'soon you will laugh on
the other side of your mouth. I will blow you out and people can't see your
fine suit of gold armour any more.'
"'Ho, ho!' Mr. Sun laughed back. 'Just try it and see. Might as well save
your breath.'
"That made Northwind very mad. So he took a deep breath until his chest
puffed way out like a big balloon.
"Then he let go. All the hills in the north country shook at that roar.
"And the clouds came hurrying out of the mountains and covered the sky so
you couldn't see the Sun and his fine suit at all.
"'Ho, ho!' laughed the Northwind.' Now you will laugh on the other side of
your mouth, Mr. Sun.'
"Then he sat him down in his cave to enjoy himself.
"But what was that!
"There was a little hole in the clouds. Through the *** he saw gold
shining. Then more and more gold. In a few moments Mr. Sun was riding up in
the sky, as big as life.
"'Ho, ho!' said Mr. Sun, 'who laughs last, laughs best.'
"Then old Giant Northwind grew madder and madder, madder than a hornet,
yes, just as mad as Mother Wyandotte when Wienerwurst chased her into the
brook.
"He took a deep breath, did Giant Northwind, so deep that he almost burst
his lungs. He blew and he puffed and he puffed and he blew till the whole
sky was filled with grey clouds. And you couldn't see Mr. Sun and his fine
suit of gold armour at all.
"Then down he would sit in his cave to enjoy himself for a spell, but by
and by, sure as shooting, Mr. Sun would come back again.
"So, for a hundred years, Northwind tried to blow out the Sun. But at last
he gave it up as a bad job.
"When he was still a middling young fellow, only about a thousand years old
or so, he went walking up and down the earth one night, just after dark.
"He came to a great forest. In it he saw something bright, like a little
piece of the Sun. Now he was taller than the tallest tree in the forest, so
he got down on his knees to peek between the trunks and see better. People
were sitting around the bright little piece of the Sun, and warming their
hands, and cooking their supper. Of course it was only a merry fire, but
Giant Northwind was sure it was a piece of the Sun that had fallen on the
Earth. He had been so busy trying to blow him out of the sky that he hadn't
noticed these little fires much before.
"But he had grown very cross as he knelt there, looking through the trees,
and he said to himself, said he:
"'Ho, ho! That's one of the Sun's children. I'll blow that out anyway.'
"And he took a deep breath and puffed his cheeks out.
"_Whurrrooooo_! he breathed on that little piece of the Sun.
"But the little fire just laughed and leaped higher and higher.
"So he took a real deep breath this time, till he filled all his chest, and
it stuck way out like the strong man's in the circus.
"_Whurrrrrrooooooooooooooo_!!!! he roared, but the little flames just
danced in the air, as bright and as merry as could be.
"The more he blew the bigger grew the fire, and the sooner the people had
their suppers.
"Then for years and years the old Giant stamped up and down the Earth,
trying to put out those little pieces of the Sun. And he couldn't do it at
all. Like their father, the Sun, the little fires just laughed at him.
"At last Northwind said to himself, said he: "'I know what I'll do, I'll
get me some big grey wolves to put out those fires.'
"So a-hunting he went, up into the biggest forests of the world, so dark
that people called them 'the Forests of Night.' And they were full of
fierce grey wolves.
"With his strong hands he caught a hundred wolves and drove them back to
his cave.
"Then one dark night when the people were sitting around their fires, so
cozy and nice, he untied the wolves and roared out:
"'Wolves, put out those fires!'
"And the fierce grey wolves ran out of the cavern, and snapped and snarled
at the little fires. But they couldn't put them out. So back they came to
the cave, with their tongues hanging out and their tails between their
legs.
"'Good-for-nothings,' roared Northwind, 'I'll get me some tigers.'
"Again he went stalking over the Earth till he reached the great deserts,
which the people called 'the Deserts Without End.' Here he caught a
thousand fierce tigers and drove them back to his cave.
"The next night, while the people were talking and singing around the
little fires, he let the tigers loose.
"'Tigers,' roared he, 'put out those fires.'
"They ran out of the cave, making a terrible noise, and they raced up and
down the earth, with their sharp teeth gleaming, and their tails lashing.
At the fires they snarled, and growled, and roared, and tried to beat out
the flames with their paws. But they were only burned for their trouble.
And so the tigers too slunk back to the cave, with their heads hanging down
and their tails between their legs.
"Once more the Northwind stalked forth and hunted through the highest
mountains he could find, so high that people called them 'the Roof of the
World.' Ten thousand lions he caught, the fiercest in all the Earth. He
tied them together by their tails, ten at a time, and drove them back to
his cave.
"And he sent them out too.
"'Lions, put out those fires!'
"Such a terrible roar those lions roared that the whole Earth shook.
Through the forests they raced, leaping through the wild tree tops, lashing
their tails, and shaking their shaggy manes. And they leaped at the fires,
but they couldn't do any better. Those big lions just couldn't put the
little fires out.
"Beside himself with rage was old Northwind now. So he sent them all out,
wolves and tigers and lions wild, and he rushed on at their head.
"But never, never can they put the little fires out, so you needn't worry
at all."
The Toyman stopped and Marmaduke listened.
"Hark!"
Yes, there were the grey wolves now, howling down the chimney. There were
the wild tigers, snarling at the window panes and leaping at the door.
Hark! How the knobs rattled!
And there were the wild lions, rushing and roaring through the tree-tops.
And round and round and round the house raced old Giant Northwind himself.
But all the while, in the fireplace the little red flames danced merrily,
never afraid at all.
Marmaduke jumped. Something was whining and scratching at the door.
Was it a wolf?
The voice he heard was too small and weak.
He knew who _that_ was.
"Toyman," he shouted, "that's my little pet doggie, out in the cold. Those
bad wolves an' tigers an' lions 'll eat him up."
So they ran to the door, the Toyman and little Marmaduke. And he wasn't
afraid at all. And they let little Wienerwurst in, and saved him from the
grey wolves and the wild tigers and the fierce lions of the Northwind.
Little Wienerwurst barked happily and curled himself up by their feet, in
front of the warm fire.
After that Marmaduke spoke only once before he fell asleep.
"You never had any little boys, did you, Toyman?"
On the Toyman's face was a funny look as he answered:
"No, little feller, I never had any little boys."
Marmaduke reached up his hand and patted the Toyman's rough, kind face.
"Don't worry, Toyman," he said, "_I'll_ be your little boy."
Little Wienerwurst was sound asleep, so Marmaduke just had to fall asleep
too, happy and safe in the Toyman's arms, by the little red fire that the
wind could never put out.
The End
End of Seven O'Clock Stories �