Books: Mother Goose in Prose
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L. Frank Baum >> Mother Goose in Prose
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"Why, what could you do with a bag of wool?" questioned the farmer.
"I want to give it to the little boy that lives in the lane. He is
very poor and needs a new coat."
"Very well," answered the master; "if you can grow three bags full I
will give one to the little boy."
So the Black Sheep began to grow wool, and tried in every way to grow
the finest and heaviest fleece in all the flock. She always lay in the
sunniest part of the pastures, and drank from the clearest part of the
brook, and ate only the young and juicy shoots of grass and the
tenderest of the sheep-sorrel. And each day the little boy came to the
bars and looked at the sheep and enquired how the wool was growing.
"I am getting along finely," the Black Sheep would answer, "for not
one sheep in the pasture has so much wool as I have grown already."
"Can I do anything to help you?" asked the little boy.
"Not that I think of," replied the sheep, "unless you could get me a
little salt. I believe salt helps the wool to grow."
So the boy ran to the house and begged his mother for a handful of
salt, and then he came back to the bars, where the Black Sheep licked
it out of his hand.
Day by day the wool on the sheep grew longer and longer, and even the
old ram noticed it and said, "You are foolish to grow so much wool,
for the farmer will cut it all off, and it will do you no good. Now I
am growing just as little as possible, for since he steals what I have
I am determined he shall get very little wool from my back."
The Black Sheep did not reply to this, for she thought the old ram
very ill-tempered and selfish, and believed he was doing wrong not to
grow more wool. Finally the time came to shear the sheep again, and
the farmer and his man came into the pasture to look at them, and were
surprised to see what a fine, big fleece the Black Sheep had grown.
"There will be three bagsful at the least," said the master, "and I
will keep my promise and give one to the little boy in the lane. But,
my goodness! how scraggly and poor the old ram looks. There is
scarcely any wool on him at all. I think I must sell him to the
butcher!"
And, in truth, although the ram kicked and struggled and bleated with
rage, they tied his legs and put him into the cart and carried him
away to the butcher. And that was the last the sheep ever saw of him.
But the Black Sheep ran up to the bars by the lane and waited with a
glad heart till the little boy came. When he saw the sheep waiting for
him he asked,
"Black Sheep, Black Sheep, have you any wool?"
And the sheep replied,
"Yes my little master, three bags full!"
"That is fine!" said the boy; "but who are the three bags for?"
"One for my master, one for his dame,
And one for the little boy that lives in the lane."
"Thank you, Black Sheep," said the little boy; "you are very kind, and
I shall always think of you when I wear my new coat."
The next day the sheep were all sheared, and the Black Sheep's fleece
made three big bagsful. The farmer kept his promise and carried one
bag to the little boy that lived in the lane, and the wool was so soft
and so heavy that there was enough not only for the new coat, but to
make his mother a warm dress as well.
The Black Sheep was very proud and happy when the mother and her
little boy came down to the bars and showed the new clothes that had
been made from the wool.
"This pays me for all my trouble," said the Black Sheep, and the
little boy reached his hand through the bars and patted her gently
upon the head.
Old King Cole
Old King Cole
Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Old King Cole was not always a king, nor was he born a member of any
royal family. It was only chance--"hard luck" he used to call it--that
made him a king at all.
He had always been a poor man, being the son of an apple peddler, who
died and left him nothing but a donkey and a fiddle. But that was
enough for Cole, who never bothered his head about the world's goods,
but took things as they came and refused to worry about anything.
So, when the house he lived in, and the furniture, and even the
applecart were sold to pay his father's debts, and he found himself
left with the old fiddle that nobody wanted and the old donkey that no
one would have--it being both vicious and unruly--he uttered no word
of complaint. He simply straddled the donkey and took the fiddle under
his arm and rode out into the world to seek his fortune.
When he came to a village he played a merry tune upon the fiddle and
sang a merry song with it, and the people gave him food most
willingly. There was no trouble about a place to sleep, for if he was
denied a bed he lay down with the donkey in a barn, or even on the
village green, and making a pillow of the donkey's neck he slept as
soundly as anyone could in a bed of down.
And so he continued riding along and playing upon his fiddle for many
years, until his head grew bald and his face was wrinkled and his
bushy eyebrows became as white as snow. But his eyes never lost their
merry twinkle, and he was just as fat and hearty as in his younger
days, while, if you heard him singing his songs and scraping upon the
old fiddle, you would know at once his heart was as young as ever.
He never guided the donkey, but let the beast go where it would, and
so it happened that at last they came to Whatland, and entered one day
the city where resided the King of that great country.
Now, even as Cole rode in upon his donkey the King of Whatland lay
dying in his palace, surrounded by all the luxury of the court. And as
he left no heir, and was the last of the royal line, the councilors
and wise men of Whatland were in a great quandary as to who should
succeed him. But finally they bethought themselves of the laws of the
land, and upon looking up the records they found in an old book a law
that provided for just such a case as this.
"If the King dies," so read the law, "and there be no one to succeed
to the throne, the prime minister shall be blinded and led from the
palace into the main street of the city. And he shall stretch out his
arms and walk about, and the first person he touches shall be crowned
as King of the land."
The councilors were greatly pleased when they found this law, for it
enabled them to solve the problem that confronted them. So when the
King had breathed his last they blindfolded the prime minister and led
him forth from the palace, and he began walking about with
outstretched arms seeking someone to touch.
Of course the people knew nothing of this law, nor even that the old
King was dead, and seeing the prime minister groping about blindfolded
they kept out of his way, fearing they might be punished if he
stumbled against them. But Cole was then riding along on the donkey,
and did not even know it was the prime minister who was feeling about
in such a funny way. So he began to laugh, and the minister, who had
by this time grown tired of the game, heard the laugh and came toward
the stranger and touched him, and immediately all the wise men and the
councilors fell down before him and hailed him as King of Whatland!
Thus did the wandering fiddler become King Cole, and you may be sure
he laughed more merrily than ever when they explained to him his good
fortune.
They carried him within the palace and dressed him in purple and fine
linen, and placed a crown of gold upon his bald head and a jeweled
scepter in his wrinkled hand, and all this amused old King Cole very
much. When he had been led to the great throne room and placed upon
the throne of gold (where the silken cushions felt very soft and
pleasant after his long ride upon the donkey's sharp back) the
courtiers all knelt before him and asked what commands he wished to
give, since everyone in the kingdom must now obey his slightest word.
"Oh well," said the new King, "I think the first thing I would like is
my old pipe. You 'll find it in the pocket of the ragged coat I took
off."
One of the officers of the court at once ran for the pipe, and when it
was brought King Cole filled it with tobacco from his greasy pouch and
lighted it, and you can imagine what a queer sight it was to see the
fat King sitting upon the rich throne, dressed in silk, and satins and
a golden crown, and smoking at the same time an old black pipe!
The councilors looked at each other in dismay, and the ladies of the
court sneezed and coughed and seemed greatly shocked, and all this
pleased old King Cole so much that he lay back in his throne and
roared with laughter. Then the prime minister came forward very
gravely, and bowing low he said,
"May it please your Majesty, it is not the custom of Kings to smoke a
pipe while seated upon the throne."
"But it is my custom," answered Cole.
"It is impolite, and unkingly!" ventured the minister.
"Now, see here, old fellow," replied his Majesty, "I did n't ask to
be King of this country; it 's all your own doing. All my life I have
smoked whenever I wished, and if I can't do as I please here, why, I
won't be king--so there!"
"But you must be the King, your Majesty, whether you want to or not.
The law says so."
"If that 's the case," returned the King, "I can do as I please in
other things. So you just run and get me a bowl of punch, there 's a
good fellow."
The aged minister did not like to be addressed thus, but the King's
commands must be obeyed; so, although the court was greatly horrified,
he brought the bowl of punch, and the King pushed his crown onto the
back of his head and drank heartily, and smacked his lips afterwards.
"That 's fine!" he said; "but say--what do you people do to amuse
yourselves?"
"Whatever your Majesty commands," answered one of the councilors.
"What! must I amuse you as well as myself? Methinks it is no easy
task to be a King if so many things are required of me. But I suppose
it is useless to fret, since the law obliges me to reign in this great
country against my will. Therefore will I make the best of my
misfortune, and propose we have a dance, and forget our cares. Send at
once for some fiddlers, and clear the room for our merrymaking, and
for once in our lives we shall have a jolly good time!"
So one of the officers of the court went out and soon returned with
three fiddlers, and when at the King's command they struck up a tune,
the monarch was delighted, for every fiddler had a very fine fiddle
and knew well how to use it.
Now, Old King Cole was a merry old soul, so he soon set all the ladies
and gentlemen of the court to dancing, and he himself took off his
crown and his ermine robe and laid them upon the throne, while he
danced with the prettiest lady present till he was all out of breath.
Then he dismissed them, and they were all very well pleased with the
new King, for they saw that, in spite of his odd ways, he had a kind
heart, and would try to make everyone about him as merry as he was
himself.
The next morning the King was informed that several of his subjects
craved audience with him, as there were matters of dispute between
them that must be settled. King Cole at first refused to see them,
declaring he knew nothing of the quarrels of his subjects and they
must manage their own affairs; but when the prime minister told him it
was one of his duties as king, and the law required it, he could not
do otherwise than submit. So he put on his crown and his ermine robe
and sat upon the throne, although he grumbled a good deal at the
necessity; for never having had any business of his own to attend to
he thought it doubly hard that in his old age he must attend to the
business of others.
The first case of dispute was between two men who each claimed to own
a fine cow, and after hearing the evidence, the King ordered the cow
to be killed and roasted and given to the poor, since that was the
easiest way to decide the matter. Then followed a quarrel between two
subjects over ten pieces of gold, one claiming the other owed him that
sum. The King, thinking them both rascals, ordered the gold to be
paid, and then he took it and scattered it amongst the beggars outside
the palace.
By this time King Cole decided he had transacted enough business for
one day, so he sent word to those outside that if anyone had a quarrel
that was not just he should be severely punished; and, indeed, when
the subjects learned the manner in which the King settled disputes,
they were afraid to come to him, as both sides were sure to be losers
by the decision. And that saved King Cole a lot of trouble thereafter,
for the people thought best to settle their own differences.
The King, now seeing he was free to do as he pleased, retired to his
private chamber, where he called for the three fiddlers and made them
play for him while he smoked his pipe and drank a bowl of punch.
Every evening he had a dance in the palace; and every day there were
picnics and merrymakings of all kinds, and before long King Cole had
the reputation of having the merriest court in all the world.
He loved to feast and to smoke and to drink his punch, and he was
never so merry as when others were merry with him, so that the three
fiddlers were almost always by his side, and at any hour of the day
you could hear sweet strains of music echoing through the palace.
Old King Cole did not forget the donkey that had been his constant
companion for so long. He had a golden saddle made for him, with a
saddle-cloth broidered in gold and silver, and the bridle was studded
with diamonds and precious stones, all taken from the King's treasury.
And when he rode out, the old fat King always bestrode the donkey,
while his courtiers rode on either side of him upon their prancing
chargers.
Old King Cole reigned for many years, and was generally beloved by his
subjects; for he always gave liberally to all who asked, and was
always as merry and happy as the day was long.
When he died the new King was found to be of a very different temper,
and ruled the country with great severity; but this only served to
make the memory of Old King Cole more tenderly cherished by his
people, and they often sighed when they recalled his merry pranks, and
the good times they enjoyed under his rule.
Mistress Mary
Mistress Mary
Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With dingle bells and cockle shells
And cowslips, all in a row.
High upon a cliff that overlooked the sea was a little white cottage,
in which dwelt a sailor and his wife, with their two strong sons and a
little girl. The sons were also sailors, and had made several voyages
with their father in a pretty ship called the "Skylark." Their names
were Hobart and Robart. The little girl's name was Mary, and she was
very happy indeed when her father and her brothers were at home, for
they petted her and played games with her and loved her very dearly
But when the "Skylark" went to sea, and her mother and herself were
left alone in the little white cottage, the hours were very dull and
tedious, and Mary counted the days until the sailors came home again.
One spring, just as the grasses began to grow green upon the cliff and
the trees were dressing their stiff, barren branches in robes of
delicate foliage, the father and brothers bade good-bye to Mary and
her mother, for they were starting upon a voyage to the Black Sea.
"And how long will you be gone, papa?" asked Mary, who was perched
upon her father's knee, where she could nestle her soft cheek against
his bushy whiskers.
"How long?" he repeated, stroking her curls tenderly as he spoke;
"well, well, my darling, it will be a long time indeed! Do you know
the cowslips that grow in the pastures, Mary?"
"Oh, yes; I watch for them every spring," she answered.
"And do you know the dingle-bells that grow near the edge of the
wood?" he asked again.
"I know them well, papa," replied Mary, "for often I gather their blue
blossoms and put them in a vase upon the table."
"And how about the cockle-shells?"
"Them also I know," said Mary eagerly, for she was glad her father
should find her so well acquainted with the field flowers; "there is
nothing prettier than the big white flowers of the cockle-shells. But
tell me, papa, what have the flowers to do with your coming home?"
"Why, just this, sweetheart," returned the sailor gravely; "all the
time that it takes the cowslips and dingle-bells and cockle-shells to
sprout from the ground, and grow big and strong, and blossom into
flower, and, yes--to wither and die away again--all that time shall
your brothers and I sail the seas. But when the cold winds begin to
blow, and the flowers are gone, then, God willing, we shall come back
to you; and by that time you may have grown wiser and bigger, and I am
sure you will have grown older. So one more kiss, sweetheart, and then
we must go, for our time is up."
The next morning, when Mary and her mother had dried their eyes, which
had been wet with grief at the departure of their loved ones, the
little girl asked earnestly,
"Mamma, may I make a flower-garden?"
"A flower-garden!" repeated her mother in surprise; "why do you wish a
flower-garden, Mary?"
"I want to plant in it the cockle-shells and the cowslips and the
dingle-bells," she answered.
And her mother, who had heard what the sailor had said to his little
girl, knew at once what Mary meant; so she kissed her daughter and
replied,
"Yes, Mary, you may have the flower-garden, if you wish. We will dig
a nice little bed just at the side of the house, and you shall plant
your flowers and care for them yourself."
"I think I 'd rather have the flowers at the front of the house," said
Mary.
"But why?" enquired her mother; "they will be better sheltered at the
side."
"I want them in front," persisted Mary, "for the sun shines stronger
there."
"Very well," answered her mother, "make your garden at the front, if
you will, and I will help you to dig up the ground."
"But I do n't want you to help," said Mary, "for this is to be my own
little flower-garden, and I want to do all the work myself."
Now I must tell you that this little girl, although very sweet in many
ways, had one serious fault. She was inclined to be a bit contrary,
and put her own opinions and ideas before those of her elders. Perhaps
Mary meant no wrong in this; she often thought knew better how to do a
thing than others did; and in such a case she was not only contrary,
but anxious to have her own way.
And so her mother, who did not like her little daughter to be unhappy,
often gave way to her in small things, and now she permitted Mary to
make her own garden, and plant it as she would.
So Mary made a long, narrow bed at the front of the house, and then
she prepared to plant her flowers.
"If you scatter the seeds," said her mother, "the flower-bed will look
very pretty."
Now this was what Mary was about to do; but since her mother advised
it, she tried to think of another way, for, as I said, she was
contrary at times. And in the end she planted the dingle-bells all in
one straight row, and the cockle-shells in another straight row the
length of the bed, and she finished by planting the cowslips in
another long row at the back.
Her mother smiled, but said nothing; and now, as the days passed by,
Mary watered and tended her garden with great care; and when the
flowers began to sprout she plucked all the weeds that grew among
them, and so in the mild spring weather the plants grew finely.
"When they have grown up big and strong," said Mary one morning, as
she weeded the bed, "and when they have budded and blossomed and faded
away again, then papa and my brothers will come home. And I shall call
the cockle-shells papa, for they are the biggest and strongest; and
the dingle-bells shall be brother Hobart, and the cowslips brother
Robart. And now I feel as if the flowers were really my dear ones, and
I must be very careful that they come to no harm!"
She was filled with joy when one morning she ran out to her
flower-garden after breakfast and found the dingle-bells and cowslips
were actually blossoming, while even the cockle-shells were showing
their white buds. They looked rather comical, all standing in stiff,
straight rows, one after the other; but Mary did not mind that.
While she was working she heard the tramp of a horse's hoofs, and
looking up saw the big bluff Squire riding toward her. The big Squire
was very fond of children, and whenever he rode near the little white
cottage he stopped to have a word with Mary. He was old and
bald-headed, and he had side-whiskers that were very red in color and
very short and stubby; but there was ever a merry twinkle in his blue
eyes, and Mary well knew him for her friend.
Now, when she looked up and saw him coming toward her flower-garden,
she nodded and smiled to him, and the big bluff Squire rode up to her
side, and looked down with a smile at her flowers.
Then he said to her in rhyme (for it was a way of speaking the jolly
Squire had),
"Mistress Mary, so contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With dingle-bells and cockle-shells
And cowslips all in a row!"
And Mary, being a sharp little girl, and knowing the Squire's queer
ways, replied to him likewise in rhyme, saying,
"I thank you, Squire, that you enquire
How well the flowers are growing;
The dingle-bells and cockle-shells
And cowslips all are blowing!"
The Squire laughed at this reply, and patted her upon her head, and
then he continued,
"'T is aptly said. But prithee, maid,
Why thus your garden fill
When ev'ry field the same flowers yield
To pluck them as you will?"
"That is a long story, Squire," said Mary; "but this much I may tell you,
"The cockle-shell is father's flower,
The cowslip here is Robart,
The dingle-bell, I now must tell,
I 've named for Brother Hobart
"And when the flowers have lived their lives
In sunshine and in rain,
And then do fade, why, papa said
He 'd sure come home again."
"Oh, that 's the idea, is it?" asked the big bluff Squire, forgetting
his poetry. "Well, it 's a pretty thought, my child, and I think
because the flowers are strong and hearty that you may know your
father and brothers are the same; and I 'm sure I hope they 'll come
back from their voyage safe and sound. I shall come and see you again,
little one, and watch the garden grow." And then he said "gee-up" to
his gray mare, and rode away.
The very next day, to Mary's great surprise and grief; she found the
leaves of the dingle-bells curling and beginning to wither.
"Oh, mamma," she called, "come quick! Something is surely the matter
with brother Hobart!"
"The dingle-bells are dying," said her mother, after looking carefully
at the flowers; "but the reason is that the cold winds from the sea
swept right over your garden last night, and dingle-bells are delicate
flowers and grow best where they are sheltered by the woods. If you
had planted them at the side of the house, as I wished you to, the
wind would not have killed them."
Mary did not reply to this, but sat down and began to weep, feeling at
the same time that her mother was right and it was her own fault for
being so contrary.
While she sat thus the Squire rode up, and called to her
"Fie, Mary, fie! Why do you cry;
And blind your eyes to knowing
How dingle-bells and cockle-shells
And cowslips all are growing?"
"Oh, Squire!" sobbed Mary, "I am in great trouble
"Each dingle-bell I loved so well
Before my eyes is dying,
And much I fear my brother dear
In sickness now is lying!"
"Nonsense!" said the Squire; "because you named the flowers after your
brother Hobart is no reason he should be affected by the fading of the
dingle-bells. I very much suspect the real reason they are dying is
because the cold sea wind caught them last night. Dingle-bells are
delicate. If you had scattered the cockle-shells and cowslips all
about them, the stronger plants would have protected the weaker; but
you see, my girl, you planted the dingle-bells all in a row, and so
the wind caught them nicely."
Again Mary reproached herself for having been contrary and refusing to
listen to her mother's advice; but the Squire's words comforted her,
nevertheless, and made her feel that brother Hobart and the flowers
had really nothing to do with each other.
The weather now began to change, and the cold sea winds blew each
night over Mary's garden. She did not know this, for she was always
lying snugly tucked up in her bed, and the warm morning sun usually
drove away the winds; but her mother knew it, and feared Mary's garden
would suffer.
One day Mary came into the house where her mother was at work and
said, gleefully,
"Papa and my brothers will soon be home now."
"Why do you think so?" asked her mother.
"Because the cockle-shells and cowslips are both fading away and
dying, just as the dingle-bells did, and papa said when they faded and
withered he and the boys would come back to us."
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