Books: Mother Goose in Prose
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L. Frank Baum >> Mother Goose in Prose
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The cool water nearly scalded him before he could swim out, but
fortunately he was near the bank and he quickly scrambled upon the
land and sat down to catch his breath.
By that time it was morning, and as the sun rose its hot rays cooled
him off somewhat, so that he began looking about curiously at all the
strange sights and wondering where on earth he was.
By and by a farmer came along the road by the river with a team of
horses drawing a load of hay, and the horses looked so odd to the Man
in the Moon that at first he was greatly frightened, never before
having seen horses except from his home in the moon, from whence they
looked a good deal smaller. But he plucked up courage and said to the
farmer,
"Can you tell me the way to Norwich, sir?"
"Norwich?" repeated the farmer musingly; "I do n't know exactly where
it be, sir, but it 's somewhere away to the south."
"Thank you," said the Man in the Moon.--But stop! I must not call him
the Man in the Moon any longer, for of course he was now out of the
moon; so I 'll simply call him the Man, and you 'll know by that which
man I mean.
Well, the Man in the--I mean the Man (but I nearly forgot what I have
just said)--the Man turned to the south and began walking briskly
along the road, for he had made up his mind to do as the alderman had
advised and travel to Norwich, that he might eat some of the famous
pease porridge that was made there. And finally, after a long and
tiresome journey, he reached the town and stopped at one of the first
houses he came to, for by this time he was very hungry indeed.
A good-looking woman answered his knock at the door, and he asked
politely,
"Is this the town of Norwich, madam?"
"Surely this is the town of Norwich," returned the woman.
"I came here to see if I could get some pease porridge," continued the
Man, "for I hear you make I the nicest porridge in the world in this
town."
"That we do, sir," answered the woman, "and if you 'll step inside I
'll give you a bowl, for I have plenty in the house that is newly
made."
So he thanked her and entered the house, and she asked,
"Will you have it hot or cold, sir?"
"Oh, cold, by all means," replied the Man, "for I detest anything hot
to eat."
She soon brought him a bowl of cold pease porridge, and the Man was so
hungry that he took a big spoonful at once.
But no sooner had he put it into his mouth than he uttered a great
yell, and began dancing frantically about the room, for of course the
porridge that was cold to earth folk was hot to him, and the big
spoonful of cold pease porridge had burned his mouth to a blister!
"What 's the matter?" asked the woman.
"Matter!" screamed the Man; "why, your porridge is so hot it has
burned me."
"Fiddlesticks!" she replied, "the porridge is quite cold."
"Try it yourself!" he cried. So she tried it and found it very cold
and pleasant. But the Man was so astonished to see her eat the
porridge that had blistered his own mouth that he became frightened
and ran out of the house and down the street as fast as he could go.
The policeman on the first corner saw him running, and promptly
arrested him, and he was marched off to the magistrate for trial.
"What is your name?" asked the magistrate.
"I have n't any," replied the Man; for of course as he was the only
Man in the Moon it was n't necessary he should have a name.
"Come, come, no nonsense!" said the magistrate, "you must have some
name. Who are you?"
"Why, I 'm the Man in the Moon."
"That 's rubbish!" said the magistrate, eyeing the prisoner severely,
"you may be a man, but you 're not in the moon-you 're in Norwich."
"That is true," answered the Man, who was quite bewildered by this
idea.
"And of course you must be called something," continued the
magistrate.
"Well, then," said the prisoner, "if I 'm not the Man in the Moon I
must be the Man out of the Moon; so call me that."
"Very good," replied the judge; "now, then, where did you come from?"
"The moon."
"Oh, you did, eh? How did you get here?"
"I slid down a moonbeam."
"Indeed! Well, what were you running for?"
"A woman gave me some cold pease porridge, and it burned my mouth."
The magistrate looked at him a moment in surprise, and then he said,
"This person is evidently crazy; so take him to the lunatic asylum and
keep him there."
This would surely have been the fate of the Man had there not been
present an old astronomer who had often looked at the moon through his
telescope, and so had discovered that what was hot on earth was cold
in the moon, and what was cold here was hot there; so he began to
think the Man had told the truth. Therefore he begged the magistrate
to wait a few minutes while he looked through his telescope to see if
the Man in the Moon was there. So, as it was now night, he fetched his
telescope and looked at the Moon,--and found there was no man in it at
all!
"It seems to be true," said the astronomer, "that the Man has got out
of the Moon somehow or other. Let me look at your mouth, sir, and see
if it is really burned."
Then the Man opened his mouth, and everyone saw plainly it was burned
to a blister! Thereupon the magistrate begged his pardon for doubting
his word, and asked him what he would like to do next.
"I 'd like to get back to the Moon," said the Man, "for I do n't like
this earth of yours at all. The nights are too hot."
"Why, it 's quite cool this evening!" said the magistrate.
"I 'll tell you what we can do," remarked the astronomer; "there 's a
big balloon in town which belongs to the circus that came here last
summer, and was pawned for a board bill. We can inflate this balloon
and send the Man out of the Moon home in it."
"That 's a good idea," replied the judge. So the balloon was brought
and inflated, and the Man got into the basket and gave the word to let
go, and then the balloon mounted up into the sky in the direction of
the moon.
The good people of Norwich stood on the earth and tipped back their
heads, and watched the balloon go higher and higher, until finally the
Man reached out and caught hold of the edge of the moon, and behold!
the next minute he was the Man in the Moon again!
After this adventure he was well contented to stay at home; and I 've
no doubt if you look through a telescope you will see him there to
this day.
The Jolly Miller
The Jolly Miller
There was a jolly miller
Lived on the river Dee;
He sang and worked from morn till night,
No lark so blithe as he.
And this the burden of his song
Forever seemed to be:
I care for nobody, no! not I,
Since nobody cares for me.
"Cree-e-eekety-cruck-crick! cree-e-eekety-cruck-crick!" sang out the
big wheel of the mill upon the river Dee, for it was old and ricketty
and had worked many years grinding corn for the miller; so from
morning till night it creaked and growled and complained as if
rebelling against the work it must do. And the country people, at work
in the fields far away, would raise their heads when the soft summer
breezes wafted the sound of the wheel to their ears and say,
"The jolly miller is grinding his corn." And again, at the times when
the mill was shut down and no sound of the wheel reached them, they
said to one another,
"The jolly miller has no corn to grind to-day," or, "The miller is
oiling the great wheel." But they would miss the creaking, monotonous
noise, and feel more content when the mill started again and made
music for them as they worked.
But no one came to the mill unless they brought corn to grind, for the
miller was a queer man, and liked to be alone. When people passed by
the mill and saw the miller at his work, they only nodded their heads,
for they knew he would not reply if they spoke to him.
He was not an old man, nor a sour man, nor a bad man; on the contrary
he could be heard singing at his work most of the time. But the words
of his song would alone have kept people away from him, for they were
always these:
"I care for nobody, no! not I,
Since nobody cares for me."
He lived all alone in the mill-house, cooking his own meals and making
his own bed, and neither asking nor receiving help from anyone. It is
very certain that if the jolly miller had cared to have friends many
would have visited him, since the country people were sociable enough
in their way; but it was the miller himself who refused to make
friends, and old Farmer Dobson used to say,
"The reason nobody cares for the miller is because he won't let them.
It is the fault of the man himself, not the fault of the people!"
However this may have been, it is true the miller had no friends, and
equally sure that he cared to have none, for it did not make him a bit
unhappy.
Sometimes, indeed, as he sat at evening in the doorway of the mill and
watched the moon rise in the sky, he grew a bit lonely and thoughtful,
and found himself longing for some one to love and cherish, for this
is the nature of all good men. But when he realized how his thoughts
were straying he began to sing again, and he drove away all such
hopeless longings.
At last a change came over the miller's life. He was standing one
evening beside the river, watching the moonbeams play upon the water,
when something came floating down the stream that attracted his
attention. For a long time he could not tell what it was, but it
looked to him like a big black box; so he got a long pole and reached
it out towards the box and managed to draw it within reach just above
the big wheel. It was fortunate he saved it when he did for in another
moment it would have gone over the wheel and been dashed to pieces far
below.
When the miller had pulled the floating object upon the bank he found
it really was a box, the lid being fastened tight with a strong cord.
So he lifted it carefully and carried it into the mill-house, and then
he placed it upon the floor while he lighted a candle. Then he cut the
cord and opened the box and behold! a little babe lay within it,
sweetly sleeping upon a pillow of down.
The miller was so surprised that he stopped singing and gazed with big
eyes at the beautiful face of the little stranger. And while he gazed
its eyes opened--two beautiful, pleading blue eyes,--and the little
one smiled and stretched out her arms toward him.
"Well, well!" said the miller, "where on earth did you come from?"
The baby did not reply, but she tried to, and made some soft little
noises that sounded like the cooing of a pigeon.
The tiny arms were still stretched upwards, and the miller bent down
and tenderly lifted the child from the box and placed her upon his
knee, and then he began to stroke the soft, silken ringlets that
clustered around her head, and to look upon her wonderingly.
The baby leaned against his breast and fell asleep again, and the
miller became greatly troubled, for he was unused to babies and did
not know how to handle them or care for them. But he sat very still
until the little one awoke, and then, thinking it must be hungry, he
brought some sweet milk and fed her with a spoon. The baby smiled at
him and ate the milk as if it liked it, and then one little dimpled
hand caught hold of the miller's whiskers and pulled sturdily, while
the baby jumped its little body up and down and cooed its delight.
Do you think the miller was angry? Not a bit of it! He smiled back
into the laughing face and let her pull his whiskers as much as she
liked. For his whole heart had gone out to this little waif that he
rescued from the river, and at last the solitary man had found
something to love.
The baby slept that night in the miller's own bed, snugly tucked in
beside the miller himself; and in the morning he fed her milk again,
and then went out to work singing more merrily than ever.
Every few minutes he would put his head into the room where he had
left the child, to see if it wanted anything, and if it cried even the
least bit he would run in and take it in his arms and soothe the
little girl until she smiled again.
That first day the miller was fearful some one would come and claim
the child, but when evening came without the arrival of any stranger
he decided the baby had been cast adrift and now belonged to nobody
but him.
"I shall keep her as long as I live," he thought, "and never will we
be separated for even a day. For now that I have found some one to
love I could not bear to let her go again."
He cared for the waif very tenderly; and as the child was strong and
healthy she was not much trouble to him, and to his delight grew
bigger day by day.
The country people were filled with surprise when they saw a child in
the mill-house, and wondered where it came from; but the miller would
answer no questions, and as year after year passed away they forgot to
enquire how the child came there and looked upon her as the miller's
own daughter.
She grew to be a sweet and pretty child, and was the miller's constant
companion. She called him "papa," and he called her Nathalie, because
he had found her upon the water, and the country people called her the
Maid of the Mill.
The miller worked harder than ever before, for now he had to feed and
clothe the little girl; and he sang from morn till night, so joyous
was he, and still his song was:
"I care for nobody, no! not I,
Since nobody cares for me."
One day, while he was singing this, he heard a sob beside him, and
looked down to see Nathalie weeping.
"What is it, my pet?" he asked, anxiously.
"Oh, papa," she answered, "why do you sing that nobody cares for you,
when you know I love you so dearly?"
The miller was surprised, for he had sung the song so long he had
forgotten what the words meant.
"Do you indeed love me, Nathalie?" he asked.
"Indeed, indeed! You know I do!" she replied.
"Then," said the miller, with a happy laugh, as he bent down and
kissed the tear-stained face, "I shall change my song."
And after that he sang:
"I love sweet Nathalie, that I do.
For Nathalie she loves me."
The years passed by and the miller was very happy. Nathalie grew to
be a sweet and lovely maiden, and she learned to cook the meals and
tend the house, and that made it easier for the miller, for now he was
growing old.
One day the young Squire, who lived at the great house on the hill,
came past the mill and saw Nathalie sitting in the doorway, her pretty
form framed in the flowers that climbed around and over the door.
And the Squire loved her after that first glance, for he saw that she
was as good and innocent as she was beautiful. The miller, hearing the
sound of voices, came out and saw them together, and at once he became
very angry, for he knew that trouble was in store for him, and he must
guard his treasure very carefully if he wished to keep her with him.
The young Squire begged very hard to be allowed to pay court to the
Maid of the Mill, but the miller ordered him away, and he was forced
to go. Then the miller saw there were tears in Nathalie's eyes, and
that made him still more anxious, for he feared the mischief was
already done.
Indeed, in spite of the miller's watchfulness, the Squire and Nathalie
often met and walked together in the shady lanes or upon the green
banks of the river. It was not long before they learned to love one
another very dearly, and one day they went hand in hand to the miller
and asked his consent that they should wed.
"What will become of me?" asked the miller, with a sad heart.
"You shall live in the great house with us," replied the Squire, "and
never again need you labor for bread."
But the old man shook his head.
"A miller I have lived," quoth he, "and a miller will I die. But tell
me, Nathalie, are you willing to leave me?"
The girl cast down her eyes and blushed sweetly.
"I love him," she whispered, "and if you separate us I shall die."
"Then," said the miller, kissing her with a heavy heart, "go; and may
God bless you."
So Nathalie and the Squire were wed, and lived in the great house, and
the very day after the wedding she came walking down to the mill in
her pretty new gown to see the miller.
But as she drew near she heard him singing, as was his wont; and the
song he sung she had not heard since she was a little girl, for this
was it:
"I care for nobody, no! not I,
Since nobody cares for me."
She came up softly behind him, and put her arms around his neck.
"Papa," said she, "you must not sing that song. Nathalie loves you
yet, and always will while she lives; for my new love is complete in
itself, and has not robbed you of one bit of the love that has always
been your very own."
The miller turned and looked into her blue eyes, and knew that she
spoke truly.
"Then I must learn a new song again," he said, "for it is lonely at
the mill, and singing makes the heart lighter. But I will promise that
never again, till you forget me, will I sing that nobody cares for
me."
And the miller did learn a new song, and sang it right merrily for
many years; for each day Nathalie came down to the mill to show that
she had not forgotten him.
The Little Man and His Little Gun
The Little Man and His Little Gun
There was a little man and he had a little gun,
And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead.
He went to the brook and shot a little duck,
And the bullet went right through its head, head, head.
There was once a little man named Jimson, who had stopped growing when
he was a boy, and never started again. So, although he was old enough
to be a man he was hardly big enough, and had he not owned a bald head
and gray whiskers you would certainly have taken him for a boy
whenever you saw him.
This little man was very sorry he was not bigger, and if you wanted to
make him angry you had but to call attention to his size. He dressed
just as big men do, and wore a silk hat and a long-tailed coat when he
went to church, and a cap and top-boots when he rode horseback. He
walked with a little cane and had a little umbrella made to carry when
it rained. In fact, whatever other men did this little man was anxious
to do also, and so it happened that when the hunting season came
around, and all the men began to get their guns ready to hunt for
snipe and duck, Mr. Jimson also had a little gun made, and determined
to use it as well as any of them.
When he brought it home and showed it to his wife, who was a very big
woman, she said,
"Jimson, you 'd better use bullets made of bread, and then you won't
hurt anything."
"Nonsense, Joan," replied the little man, "I shall have bullets made
of lead, just as other men do, and every duck I see I shall shoot and
bring home to you."
"I 'm afraid you won't kill many," said Joan.
But the little man believed he could shoot with the best of them, so
the next morning he got up early and took his little gun and started
down to the brook to hunt for duck.
It was scarcely daybreak when he arrived at the brook, and the sun had
not yet peeped over the eastern hill-tops, but no duck appeared
anywhere in sight, although Mr. Jimson knew this was the right time of
day for shooting them. So he sat down beside the brook and begun
watching, and before he knew it he had fallen fast asleep.
By and by he was awakened by a peculiar noise.
"Quack, quack, quack!" sounded in his ears; and looking up he saw a
pretty little duck swimming in the brook and popping its head under
the water in search of something to eat. The duck belonged to Johnny
Sprigg, who lived a little way down the brook, but the little man did
not know this. He thought it was a wild duck, so he stood up and
carefully took aim.
"I 'm afraid I can't hit it from here," he thought, "so I 'll just
step upon that big stone in the brook, and shoot from there."
So he stepped out upon the stone, and took aim at the duck again, and
fired the gun.
The next minute the little man had tumbled head over heels into the
water, and he nearly drowned before he could scramble out again; for,
not being used to shooting, the gun had kicked, or recoiled, and had
knocked him off the round stone where he had been standing.
When he had succeeded in reaching the bank he was overjoyed to see
that he had shot the duck, which lay dead upon the water a short
distance away. The little man got a long stick, and, reaching it out,
drew the dead duck to the bank. Then he started joyfully homeward to
show the prize to his wife.
"There, Joan," he said, as he entered the house, "is a nice little
duck for our dinner. Do you now think your husband cannot shoot?"
"But there 's only one duck," remarked his wife, "and it 's very
small. Can't you go and shoot another? Then we shall have enough for
dinner."
"Yes, of course I can shoot another," said the little man, proudly;
"you make a fire and get the pot boiling, and I 'll go for another
duck."
"You 'd better shoot a drake this time," said Joan, "for drakes are
bigger."
She started to make the fire, and the little man took his gun and went
to the brook; but not a duck did he see, nor drake neither, and so he
was forced to come home without any game.
"There 's no use cooking one duck," said his wife, "so we 'll have
pork and beans for dinner and I 'll hang the little duck in the shed.
Perhaps you 'll be able to shoot a drake to-morrow, and then we 'll
cook them both together."
So they had pork and beans, to the great disappointment of Mr. Jimson,
who had expected to eat duck instead; and after dinner the little man
lay down to take a nap while his wife went out to tell the neighbors
what a great hunter he was.
The news spread rapidly through the town, and when the evening paper
came out the little man was very angry to see this verse printed in
it:
There was a little man and he had a little gun,
And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead.
He went to the brook and shot a little duck,
And the bullet went right through its head, head, head.
He carried it home to his good wife Joan,
And bade her a fire to make, make, make,
While he went to the brook where he shot the little duck,
And tried for to shoot the drake, drake, drake.
"There 's no use putting it into the paper," exclaimed the little man,
much provoked, "and Mr. Brayer, the editor, is probably jealous
because he himself cannot shoot a gun. Perhaps people think I cannot
shoot a drake, but I 'll show them to-morrow that I can!"
So the next morning he got up early again, and took his gun, and
loaded it with bullets made of lead. Then he said to his wife,
"What does a drake look like, my love?"
"Why," she replied, "it 's much like a duck, only it has a curl on its
tail and red on its wing."
"All right," he answered, "I 'll bring you home a drake in a short
time, and to-day we shall have something better for dinner than pork
and beans."
When he got to the brook there was nothing in sight, so he sat down on
the bank to watch, and again fell fast asleep.
Now Johnny Sprigg had missed his little duck, and knew some one had
shot it; so he thought this morning he would go the brook and watch
for the man who had killed the duck, and make him pay a good price for
it. Johnny was a big man, whose head was very bald; therefore he wore
a red curly wig to cover his baldness and make him look younger.
When he got to the brook he saw no one about, and so he hid in a clump
of bushes. After a time the little man woke up, and in looking around
for the drake he saw Johnny's red wig sticking out of the top of the
bushes.
"That is surely the drake," he thought, "for I can see a curl and
something red;" and the next minute "bang!" went the gun, and Johnny
Sprigg gave a great yell and jumped out of the bushes. As for his
beautiful wig, it was shot right off his head, and fell into the water
of the brook a good ten yards away!
"What are you trying to do?" he cried, shaking his fist at the little
man.
"Why, I was only shooting at the drake," replied Jimson; "and I hit
it, too, for there it is in the water.
"That 's my wig, sir!" said Johnny Sprigg, "and you shall pay for it,
or I 'll have the law on you. Are you the man who shot the duck here
yesterday morning?"
"I am, sir," answered the little man, proud that he had shot something
besides a wig.
"Well, you shall pay for that also," said Mr. Sprigg; "for it belonged
to me, and I 'll have the money or I 'll put you in jail!"
The little man did not want to go to jail, so with a heavy heart he
paid for the wig and the duck, and then took his way sorrowfully
homeward.
He did not tell Joan of his meeting with Mr. Sprigg; he only said he
could not find a drake. But she knew all about it when the paper came
out, for this is what it said on the front page:
There was a little man and he had a little gun,
And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead.
He shot Johnny Sprigg through the middle of his wig,
And knocked it right off from his head, head, head.
The little man was so angry at this, and at the laughter of all the
men he met, that he traded his gun off for a lawn-mower, and resolved
never to go hunting again.
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