Books: Mother Goose in Prose
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L. Frank Baum >> Mother Goose in Prose
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He had the little duck he had shot made into a pie, and he and Joan
ate it; but he did not enjoy it very much.
"This duck cost me twelve dollars," he said to his loving wife, "for
that is the sum Johnny Sprigg made me pay; and it 's a very high price
for one little duck--do n't you think so, Joan?"
Hickory, Dickory, Dock
Hickory, Dickory, Dock
Hickory, Dickory, Dock!
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down,
Hickory, Dickory, Dock!
Within the hollow wall of an old brick mansion, away up near the roof,
there lived a family of mice. It was a snug little home, pleasant and
quiet, and as dark as any mouse could desire. Mamma Mouse liked it
because, as she said, the draught that came through the rafters made
it cool in summer, and they were near enough to the chimney to keep
warm in wintertime.
Besides the Mamma Mouse there were three children, named Hickory and
Dickory and Dock. There had once been a Papa Mouse as well; but while
he was hunting for food one night he saw a nice piece of cheese in a
wire box, and attempted to get it. The minute he stuck his head into
the box, however, it closed with a snap that nearly cut his head off;
and when Mamma Mouse came down to look for him he was quite dead.
Mamma Mouse had to bear her bitter sorrow all alone, for the children
were too young at that time to appreciate their loss. She felt that
people were cruel to kill a poor mouse for wishing to get food for
himself and his family. There is nothing else for a mouse to do but
take what he can find, for mice can not earn money, as people do, and
they must live in some way.
But Mamma Mouse was a brave mouse, and knew that it was now her duty
to find food for her little ones; so she dried her eyes and went
bravely to work gnawing through the baseboard that separated the
pantry from the wall. It took her some time to do this, for she could
only work at night. Mice like to sleep during the day and work at
night, when there are no people around to interrupt them, and even the
cat is fast asleep. Some mice run about in the daytime, but they are
not very wise mice who do this.
At last Mamma Mouse gnawed a hole through the baseboard large enough
for her to get through into the pantry, and then her disappointment
was great to find the bread jar covered over with a tin pan.
"How thoughtless people are to put things where a hungry mouse cannot
get at them," said Mamma Mouse to herself, with a sigh. But just then
she espied a barrel of flour standing upon the floor; and that gave
her new courage, for she knew she could easily gnaw through that, and
the flour would do to eat just as well as the bread.
It was now nearly daylight, so she decided to leave the attack upon
the flour barrel until the next night; and gathering up for the
children a few crumbs that were scattered about, she ran back into the
wall and scrambled up to her nest.
Hickory and Dickory and Dock were very glad to get the crumbs, for
they were hungry; and when they had breakfasted they all curled up
alongside their mother and slept soundly throughout the day.
"Be good children," said Mamma Mouse the next evening, as she prepared
for her journey to the pantry, "and do n't stir out of your nest till
I come back. I am in hopes that after tonight we shall not be hungry
for a long time, as I shall gnaw a hole at the back of the flour
barrel, where it will not be discovered."
She kissed each one of them good-bye and ran down the wall on her
errand.
When they were left alone Hickory wanted to go to sleep again, but
little Dock was wide awake, and tumbled around so in the nest that his
brothers were unable to sleep.
"I wish I could go with mother some night," said Dock, "it 's no fun
to stay here all the time."
"She will take us when we are big enough," replied Dickory.
"We are big enough now," declared Dock, "and if I knew my way I would
go out into the world and see what it looks like."
"I know a way out," said Hickory, "but mamma wouldn 't like it if we
should go without her permission."
"She need n't know anything about it," declared the naughty Dock, "for
she will be busy at the flour-barrel all the night. Take us out for a
little walk, Hick, if you know the way."
"Yes, do," urged Dickory.
"Well," said Hickory, "I 'd like a little stroll myself; so if you 'll
promise to be very careful, and not get into any mischief, I 'll take
you through the hole that I have discovered."
So the three little mice started off, with Hickory showing the way,
and soon came to a crack in the wall. Hickory stuck his head through,
and finding everything quiet, for the family of people that lived in
the house were fast asleep, he squeezed through the crack, followed by
his two brothers. Their little hearts beat very fast, for they knew if
they were discovered they would have to run for their lives; but the
house was so still they gained courage, and crept along over a thick
carpet until they came to a stairway.
"What shall we do now?" whispered Hickory to his brothers.
"Let 's go down," replied Dock.
So, very carefully, they descended the stairs and reached the hallway
of the house, and here they were much surprised by all they saw.
There was a big rack for hats and coats, and an umbrella stand, and
two quaintly carved chairs, and, most wonderful of all, a tall clock
that stood upon the floor and ticked out the minutes in a grave and
solemn voice.
When the little mice first heard the ticking of the clock they were
inclined to be frightened, and huddled close together upon the bottom
stair.
"What is it?" asked Dickory, in an awed whisper. "I do n't know,"
replied Hickory, who was himself rather afraid.
"Is it alive?" asked Dock.
"I do n't know," again answered Hickory.
Then, seeing that the clock paid no attention to them, but kept
ticking steadily away and seemed to mind its own business, they
plucked up courage and began running about.
Presently Dickory uttered a delighted squeal that brought his brothers
to his side. There in a corner lay nearly the half of a bun which
little May had dropped when nurse carried her upstairs to bed. It was
a great discovery for the three mice, and they ate heartily until the
last crumb had disappeared.
"This is better than a cupboard or a pantry," said Dock, when they had
finished their supper, "and I should n't be surprised if there were
plenty more good things around if we only hunt for them."
But they could find nothing more, for all the doors leading into the
hall were closed, and at last Dock came to the clock and looked at it
curiously.
"It does n't seem to be alive," he thought, "although it does make so
much noise. I 'm going behind it to see what I can find."
He found nothing except a hole that led to inside of the clock, and
into this he stuck his head. He could hear the ticking plainer than
ever now, but looking way up to the top of the clock he saw something
shining brightly, and thought it must good to eat if he could only get
at it. Without saying anything to his brothers, Dock ran up the sides
of the clock until he came to the works, and he was just about to
nibble at a glistening wheel, to see what it tasted like, when
suddenly "Bang!" went the clock.
It was one o'clock, and the clock had only struck the hour; but the
great gong was just beside Dock's ear and the noise nearly deafened
the poor little mouse. He gave a scream of terror and ran down the
clock as fast as he could go. When he reached the hall he heard his
brothers scampering up the stairs, and after them he ran with all his
might.
It was only when they were safe in their nest again that they stopped
to breathe, and their little hearts beat fast for an hour afterward,
so great had been their terror.
When Mamma Mouse came back in the morning, bringing a quantity of nice
flour with her for breakfast, they told her of their adventure. She
thought they had been punished enough already for their disobedience,
so she did not scold them, but only said,
"You see, my dears, your mother knew best when she told you not to
stir from the nest. Children sometimes think they know more than their
parents, but this adventure should teach you always to obey your
mother. The next time you run away you may fare worse than you did
last night; remember your poor father's fate."
But Hickory and Dickory and Dock did not run away again.
Little Bo-Peep
On the beautiful, undulating hills of Sussex feed many flocks of
sheep, which are tended by many shepherds and shepherdesses, and one
of these flocks used to be cared for by a poor woman who supported
herself and her little girl by this means.
They lived in a small cottage nestled at the foot of one of the hills,
and each morning the mother took her crook and started out with her
sheep, that they might feed upon the tender, juicy grasses with which
the hills abounded. The little girl usually accompanied her mother and
sat by her side upon the grassy mounds and watched her care for the
ewes and lambs, so that in time she herself grew to be a very
proficient shepherdess.
So when the mother became too old and feeble to leave her cottage,
Little Bo-Peep (as she was called) decided that she was fully able to
manage the flocks herself. She was a little mite of a child, with
flowing nut-brown locks and big gray eyes that charmed all who gazed
into their innocent depths. She wore a light gray frock, fastened
about the waist with a pretty pink sash, and there were white ruffles
around her neck and pink ribbons in her hair.
All the shepherds and shepherdesses upon the hills, both young and
old, soon came to know Little Bo-Peep very well indeed, and there were
many willing hands to aid her if (which was not often) she needed
their assistance.
Bo-Peep usually took her sheep to the side of a high hill above the
cottage, and allowed them to eat the rich grass while she herself sat
upon a mound and, laying aside her crook and her broad straw hat with
its pink ribbons, devoted her time to sewing and mending stockings for
her aged mother.
One day, while thus occupied, she heard a voice beside her say:
"Good morning, Little Bo-Peep!" and looking up the girl saw a woman
standing near her and leaning upon a short stick. She was bent nearly
double by weight of many years, her hair was white as snow and her
eyes as black as coals. Deep wrinkles seamed her face and hands, while
her nose and chin were so pointed that they nearly met. She was not
pleasant to look upon, but Bo-Peep had learned to be polite to the
aged, so she answered, sweetly,
"Good morning, mother. Can I do anything for you?"
"No, dearie," returned the woman, in a cracked voice, "but I will sit
by your side and rest for a time."
The girl made room on the mound beside her, and the stranger sat down
and watched in silence the busy fingers sew up the seams of the new
frock she was making.
By and by the woman asked,
"Why do you come out here to sew?"
"Because I am a shepherdess," replied the girl.
"But where is your crook?"
"On the grass beside me."
"And where are your sheep?"
Bo-Peep looked up and could not see them.
"They must have strayed over the top of the hill," she said, "and I
will go and seek them."
"Do not be in a hurry," croaked the old woman; "they will return
presently without your troubling to find them."
"Do you think so?" asked Bo-Peep.
"Of course; do not the sheep know you?"
"Oh, yes; they know me every one."
"And do not you know the sheep?"
"I can call every one by name," said Bo-Peep, confidently; "for though
I am so young a shepherdess I am fond of my sheep and know all about
them."
The old woman chuckled softly, as if the answer amused her, and
replied,
"No one knows all about anything, my dear."
"But I know all about my sheep," protested Little Bo-Peep.
"Do you, indeed? Then you are wiser that most people. And if you
know all about them, you also know they will come home of their own
accord, and I have no doubt they will all be wagging their tails
behind them, as usual."
"Oh," said Little Bo-Peep, in surprise, "do they wag their tails? I
never noticed that!"
"Indeed!" exclaimed the old woman, "then you are not very observing
for one who knows all about sheep. Perhaps you have never noticed
their tails at all."
"No," answered Bo-Peep, thoughtfully, "I do n't know that I ever
have."
The woman laughed so hard at this reply that she began to cough, and
this made the girl remember that her flock had strayed away.
"I really must go and find my sheep," she said, rising to her feet,
"and then I shall be sure to notice their tails, and see if they wag
them."
"Sit still, my child," said the old woman, "I am going over the
hill-top myself, and I will send the sheep back to you."
So she got upon her feet and began climbing the hill, and the girl
heard her saying, as she walked away,
"Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,
And does n't know where to find 'em.
But leave 'em alone, and they 'll come home,
All wagging their tails behind 'em."
Little Bo-Peep sat still and watched the old woman toil slowly up the
hill-side and disappear over the top. By and by she thought, "very
soon I shall see the sheep coming back;" but time passed away and
still the errant flock failed to make its appearance.
Soon the head of the little shepherdess began to nod, and presently,
still thinking of her sheep,
Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep,
And dreamt she heard them bleating;
But when she awoke she found it a joke,
For still they were a-fleeting.
The girl now became quite anxious, and wondered why the old woman had
not driven her flock over the hill. But as it was now time for
luncheon she opened her little basket and ate of the bread and cheese
and cookies she had brought with her. After she had finished her meal
and taken a drink of cool water from a spring near by, she decided she
would not wait any longer.
So up she took her little crook,
Determined for to find them,
and began climbing the hill.
When she got to the top there was never a sight of sheep about--only a
green valley and another hill beyond.
Now really alarmed for the safety of her charge, Bo-Peep hurried into
the valley and up the farther hill-side. Panting and tired she reached
the summit, and, pausing breathlessly, gazed below her.
Quietly feeding upon the rich grass was her truant flock, looking as
peaceful and innocent as if it had never strayed away from its gentle
shepherdess.
Bo-Peep uttered a cry of joy and hurried toward them; but when she
came near she stopped in amazement and held up her little hands with a
pretty expression of dismay. She had
Found them, indeed, but it made her heart bleed,
For they 'd left their tails behind them!
Nothing was left to each sheep but a wee little stump where a tail
should be, and Little Bo-Peep was so heart-broken that she sat down
beside them and sobbed bitterly.
But after awhile the tiny maid realized that all her tears would not
bring back the tails to her lambkins; so she plucked up courage and
dried her eyes and arose from the ground just as the old woman hobbled
up to her.
"So you have found your sheep, dearie," she said, in her cracked
voice.
"Yes," replied Little Bo-Peep, with difficulty repressing a sob; "but
look, mother! They 've all left their tails behind them!"
"Why, so they have!" exclaimed the old woman; and then she began to
laugh as if something pleased her.
"What do you suppose has become of their tails?" asked the girl.
"Oh, some one has probably cut them off. They make nice tippets in
winter-time, you know;" and then she patted the child upon her head
and walked away down the valley.
Bo-Peep was much grieved over the loss that had befallen her dear
sheep, and so, driving them before her, she wandered around to see if
by any chance she could find the lost tails.
But soon the sun began to sink over the hill-tops, and she knew she
must take her sheep home before night overtook them.
She did not tell her mother of her misfortune, for she feared the old
shepherdess would scold her, and Bo-Peep had fully decided to seek for
the tails and find them before she related the story of their loss to
anyone.
Each day for many days after that Little Bo-Peep wandered about the
hills seeking the tails of her sheep, and those who met her wondered
what had happened to make the sweet little maid so anxious. But there
is an end to all troubles, no matter how severe they may seem to be,
and
It happened one day, as Bo-Peep did stray
Unto a meadow hard by,
There she espied their tails side by side.
All hung on a tree to dry!
The little shepherdess was overjoyed at this discovery, and, reaching
up her crook, she knocked the row of pretty white tails off the tree
and gathered them up in her frock. But how to fasten them onto her
sheep again was the question, and after pondering the matter for a
time she became discouraged, and, thinking she was no better off than
before the tails were found, she began to weep and to bewail her
misfortune.
But amidst her tears she bethought herself of her needle and thread.
"Why," she exclaimed, smiling again, "I can sew them on, of course!" Then
She heaved a sigh and wiped her eye
And ran o'er hill and dale, oh.
And tried what she could
As a shepherdess should,
To tack to each sheep its tail, oh.
But the very first sheep she came to refused to allow her to sew on
the tail, and ran away from her, and the others did the same, so that
finally she was utterly discouraged.
She was beginning to cry again, when the same old woman she had before
met came hobbling to her side and asked,
"What are you doing with my cat tails?"
"Your cat tails!" replied Bo-Peep, in surprise; "what do you mean?"
"Why, these tails are all cut from white pussycats, and I put them on
the tree to dry. What are you doing with them?"
"I thought they belonged to my sheep," answered Bo-Peep, sorrowfully;
"but if they are really your pussy-cat tails, I must hunt until I find
those that belong to my sheep."
"My dear," said the old woman, "I have been deceiving you; you said
you knew all about your sheep, and I wanted to teach you a lesson.
For, however wise we may be, no one in this world knows all about
anything. Sheep do not have long tails--there is only a little stump
to answer for a tail. Neither do rabbits have tails, nor bears, nor
many other animals. And if you had been observing you would have known
all this when I said the sheep would be wagging their tails behind
them, and then you would not have passed all those days in searching
for what is not to be found. So now, little one, run away home, and
try to be more thoughtful in the future. Your sheep will never miss
the tails, for they have never had them."
And now
Little Bo-Peep no more did weep;
My tale of tails ends here.
Each cat has one,
But sheep have none;
Which, after all, is queer!
The Story of Tommy Tucker
The Story of Tommy Tucker
Little Tommy Tucker sang for his supper.
What did he sing for? white bread and butter.
How could he cut it, without any knife?
How could he marry, without any wife?
Little Tommy Tucker was a waif of the streets. He never remembered
having a father or mother or anyone to care for him, and so he learned
to care for himself. He ate whatever he could get, and slept wherever
night overtook him--in an old barrel, a cellar, or, when fortune
favored him, he paid a penny for a cot in some rude lodging-house.
His life about the streets taught him early how to earn a living by
doing odd jobs, and he learned to be sharp in his speech and wise
beyond his years.
One morning Tommy crawled out from a box in which he had slept over
night, and found that he was hungry. His last meal had consisted of a
crust of bread, and he was a growing boy with an appetite.
He had been unable to earn any money for several days, and this
morning life looked very gloomy to him. He started out to seek for
work or to beg a breakfast; but luck was against him, and he was
unsuccessful. By noon he had grown more hungry than before, and stood
before a bake-shop for a long time, looking wistfully at the good
things behind the window-panes, and wishing with all his heart he had
a ha'penny to buy a bun.
And yet it was no new thing for Little Tommy Tucker to be hungry, and
he never thought of despairing. He sat down upon a curb-stone, and
thought what was best to be done. Then he remembered he had frequently
begged a meal at one of the cottages that stood upon the outskirts of
the city, and so he turned his steps in that direction.
"I have had neither breakfast nor dinner," he said to himself, "and I
must surely find a supper somewhere, or I shall not sleep much
to-night. It is no fun to be hungry."
So he walked on until he came to a dwelling-house where a goodly
company sat upon a lawn and beneath a veranda. It was a pretty place,
and was the home of a fat alderman who had been married that very day.
The alderman was in a merry mood, and seeing Tommy standing without
the gate he cried to him,
"Come here, my lad, and sing us a song."
Tommy at once entered the grounds, and came to where the fat alderman
was sitting beside his blushing bride.
"Can you sing?" enquired the alderman.
"No," answered Tommy, earnestly, "but I can eat."
"Ho, ho!" laughed the alderman, "that is a very ordinary
accomplishment. Anyone can eat."
"If it please you, sir, you are wrong," replied Tommy, "for I have
been unable to eat all day."
"And why is that?" asked the alderman.
"Because I have had nothing to put to my mouth. But now that I have
met so kind a gentleman, I am sure that I shall have a good supper."
The alderman laughed again at this shrewd answer, and said, "you shall
have supper, no doubt; but you must sing a song for the company first,
and so earn your food."
Tommy shook his head sadly.
"I do not know any song, sir," he said.
The alderman called a servant and whispered something in his ear. The
servant hastened away, and soon returned bearing upon a tray a huge
slice of white bread and butter. White bread was a rare treat in those
days, as nearly all the people ate black bread baked from rye or
barley flour.
"Now," said the alderman, placing the tray beside him, "you shall have
this slice of white bread and butter when you have sung us a song, and
complied with one condition."
"And what is that condition?" asked Tommy.
"I will tell you when we have heard the song," replied the fat
alderman, who had decided to have some amusement at the boy's expense.
Tommy hesitated, but when he glanced at the white bread and butter his
mouth watered in spite of himself, and he resolved to compose a song,
since he did not know how to sing any other.
So he took off his cap, and standing before the company he sang as follows:
A bumble-bee lit on a hollyhock flower
That was wet with the rain of a morning shower.
While the honey he sipped
His left foot slipped,
And he could n't fly again for half an hour!
"Good!" cried the alderman, after the company had kindly applauded
Tommy. "I can't say much for the air, nor yet for the words; but it
was not so bad as it might have been. Give us another verse."
So Tommy pondered a moment, and then sang again:
"A spider threw its web so high
It caught on a moon in a cloudy sky.
The moon whirled round,
And down to the ground
Fell the web, and captured a big blue fly!"
"Why, that is fine!" roared the fat alderman. "You improve as you go
on, so give us another verse."
"I don't know any more," said Tommy, "and I am very hungry."
"One more verse," persisted the man, "and then you shall have the
bread and butter upon the condition."
So Tommy sang the following verse:
"A big frog lived in a slimy bog,
And caught a cold in an awful fog.
The cold got worse,
The frog got hoarse,
Till croaking he scared a polliwog!"
"You are quite a poet," declared the alderman; "and now you shall have
the white bread upon one condition."
"What is it?" said Tommy, anxiously.
"That you cut the slice into four parts."
"But I have no knife!" remonstrated the boy.
"But that is the condition," insisted the alderman. "If you want the
bread you must cut it."
"Surely you do not expect me to cut the bread without any knife!" said
Tommy.
"Why not?" asked the alderman, winking his eye at the company.
"Because it cannot be done. How, let me ask you, sir, could you have
married without any wife?"
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the jolly alderman; and he was so pleased with
Tommy's apt reply that he gave him the bread at once, and a knife to
cut it with.
"Thank you, sir," said Tommy; "now that I have the knife it is easy
enough to cut the bread, and I shall now be as happy as you are with
your beautiful wife."
The alderman's wife blushed at this, and whispered to her husband.
The alderman nodded in reply, and watched Tommy carefully as he ate
his supper. When the boy had finished his bread--which he did very
quickly, you may be sure,--the man said,
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