Books: Mother Goose in Prose
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L. Frank Baum >> Mother Goose in Prose
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The youngsters were like all other children, and got into mischief
once in awhile; but the old woman had much experience with children
and managed to keep them in order very well, while they quickly
learned to obey her, and generally did as they were bid.
But scarcely had she succeeded in getting them settled in their new
home when Margaret, another of her daughters, died, and sent four more
children to her mother to be taken care of.
The old woman scarcely knew where to keep this new flock that had come
to her fold, for the house was already full; but she thought the
matter over and finally decided she must build an addition to her
house.
So she hired a carpenter and built what is called a "lean-to" at the
right of her cottage, making it just big enough to accommodate the
four new members of her family. When it was completed her house looked
very much as it does in this picture.
She put four little cots in her new part of the house, and then she
sighed contentedly, and said, "Now all the babies are taken care of
and will be comfortable until they grow up." Of course it was much
more difficult to manage nine small children than five; and they often
led each other into mischief, so that the flower beds began to be
trampled upon and the green grass to be worn under the constant tread
of little feet, and the furniture to show a good many scratches and
bruises.
But the old woman continued to look after them, as well as she was
able, until Sarah, her third daughter, also died, and three more
children were sent to their grandmother to be brought up.
The old woman was nearly distracted when she heard of this new
addition to her family, but she did not give way to despair. She sent
for the carpenter again, and had him build another addition to her
house, as the picture shows.
Then she put three new cots in the new part for the babies to sleep
in, and when they arrived they were just as cozy and comfortable as
peas in a pod.
The grandmother was a lively old woman for one of her years, but she
found her time now fully occupied in cooking the meals for her twelve
small grandchildren, and mending their clothes, and washing their
faces, and undressing them at night and dressing them in the morning.
There was just a dozen of babies now, and when you consider they were
about the same age you will realize what a large family the old woman
had, and how fully her time was occupied in caring for them all.
And now, to make the matter worse, her fourth daughter, who had been
named Abigail, suddenly took sick and died, and she also had four
small children that must be cared for in some way.
The old woman, having taken the other twelve, could not well refuse to
adopt these little orphans also.
"I may as well have sixteen as a dozen," she said, with a sigh; "they
will drive me crazy some day, anyhow, so a few more will not matter at
all!"
Once more she sent for the carpenter, and bade him build a third
addition to the house; and when it was completed she added four more
cots to the dozen that were already in use. The house presented a very
queer appearance now, but she did not mind that so long as the babies
were comfortable.
"I shall not have to build again," she said; "and that is one
satisfaction. I have now no more daughters to die and leave me their
children, and therefore I must make up my mind to do the best I can
with the sixteen that have already been inflicted upon me in my old
age."
It was not long before all the grass about the house was trodden down,
and the white gravel of the walks all thrown at the birds, and the
flower beds trampled into shapeless masses by thirty-two little feet
that ran about from morn till night. But the old woman did not
complain at this; her time was too much taken up with the babies for
her to miss the grass and the flowers.
It cost so much money to clothe them that she decided to dress them
all alike, so that they looked like the children of a regular orphan
asylum. And it cost so much to feed them that she was obliged to give
them the plainest food; so there was bread-and-milk for breakfast and
milk-and-bread for dinner and bread-and-broth for supper. But it was a
good and wholesome diet, and the children thrived and grew fat upon
it.
One day a stranger came along the road, and when he saw the old
woman's house he began to laugh.
"What are you laughing at, sir?" asked the grandmother, who was
sitting upon her doorsteps engaged in mending sixteen pairs of
stockings.
"At your house," the stranger replied; "it looks for all the world
like a big shoe!"
"A shoe!" she said, in surprise.
"Why, yes. The chimneys are shoe-straps, and the steps are the heel,
and all those additions make the foot of the shoe."
"Never mind," said the woman; "it may be a shoe, but it is full of
babies, and that makes it differ from most other shoes."
But the Stranger went on to the village and told all he met that he
had seen an old woman who lived in a shoe; and soon people came from
all parts of the country to look at the queer house, and they usually
went away laughing.
The old woman did not mind this at all; she was too busy to be angry.
Some of the children were always getting bumped heads or bruised
shins, or falling down and hurting themselves, and these had to be
comforted. And some were naughty and had to be whipped; and some were
dirty and had to be washed; and some were good and had to be kissed.
It was "Gran'ma, do this!" and "Gran'ma, do that!" from morning to
night, so that the poor grandmother was nearly distracted. The only
peace she ever got was when they were all safely tucked in their
little cots and were sound asleep; for then, at least, she was free
from worry and had a chance to gather her scattered wits.
"There are so many children," she said one day to the baker-man, "that
I often really do n't know what to do!"
"If they were mine, ma'am," he replied, "I 'd send them to the
poor-house, or else they 'd send me to the madhouse."
Some of the children heard him say this, and they resolved to play him
a trick in return for his ill-natured speech.
The baker-man came every day to the shoe-house, and brought two great
baskets of bread in his arms for the children to eat with their milk
and their broth.
So one day, when the old woman had gone to the town to buy shoes, the
children all painted their faces, to look as Indians do when they are
on the warpath; and they caught the roosters and the turkey-cock and
pulled feathers from their tails to stick in their hair. And then the
boys made wooden tomahawks for the girls and bows-and-arrows for their
own use, and then all sixteen went out and hid in the bushes near the
top of the hill.
By and by the baker-man came slowly up the path with a basket of bread
on either arm; and just as he reached the bushes there sounded in his
ears a most unearthly war-whoop. Then a flight of arrows came from the
bushes, and although they were blunt and could do him no harm they
rattled all over his body; and one hit his nose, and another his chin,
while several stuck fast in the loaves of bread.
Altogether, the baker-man was terribly frightened; and when all the
sixteen small Indians rushed from the bushes and flourished their
tomahawks, he took to his heels and ran down the hill as fast as he
could go!
When the grandmother returned she asked,
"Where is the bread for your supper?"
The children looked at one another in surprise, for they had forgotten
all about the bread. And then one of them confessed, and told her the
whole story of how they had frightened the baker-man for saying he
would send them to the poor-house.
"You are sixteen very naughty children!" exclaimed the old woman; "and
for punishment you must eat your broth without any bread, and
afterwards each one shall have a sound whipping and be sent to bed."
Then all the children began to cry at once, and there was such an
uproar that their grandmother had to put cotton in her ears that she
might not lose her hearing.
But she kept her promise, and made them eat their broth without any
bread; for, indeed, there was no bread to give them.
Then she stood them in a row and undressed them, and as she put the
nightdress on each one she gave it a sound whipping and sent it to
bed.
They cried some, of course, but they knew very well they deserved the
punishment, and it was not long before all of them were sound asleep.
They took care not to play any more tricks on the baker-man, and as
they grew older they were naturally much better behaved.
Before many years the boys were old enough to work for the neighboring
farmers, and that made the woman's family a good deal smaller. And
then the girls grew up and married, and found homes of their own, so
that all the children were in time well provided for.
But not one of them forgot the kind grandmother who had taken such
good care of them, and often they tell their children of the days when
they lived with the old woman in a shoe and frightened the baker-man
almost into fits with their wooden tomahawks.
Little Miss Muffet
Little Miss Muffet
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating of curds and whey.
There came a great spider
And sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
Little Miss Muffet's father was a big banker in a big city, and he had
so much money that the house he lived in was almost as beautiful as a
king's palace. It was built of granite and marble, and richly
furnished with every luxury that money can buy. There was an army of
servants about the house, and many of them had no other duties than to
wait upon Miss Muffet, for the little girl was an only child and
therefore a personage of great importance. She had a maid to dress her
hair and a maid to bathe her, a maid to serve her at a table and a
maid to tie her shoe-strings, and several maids beside And then there
was Nurse Holloweg to look after all the maids and see they did their
tasks properly.
The child's father spent his days at his office and his evenings at
his club; her mother was a leader in society, and therefore fully
engaged from morning till night and from night till morn; so that
Little Miss Muffet seldom saw her parents and scarce knew them when
she did see them.
I have never known by what name she was christened. Perhaps she did
not know herself, for everyone had called her "Miss Muffet" since she
could remember. The servants spoke of her respectfully as Miss Muffet.
Mrs. Muffet would say, at times, "By the way, Nurse, how is Miss
Muffet getting along?" And Mr. Muffet, when he met his little daughter
by chance on the walk or in the hallway, would stop and look at her
gravely and say, "So this is Miss Muffet. Well, how are you feeling,
little one?" And then, without heeding her answer, he would walk away.
Perhaps you think that Miss Muffet, surrounded by every luxury and
with a dozen servants to wait upon her, was happy and contented; but
such was not the case. She wanted to run and romp, but they told her
it was unladylike; she wished to play with other children, but none
were rich enough to be proper associates for her; she longed to dig in
the dirt in the garden, but Nurse Holloweg was shocked at the very
thought. So Miss Muffet became sullen and irritable, and scolded
everyone about her, and lived a very unhappy life. And her food was
too rich and gave her dyspepsia, so that she grew thin and pale and
did not sleep well at night.
One afternoon her mother, who happened to be at home for an hour,
suddenly thought of her little daughter; so she rang the bell and
asked for Nurse Holloweg.
"How is Miss Muffet, Nurse?" enquired the lady.
"Very badly, ma'am," was the reply.
"Badly! What do you mean? Is she ill?"
"She 's far from well, ma'am," answered the Nurse, "and seems to be
getting worse every day."
"Well," replied the lady; "you must have the doctor to see her; and do
n't forget to let me know what he says. That is all, Nurse."
She turned to her novel again, and the Nurse walked away and sent a
servant for the doctor. That great man, when he came, shook his head
solemnly and said,
"She must have a change. Take her away into the country as soon as
possible."
"And very good advice it was, too," remarked the Nurse to one of the
maids; "for I feel as if I needed a change myself."
When she reported the matter to Mrs. Muffet the mother answered,
"Very well; I will see Mr. Muffet and have him write out a cheque."
And so it was that a week later Little Miss Muffet went to the
country, or rather to a small town where there was a summer hotel that
had been highly recommended to Nurse Holloweg; and with her went the
string of maids and a wagon-load of boxes and trunks.
The morning after their arrival the little girl asked to go out upon
the lawn.
"Well," replied Nurse Holloweg, "Sarah can take you out for half an
hour. But remember you are not to run and get heated, for that will
ruin your complexion; and you must not speak to any of the common
children you meet, for your mother would object; and you must not get
your shoes dusty nor your dress soiled, nor disobey Sarah in any way."
Little Miss Muffet went out in a very angry and sulky mood.
"What 's the use of being in the country," she thought, "if I must act
just as I did in the city? I hate Nurse Holloweg, and Sarah, and all
the rest of them! and if I dared I 'd just--just run away."
Indeed, a few minutes later, when Sarah had fallen asleep upon a bench
under a big shade tree, Miss Muffet decided she would really run away
for once in her life, and see how it seemed.
There was a pretty lane near by, running between shady trees far out
into the country, and, stealing softly away from Sarah's side, the
little girl ran as fast as she could go, and never stopped until she
was all out of breath.
While she rested and wondered what she could do next, a farmer came
along, driving an empty cart.
"I 'll catch on behind," said Miss Muffet, gleefully, "just as I 've
seen the boys do in the city. Won't it be fun!"
So she ran and caught on the end of the cart, and actually climbed
into it, falling all in a heap upon the straw that lay upon the
bottom. But it did n't hurt her at all, and the next minute the farmer
whipped up his horses, and they went trotting along the lane, carrying
Miss Muffet farther and farther away from hated Nurse Holloweg and the
dreadful maids.
She looked around upon the green fields and the waving grain, and drew
in deep breaths of the fresh country air, and was happy for almost the
first time in her little life. By and by she lay back upon the straw
and fell asleep; and the farmer, who did not know she was in his cart,
drove on for many miles, until at last he stopped at a small wooden
farmhouse, and jumped to the ground.
A woman came to the door to greet him, and he said to her.
"Well, mother, we 're home again, you see."
"So I see," she answered; "but did you bring my groceries?"
"Yes," he replied, as he began to unharness the horses; "they are in
the cart."
So she came to the cart and looked within, and saw Miss Muffet, who
was still asleep.
"Where did you get the little girl?" asked the farmer's wife, in
surprise.
"What little girl?" asked he.
"The one in the cart."
He came to the cart and looked in, and was as surprised as his wife.
"She must have climbed into the cart when I left the town," he said;
"but waken her, wife, and we will hear what she has to say."
So the farmer's wife shook the girl by the arm, and Miss Muffet sat up
in the cart and rubbed her eyes and wondered where she was.
"How came you in my cart?" asked the farmer.
"I caught on behind, and climbed in," answered the girl.
"What is your name, and where do you live?" enquired the farmer's
wife.
"My name is Miss Muffet, and I live in a big city,--but where, I do
not know."
And that was all she could tell them, so the woman said at last,
"We must keep her till some one comes to claim her, and she can earn
her living by helping me make the cheeses."
"That will be nice," said Miss Muffet, with a laugh, "for Nurse
Holloweg never lets me do anything, and I should like to help somebody
do something."
So they led her into the house, where the farmer's wife wondered at
the fine texture of her dress and admired the golden chain that hung
around her neck.
"Some one will surely come for her," the woman said to her husband,
"for she is richly dressed and must belong to a family of some
importance."
Nevertheless, when they had eaten dinner, for which Little Miss Muffet
had a wonderful appetite, the woman took her into the dairy and told
her how she could assist her in curdling the milk and preparing it for
the cheese-press.
"Why, it 's really fun to work," said the girl, at first, "and I
should like to live here always. I do hope Nurse Holloweg will not
find me."
After a time, however, she grew weary, and wanted to rest; but the
woman had not yet finished her cheese-making, so she bade the girl
keep at her tasks.
"It 's time enough to rest when the work is done," she said, "and if
you stay with me you must earn your board. No one is allowed to idle
in this house."
So Little Miss Muffet, though she felt like crying and was very tired,
kept at her work until at length all was finished and the last cheese
was in the press.
"Now," said the farmer's wife, "since you have worked so well I shall
give you a dish of curds and whey for your supper, and you may go out
into the orchard and eat it under the shade of the trees."
Little Miss Muffet had never eaten curds and whey before, and did not
know how they tasted; but she was very hungry, so she took the dish
and went into the orchard.
She first looked around for a place to sit down, and finally
discovered a little grassy mound, which is called a tuffet in the
country, and seated herself upon it. Then she tasted the curds and
whey and found them very good.
But while she was eating she chanced to look down at her feet, and
there was a great black spider coming straight towards her. The girl
had never seen such an enormous and hideous-looking spider before, and
she was so frightened that she gave a scream and tipped backward off
the tuffet, spilling the curds and whey all over her dress as she did
so. This frightened her more than ever, and as soon as she could get
upon her feet she scampered away to the farmhouse as fast as she could
go, crying bitterly as she ran.
The farmer's wife tried to comfort her, and Miss Muffet, between her
sobs, said she had seen "the awfulest, biggest, blackest spider in all
the world!"
This made the woman laugh, for she was not afraid of spiders.
Soon after they heard a sound of wheels upon the road and a handsome
carriage came dashing up to the gate.
"Has anyone seen a little girl who has run away?" asked Nurse
Holloweg, leaning out of the carriage.
"Oh, yes" answered Little Miss Muffet; "here I am, Nurse. And she ran
out and jumped into the carriage, for she was very glad to get back
again to those who would care for her and not ask her to work making
cheeses."
When they were driving back to the town the Nurse said,
"You must promise me, Miss Muffet, never to run away again. You have
frightened me nearly into hysterics, and had you been lost your mother
would have been quite disappointed."
The little girl was silent for a time; then she answered,
"I will promise not to run away if you will let me play as other
children do. But if you do not allow me to run and romp and dig in the
ground, I shall keep running away, no matter how many horrid spiders
come to frighten me!"
And Nurse Holloweg, who had really been much alarmed at so nearly
losing her precious charge, thought it wise to agree to Miss Muffet's
terms.
She kept her word, too, and when Little Miss Muffet went back to her
home in the city her cheeks were as red as roses and her eyes sparkled
with health. And she grew, in time, to be a beautiful young lady, and
as healthy and robust as she was beautiful. Seeing which, the doctor
put an extra large fee in his bill for advising that the little girl
be taken to the country; and Mr. Muffet paid it without a word of
protest.
Even after Miss Muffet grew up and was married she never forgot the
day that she ran away, nor the curds and whey she ate for her supper,
nor the great spider that frightened her away from the tuffet.
Three Wise Men of Gotham
Three Wise Men of Gotham
Three Wise Men of Gotham
Went to sea in a bowl.
If the bowl had been stronger
My tale had been longer.
There lived in the great city of Gotham, over against the north gate,
a man who possessed a very wise aspect, but very little else. He was
tall and lean, and had a fine large head, bald and smooth upon the
top, with a circle of white hair behind the ears. His beard was pure
white, and reached to his waist; his eyes were small, dark, and so
piercing that they seemed to read your every thought. His eyebrows
were very heavy, and as white as his beard. He dressed in a long black
mantle with a girdle corded about the middle, and he walked slowly and
majestically, and talked no more than he was obliged to.
When this man passed down the street with his stately tread the people
all removed their hats and bowed to him with great reverence, saying
within themselves,
"He is very wise, this great man; he is a second Socrates."
And soon this was the only name he was called by, and everyone in
Gotham knew him as "Socrates."
To be sure this man was not really wise. Had they realized the truth,
not one he met but knew more than Socrates; but his venerable
appearance certainly betokened great wisdom, and no one appeared to
remember that things are seldom what they seem.
Socrates would strut about with bowed head and arms clasped behind
him, and think:
"My! how wise these people take me to be. Everyone admires my
beautiful beard. When I look into their faces they drop their eyes. I
am, in truth, a wonderful man, and if I say nothing they will believe
I am full of wisdom. Ah, here comes the schoolmaster; I shall frown
heavily and refuse to notice him, for then he also will be deceived
and think I am pondering upon matters of great import." Really, the
one wise thing about this Socrates was his ability to keep quiet. For,
saying no word, it was impossible he should betray his ignorance.
Singularly enough, over by the south gate of Gotham there dwelt
another wise man, of much the same appearance as Socrates. His white
beard was a trifle longer and he had lost his left eye, which was
covered by a black patch; but in all other ways his person betokened
as much wisdom as that of the other.
He did not walk about, being lazy and preferring his ease; but he
lived in a little cottage with one room, where the people came to
consult him in regard to all their troubles.
They had named him Sophocles, and when anything went wrong they would
say,
"Let us go and consult Sophocles, for he is very wise and will tell us
what to do."
Thus one man, who had sued his neighbor in the courts, became worried
over the outcome of the matter and came to consult the wise man.
"Tell me, O Sophocles!" he said, as he dropped a piece of money upon a
plate, "shall I win my lawsuit or not?"
Sophocles appeared to ponder for a moment, and then he looked at his
questioner with his one eye and replied,
"If it is not decided against you, you will certainly win your suit."
And the man was content, and went away feeling that his money had been
well invested.
At another time the mother of a pair of baby twins came to him in
great trouble.
"O most wise Sophocles!" she said, "I am in despair! For my little
twin girls are just alike, and I have lost the ribbon that I placed on
one that I might be able to tell them apart. Therefore I cannot
determine which is Amelia and which is Ophelia, and as the priest has
christened them by their proper names it would be a sin to call them
wrongly."
"Cannot the priest tell?" asked the wise man.
"No one can tell," answered the woman; "neither the priest nor their
father nor myself, for they are just alike. And they are yet too young
to remember their own names. Therefore your great wisdom is our only
resource."
"Bring them to me," commanded Sophocles.
And when they were brought he looked at them attentively and said,
"This is Ophelia and this Amelia. Now tie a red ribbon about
Ophelia's wrist and put a blue ribbon on Amelia, and so long as they
wear them you will not be troubled to tell them apart."
Everyone marvelled greatly that Sophocles should know the children
better than their own mother, but he said to himself,
"Since no no [both nos in original] one can prove that I am wrong I am
sure to be right;" and thus he maintained his reputation for wisdom.
In a little side street near the center of Gotham lived an old woman
named Deborah Smith. Her home was a wretched little hut, for she was
poor, and supported herself and her husband by begging in the streets.
Her husband was a lazy, short, fat old man, who lay upon a ragged
blanket in the hut all day and refused to work.
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