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diff --git a/78322-h/78322-h.htm b/78322-h/78322-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6fa5e55 --- /dev/null +++ b/78322-h/78322-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7910 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Round the Year in Pudding Lane | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +h1 {font-weight: normal; + font-size: 160%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + word-spacing: 0.3em; + } + +h2 {font-weight: normal; + font-size: 150%; + margin-top: 1em; + word-spacing: 0.3em; + } + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p1 {margin-top: 1em;} +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + + + +hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} + +hr.r5 {width: 10%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 45%; margin-right: 45%;} + +hr.r52 {width: 10%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-left: 45%; margin-right: 45%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdrt {text-align: right; + vertical-align: top;} +.tdrb {text-align: right; + vertical-align: bottom;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + + +.caption {font-size: 90%; + text-align: center;} + + +.xxlarge {font-size: 270%;} +.xlarge {font-size: 140%;} +.large {font-size: 120%;} +.less {font-size: 90%;} +.more {font-size: 80%;} +.med {font-size: 70%;} +.mid {font-size: 60%;} + +.c {text-align: center;} + +.sp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} + +.oldeng {font-family: "Old English Text MT", serif;} + +.dropcap {float: left; width: auto; padding-right: 1px; font-size: 300%; line-height: 80%;} + + +.bbox {border: 2px solid; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + padding-left: 1.5em; + padding-right: 1.5em; + padding-bottom: .5em; + } + + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.figcenter1 { + padding-top: 4em; + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; font-size:90%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + margin-top:3em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; + border: .3em double gray; + padding: 1em; +} +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent1 {text-indent: -2em;} +.poetry .indent9 {text-indent: .4em;} +.poetry .indent8 {text-indent: -.7em;} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78322 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover"> +</div> + + +<h1> +ROUND THE YEAR IN<br> +PUDDING LANE +</h1> + + + +<div class="bbox"> + +<p class="c large sp oldeng">By Sarah Addington</p> + +<hr class="r5"> + +<p class="less sp"> +<span class="smcap">The Boy Who Lived in Pudding Lane</span><br> +<span class="smcap">The Great Adventure of Mrs. Santa Claus</span><br> +<span class="smcap">Round the Year in Pudding Lane</span> +</p></div> + + + + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="figcenter1" id="f1"> +<img src="images/fig1.jpg" alt="crier"> +<p class="caption"><i>The Town Crier was seen coming down Pudding Lane,<br> +ringing his bell.</i>   <span class="allsmcap">FRONTISPIECE.</span>   <i>See page 3.</i></p> +</div> + +</div> +<hr class="full"> + + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="c xxlarge sp"> +ROUND THE YEAR<br> +IN PUDDING LANE</p> + +<p class="c sp p2"> +<span class="less">BY</span><br> +<span class="xlarge">SARAH ADDINGTON</span></p> + +<p class="c p4"> +<span class="more">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</span><br> +<span class="large sp">GERTRUDE A. KAY</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter1"> +<img src="images/fig2.jpg" alt="decoration"> +</div> + +<p class="c p4"> +BOSTON<br> +<span class="xlarge sp">LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY</span><br> +1924 +</p> +</div> +<hr class="full"> + + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="c sp"> +<span class="less"><i>Copyright, 1923, 1924</i>,</span><br> +<span class="smcap large">By Sarah Addington</span></p> + +<hr class="r52"> + +<p class="c sp less"> +<i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<p class="c sp p1"> +Published September, 1924</p> + +<p class="c sp p4"> +<span class="smcap">Printed in the United States of America</span> +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="c xlarge">CONTENTS</p> +</div> + +<table class="large"> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><span class="mid">CHAPTER</span></td> + <td class="tdl"></td> + <td class="tdr"><span class="mid">PAGE</span></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#c1">I</a></td> + <td class="tdl">When the Snow Man Sat by the Fire</td> + <td class="tdr">1</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#c2">II</a></td> + <td class="tdl">The Valentine Mistress Mary Found</td> + <td class="tdr">18</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdrt"><a href="#c3">III</a></td> + <td class="tdl">How Humpty Dumpty Went to the King’s<br> Party</td> + <td class="tdrb">34</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#c4">IV</a></td> + <td class="tdl">Simple Simon Has His Day</td> + <td class="tdr">52</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#c5">V</a></td> + <td class="tdl">Mrs. Claus Has a Great Honor</td> + <td class="tdr">67</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#c6">VI</a></td> + <td class="tdl">The Poodle That Didn’t Know English</td> + <td class="tdr">81</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdrt"><a href="#c7">VII</a></td> + <td class="tdl">Bo-Peep Finds Out How a Dutch Uncle<br> +Talks</td> + <td class="tdrb">93</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#c8">VIII</a></td> + <td class="tdl">The Sand Man’s Scare</td> + <td class="tdr">110</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#c9">IX</a></td> + <td class="tdl">Why Taffy the Welshman Stole Meat</td> + <td class="tdr">124</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdrt"><a href="#c10">X</a></td> + <td class="tdl">The Crooked Man Gets a Brand-new<br> Reputation</td> + <td class="tdrb">139</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#c11">XI</a></td> + <td class="tdl">Mother Goose Settles a Difficulty</td> + <td class="tdr">155</td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#c12">XII</a></td> + <td class="tdl">Santa Claus Hangs Up His Stocking</td> + <td class="tdr">187</td></tr> + + +</table> + +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="c xlarge">ILLUSTRATIONS</p> +</div> + +<table> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl">The Town Crier was seen coming down Pudding<br> +Lane, ringing his bell</td> + <td class="tdrb"><a href="#f1"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl"></td> + <td class="tdr"><span class="med">PAGE</span></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl">Everybody was happy, including Mrs. Claus who<br> +dozed by the fire</td> + <td class="tdrb"><a href="#f3">20</a></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl">No Lady Wind was that. No dog either. But a<br> +bear that stood before her</td> + <td class="tdrb"><a href="#f4">43</a></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl">They were dancing around a Maypole, a beautiful,<br> +flower-covered Maypole</td> + <td class="tdrb"><a href="#f5">76</a></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl">On the same stagecoach from Dover came a present<br> +from the King of France to Mrs. Claus</td> + <td class="tdrb"><a href="#f6">81</a></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl">“Look here,” he said to the black sheep. “You’re<br> +responsible for all this.”</td> + <td class="tdrb"><a href="#f7">105</a></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl">What could Mrs. Blue do? She could do nothing<br> +but climb the fence, skirts and all</td> + <td class="tdrb"><a href="#f8">111</a></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl">The next morning at nine o’clock the whole town<br> +started out for Honeysuckle Hill</td> + <td class="tdrb"><a href="#f9">129</a></td></tr> + +<tr> + <td class="tdl">“But it’s too far to walk before dark,” said Santa<br> +Claus. “We live ’way off in Pudding Lane”</td> + <td class="tdrb"><a href="#f10">148</a></td></tr> + + +</table> + +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c1">I</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">WHEN THE SNOW MAN SAT BY THE FIRE</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>T had been a poor year for snow men that +winter in Pudding Lane. November had +brought not one single flake of snow +(though I don’t see what good one flake would +have done, anyway). December had been almost +as bad. Even at Christmas there had been +only the thinnest smattering of snow, which, +like bread that has only a little sugar on it, is +worse than none at all.</p> + +<p>But here it was January, a gray, moisty, misty +day that certainly looked and felt like nothing +else in the world but snow. So that it was no +wonder the children of Pudding Lane kept rolling +their eyes at the world outside as they were +having their lessons that morning.</p> + +<p>“One, two, buckle my shoe,” recited Santa to +Mrs. Claus. The snow would surely come any +minute now. “Three, four, shut the door.” +Would it be big dry flakes or little watery ones? +Little watery ones were no earthly good, of +course. “Five, six, pick up sticks—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span></p> + +<p>“A, B, C, tumble-down D,” chanted Judy to +the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. Was +that a flake of snow she saw through a buttonhole +of the Shoe there? No, only a bit of paper +drifting by. “E, F, and a pick-him-up G,” she +continued.</p> + +<p>Even Simple Simon was having a lesson.</p> + +<p>“Thirty days hath September,” he began, but +poor Simon never got any farther than that in +the rhyme, for he never could remember that +April came next. April ought not to follow right +after September, even in a poem, he thought.</p> + +<p>So they went on, every one of them, for Old +King Cole had given emphatic orders that lessons +were to be held at any cost, every single +morning, in every single home in Pudding Lane. +And then, right in the middle of everything, it +began to come, the snow that all the children +had been waiting for all the winter long.</p> + +<p>Jill saw it first, for Jill was the kind of girl +that could see several things at once, so that, although +it looked very much as if Jill had her +eyes nailed down tight to her spelling book, she +really was looking through the window out of +the tail of her eye. Some people are like that, +especially girls.</p> + +<p>But Jill saw the snow only half a second before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span> +the other children saw it. For the next +thing the mothers of Pudding Lane knew, their +pupils were all running to the windows and +jumping up and down and shrieking with delight. +It began to look as if school were over +for the day, willy-nilly, as Mrs. Claus said. She, +for one, couldn’t manage five boys during the +first snowstorm of the year.</p> + +<p>Well, sure enough, school was over for the +day, for the next minute the Town Crier was +seen coming down Pudding Lane, ringing his +bell and shouting, “The King says let the children +out; the King says let the children out, the +first snow of the year!” Seriously, now, was +there ever such a good king as that merry Old +Soul? Or such a wise one? Not many kings +would understand that a snowstorm is more important +than lessons.</p> + +<p>You should have seen the Snow Man those +children made! Such a fine figure of manhood +as he was, with sturdy, stout legs and a pipe in +his mouth (the candlestick maker wondered +where in the world his pipe had disappeared to!) +and a snub nose such as snow men always, always +have. Why is it, do you suppose, that +snow men never have handsome Roman noses +like Mother Goose’s, or tip-tilted ones like Jill’s,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> +or long lean noses like the candlestick maker’s? +Merely a family trait, I suppose. In fact, if I +ever met a snow man with a long nose, I’d rather +suspect him of not belonging to the real snow +family, wouldn’t you?</p> + +<p>But this one was a true descendant of the +inner circle of snow men. Little Boy Blue stuck +on his ears. Jack and Jill made his arms—long +arms they were, that fell from his shoulders in +a most realistic manner. Simple Simon put Mr. +Claus’s green carpet slippers at the bottom of +the Snow Man’s legs. (And you should have +seen Mr. Claus running around the house in his +bare feet that night, poor man.) Simple Simon +got the right shoe on the left leg, and the left +shoe on the right leg, but that only made the +Snow Man look funnier than ever, and Simon +was indeed proud that he had done his job so +cleverly. Yes, every child in Pudding Lane had +a hand in that Snow Man, except Polly Flinders.</p> + +<p>And Polly, of course, would not come out. +Not that she was not invited. Santa Claus, who +was the most polite boy in Pudding Lane, made +a special trip to the Flinderses’ to get her, for it +was thought that Polly, being a newcomer to +the village, might feel a little shy. But although<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> +Polly liked Santa Claus very much and +was really most anxious to play with the other +children, and most anxious, too, to get acquainted +with the Snow Man, still, on account +of her toes, Polly had to refuse Santa’s invitation. +So Santa ran back to his little friends and +Polly, after waving them good-by, returned to +her cinders.</p> + +<p>She did not stay by the fire long, however, +for the shouts and laughter of the children rang +out like chimes through Pudding Lane that day, +and she could not keep herself from going to the +window to watch them. For the truth about +Polly Flinders was that, though she did choose +to stay close by her fire rather than to play outdoors +with the children, she really was a very +lonely little girl. She got tired of herself and +she got tired of her dolls and books. She even +got tired of her cinders. So Polly really was not +very happy by her fireside, after all. It was too +bad about her toes, really.</p> + +<p>When the children saw Polly at the window +on this day, they waved and laughed and beckoned +her to come out. Polly waved back and +smiled, too, but still she could not bear the +thought of the cold, so she shook her head sadly +and presently they forgot all about her as they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> +went on playing. And finally the lonely little +Polly went back to the fire again.</p> + +<p>It was dark and cold when the children of +Pudding Lane at last left their Snow Man and +went home. They had fought snow battles and +built snow houses and dug snow tunnels. They +had plowed up the fields of snow until it looked +like some winter planting time. But the day +closed at last and they had to go home to supper +and to bed.</p> + +<p>Only Polly Flinders, as night came on, remembered +the poor Snow Man who was left +there in the ruins alone on the cold winter night. +She could hardly eat her supper for thinking +about him, and she shivered closer to the fire, +as she considered how cold it must be out there +for the Snow Man, who himself was not a very +warm fellow to begin with.</p> + +<p>So Polly thought about him all evening, and +still she could not forget him when it came time +for bed and her mother came in to take her upstairs. +Polly begged to stay up longer.</p> + +<p>“But it’s very late,” objected her mother.</p> + +<p>In the end, however, she went off to bed without +Polly, shaking her head and saying to Mr. +Flinders that she never did see such a girl for +the cinders.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> + +<p>As Polly sat by the fire, she kept thinking of +the Snow Man and kept on feeling so sorry for +him that she even cried a little to herself, as +the clock ticked and the cinders clinked in the +grate. She went to the window to look out at +him. There he stood in the cold light of a frosty +moon, alone, neglected, freezing. Oh, dear, +how unhappy he looked. He wasn’t funny any +more, but pitiable and pathetic, like any other +outcast.</p> + +<p>Polly stood by the window a long time, +watching him tearfully. Then through her tears, +she saw, or thought she saw, the Snow Man +move. He seemed to raise his arms to her in a +gesture of pleading. The Snow Man was motioning +to her to come to him! The Snow Man +wanted her help!</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash Polly turned from the window +and rushed to the door. Quick as a wink +she had flung the door open and was running +down the path to Pudding Lane and across the +lane to the Snow Man. She quite forgot her +toes, did Polly. She forgot the cold and the +snow. She forgot everything except that the +poor Snow Man needed somebody to help him +and that she was the somebody. When she got +to the Snow Man, she spoke to him breathlessly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></p> + +<p>“I’ve come to take you in to the fire,” she +told him. “I know how wretched it is to be cold +and lonely. I suffer from the cold myself, Mr. +Snow Man, and I’m rather lonely too.”</p> + +<p>The Snow Man did not reply, but stood there +immovable, his long arms hanging listlessly, his +pipe askew, his hat set rakishly on one ear. +Polly surveyed him and spoke again.</p> + +<p>“Can you walk?” she asked him. He was +still silent.</p> + +<p>Polly touched him softly. He was hard and +as solid as rock. She never would be able to +budge him. She put her arms around him. +Ooooh, how cold he was! She really must hurry +and get him in to the fire, or he would be frozen +past all help.</p> + +<p>What should she do? He was freezing, freezing! +She must not leave him there another minute. +But he was too big to carry and too stiff to +walk. Polly looked around desperately. There +was only that icy moon above and the fields of +snow about her and the still cold of night. No +help was in sight. Not a candle shone out from +a single window. Not a soul was awake in that +respectable little village. Alas, Polly began to +think that her visit to the Snow Man was all in +vain, that she could not rescue him, after all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> + +<p>And then, just as she was despairing of her +mission, she spied Jack Horner’s little red sled +near one of the snow forts. It was the very +thing! She would take the Snow Man home on +that sled. She would take him to her own fire +and there warm him until he was quite comfortable.</p> + +<p>Hastily she began to drag the sled over to +the Snow Man. Quickly she commenced the +delicate operation of putting the Snow Man on +the sled. And it was a delicate operation, +indeed. For the Snow Man’s joints, if he ever +had any, were as stiff as sticks, and the Snow +Man’s muscles, if he had muscles, were as useless +as a doll’s. He was very heavy and hard to +move, as Polly put her arms around him and +tried it. Moreover, the Snow Man, although so +frozen and hard, had a tendency to break at +places. Polly was very, very careful as she +tugged and pulled at him, but there! his left +arm snapped off clear up to the shoulder, and—oh, +dear, there went his right thumb, plunged +into the snow at his feet.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, excuse me,” whispered Polly to +the Snow Man in distress. “I didn’t mean to, +really.”</p> + +<p>But it did not seem to hurt the Snow Man<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> +very much to lose an arm and a thumb, for he +did not bat an eyelash, though maybe that was +because he didn’t have an eyelash to bat.</p> + +<p>At last Polly had him on the sled, lying on +his back, feet foremost, pipe in the air. Only +the green carpet slippers were left behind in the +snow, for somehow they wouldn’t stick. At last, +after much hard pulling, Polly had the sled with +the Snow Man right in front of her very door. +And at last, after more tugging and working, +she had him standing upright in front of her own +warm cinders, which she now poked up into a +fine bright blaze again. Then she smiled radiantly +at the Snow Man.</p> + +<p>“Now you’ll be all right,” she assured him. +“You’ll get all warm and happy again, Mr. +Snow Man.”</p> + +<p>But, my goodness, was the Snow Man crying? +It certainly looked like it. Those were surely +drops of water on his face. It looked, too, as if +he needed a handkerchief. Polly hastily got out +hers and applied it to the Snow Man’s nose.</p> + +<p>“You ought to learn to use your handkerchief +yourself,” she told him rather severely. +“I learned to use mine when I was a very little +girl. But don’t cry. Oh, don’t cry so <i>hard</i>!”</p> + +<p>By this time the tears were streaming down<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> +the Snow Man’s face like rain. In fact, he +hardly had a face any more; the snub nose had +vanished almost completely; his eyes had cried +themselves out; his ears were just little nubs +now and were fast becoming even smaller nubs. +More than that, the Snow Man’s arms and +shoulders seemed to be raining tears too, and +from his feet and body ran rivers of water.</p> + +<p>Oh, dear, how frightened Polly was!</p> + +<p>“Please don’t cry all over like that!” she +begged him. “Oh, please don’t!”</p> + +<p>But the water continued to flow from every +pore of the Snow Man’s body.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” thought Polly, “it’s just perspiration. +But if it is, it’s a pretty bad case of it.”</p> + +<p>Whatever the malady, it was fast reducing +the unfortunate Snow Man into a mere pillar of +slush and streaming water. His pipe fell away +from his face and dropped to the floor with a +dismal sound. His poor old hat fell off too. +His legs were rapidly giving way. And as Polly +watched the Snow Man approaching his sad end, +she cried heart-brokenly. Such a beautiful Snow +Man as he had been! How she had worked to +help him out of his difficulty! And now he was +going, going, going. He would soon be gone. +He <i>was</i> gone. She looked at the floor where a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> +pond of water lay, an old black pipe floating +desolately around in it. It was the saddest sight +that Polly had ever seen.</p> + +<p>She cried until her mother, hearing her from +upstairs, came down to her.</p> + +<p>“Why,” began Mrs. Flinders, “what in the +world—”</p> + +<p>Polly sobbed.</p> + +<p>“What was it?” her mother asked again.</p> + +<p>Polly choked as she tried to answer.</p> + +<p>“The Snow Man—” she began, then sobbed +aloud again.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Flinders, seeing the water, understood.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said sympathetically. +Then, “But didn’t you know he would +melt?” she asked.</p> + +<p>It seemed unbelievable that a child of hers +would make such a foolish mistake.</p> + +<p>“I forgot,” confessed Polly. “It was silly +of me, but I honestly forgot. I was so anxious—”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Flinders, “it’s too bad. +But come, let us mop up the Snow Man before +he spreads all over the house.”</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Flinders in her nightcap and Polly, +sniffling loudly, mopped up the Snow Man, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> +an hour before had been a beautiful creature +and was now mere dirty water. Polly was indeed +very sad about the whole affair, and more +than that she was ashamed, for she realized now +how silly she had been and she dreaded what +the children of Pudding Lane would say the +next day.</p> + +<p>But to Polly’s everlasting surprise, the children +of Pudding Lane, instead of being angry +with her, instead of laughing at her, were most +sympathetic, when she told them what she had +done.</p> + +<p>“I think it was very nice of you to want to +be kind to the poor Snow Man,” said Jill.</p> + +<p>“And of course you forgot he was made of +snow,” put in Miss Muffett. “For he was such +a friendly fellow.”</p> + +<p>At this Polly began to sniffle.</p> + +<p>“There, there!” Jumbo patted her shoulder. +(You remember Jumbo, don’t you, the oldest +son of the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe?) +“We’ll build another Snow Man,” he said. +“And we’ll wrap this Snow Man up in a blanket +to-night so he won’t get cold.”</p> + +<p>So the children began to build another Snow +Man, and even Polly, whose toes were warmly +done up in leggings and overshoes, stayed out<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> +to help them. For Polly felt responsible for the +damage she had done, and she felt grateful, too, +to the children for their kindly attitude toward +her silly mistake. And so, although it was bitter +cold, and she did mind it terribly, she worked +on and on until finally the Snow Man was finished. +But oh, how miserable she was, and how +glad she was when the Snow Man stood there +complete, and she was free to return to her cinders. +Yet, as she started to say good-by, her +heart sank a little. She would be lonely again +when she went back into the house by herself. +If her toes only did not trouble her so much!</p> + +<p>The children were astonished when she told +them she was going indoors.</p> + +<p>“Why, Polly, we thought you liked us now,” +cried Judy.</p> + +<p>“We thought you were having a good time +with us,” said Tom, Tom, the piper’s son.</p> + +<p>Poor Polly shook her head. “I do like you,” +she protested. It was dreadful to have such toes +as she had, but she couldn’t help it.</p> + +<p>“But you don’t like to play out here with +us,” said Little Boy Blue.</p> + +<p>“No,” confessed Polly in a small ashamed +voice. “You can’t enjoy things when your toes +ache, can you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> + +<p>“I suppose not,” Boy Blue answered politely, +though his toes never had ached.</p> + +<p>But Jumbo went up to Polly and took her +arm.</p> + +<p>“Then I think it was very brave of you to +go out to get the Snow Man last night,” he said. +“And it was brave of you to stay out here to-day +and help us make a new one, when your +toes ached all the time.”</p> + +<p>He expected the rest of the children to say, +“Yes, indeed, it was,” but somehow they did +not say it, nor did they say anything, not being +used to pretty speeches. But they thought it, +anyway, and they looked it, every one of them +smiling at Polly in the friendliest fashion possible, +so that Polly was a little bit comforted.</p> + +<p>Her real comfort, however, came later from +Jumbo, as he sat before her cherished cinders +with her. He looked at her pretty little toes, +which were shiny patent leather with silver +buckles, and smiled.</p> + +<p>“Judy has big square brown shoes,” he said. +“And Jill has copper toes on her boots.”</p> + +<p>Polly looked at him gratefully.</p> + +<p>“And I rather like the cinders myself,” he +went on. “Do you see that little dwarf in +there with the hood over his head?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> + +<p>Polly looked deep into the fire.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” she said. “Isn’t he funny? And +do you see that princess with the long flames of +hair?”</p> + +<p>“Red hair,” Jumbo grinned. He looked at +Polly’s fair curls. “I like yellow better myself.”</p> + +<p>Polly sighed. Perhaps she wasn’t quite hopeless, +after all, in spite of her terrible affliction. +Then a coal fell in the grate with a soft cluck +of a noise.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed excitedly. “The +dwarf got thumped. Who did it, did you see?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t see a thing,” replied Jumbo, “so +it must have been a fairy. And there, the Princess +is disappearing.”</p> + +<p>“Going home to the Prince, I guess,” murmured +Polly contentedly.</p> + +<p>“Yes.” Jumbo nodded. “Wow! But that +fairy came just in time. In another minute the +dwarf would have had her.”</p> + +<p>And that was the way that Polly Flinders had +her one and only experience with a Snow Man, a +rather unhappy experience it was too. That +was the way the children of Pudding Lane found +out what a courageous girl Polly was. And that +was the way Jumbo became Polly’s daily playmate,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> +so that she was never lonely by her cinders +any more, but was both happy and warm +thereafter. For Jumbo liked the fire, too, especially +when he and Polly sat before it spinning +fairy tales, as they did on that first day.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c2">II</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was past eight o’clock on that St. Valentine’s +Eve, and yet from every window in +Pudding Lane shone forth the yellow light +of a candle, a phenomenon which made all the +clocks in the town wonder whether they hadn’t +skipped an hour somewhere or other. For every +timepiece in the village, from Mrs. Flinders’ fine +old grandfather’s clock to Mrs. Dumpty’s pert +little cuckoo, had good reason to know that one +of old King Cole’s strictest rules was, “Early +to Bed and Early to Rise”; and yet here it was +eight o’clock and nobody abed yet. Queer, +thought the cuckoo, as he stepped smartly out +of his box and cuckoo’ed eight times with a significant +look at Humpty Dumpty. Odd, +thought the grandfather’s clock, as he rumbled +his eight strokes in Polly Flinders’ ear.</p> + +<p>Silly clocks, they had forgotten what night it +was, or they never would have been so mystified. +For we know what was going on that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> +night in Pudding Lane, don’t we? We do it +ourselves on St. Valentine’s Eve. So we can +just see Boy Blue addressing an envelope to +Judy, The Shoe, Pudding Lane, and another to +Bessie, The Candlestick-Maker’s, Pudding Lane. +And we can see Jill writing a verse to Jack:</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Jack, Jack, the funny fellow,</div> + <div class="verse indent1">Got bruised black and got bruised yellow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When he came tumbling down the hill,</div> + <div class="verse indent1">With his loving friend, whose name is Jill.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>Yes, they were all making Valentines that +night. The children of the Old Woman had +the Shoe cluttered up with paper and ribbon +and paints. Simple Simon was busy copying a +verse for Mistress Mary. It was hardly a delicate +sentiment, reading as it did:</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Hum, hum, Harry,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If I weren’t engaged, I should never marry.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>But it was the only poem Simple Simon knew. +Besides, it is doubtful whether Mistress Mary +would be able to read it, anyway, for Simple +Simon’s handwriting, as you know, was highly +individual.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> + +<p>At the Clauses’, Santa and the two batches of +twins were busy making Valentines. Santa was +good at cutting and pasting, and Matthew, +Mark, Luke and John were good at getting in his +way and cluttering things up, so everybody was +happy, including Mrs. Claus, who dozed by the +fire, Mr. Claus, who was reading the <i>Banbury +Cross Weekly</i> over his spectacles, and Misery, +the cat, who sat solemnly watching them all.</p> + +<p>Indeed, everybody in Pudding Lane was busy +making Valentines, except—guess who—Cross-Patch. +You know Cross-Patch, that unpleasant +old woman who lived down at the end +of Pudding Lane. Of course, Cross-Patch was +not making Valentines. She didn’t believe in +such foolishness!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="f3"> +<img src="images/fig3.jpg" alt="happy"> +<p class="caption"><i>Everybody was happy, including Mrs. Claus who<br> +dozed by the fire.  Page 20.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>Yet somebody was making a Valentine for +her, and that person was—you’ll never believe +it, but it’s true—the candlestick-maker. Now +although you have known the candlestick-maker +quite intimately, would you ever have guessed +that he Nursed a Secret Passion for Cross-Patch? +Of course you wouldn’t. But that’s +the sort of thing that comes out on St. Valentine’s +Day. He may seem like a queer kind of +lover, the toothless, bent-over old man, yet he +was an earnest one, nevertheless, and he cackled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> +gleefully as he pasted a yellow paper rose on a +pink paper heart and wrote:</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Needles and pins, needles and pins,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When a man marries his trouble begins.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>When he tried to say this verse, the candlestick-maker +always said, “Peedles and nins, peedles +and nins”, but it seemed to go all right with +a pencil. However, it did not sound very loving, +he thought, after he had written it, so he +added a little verse like this:</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“P.S.  But when a man’s married</div> + <div class="verse indent9">His wife is his own,</div> + <div class="verse indent8">And when a man’s single</div> + <div class="verse indent9">He’s living alone.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>It may not seem very clear to us, but the candlestick-maker +was charmed with it, and said to +himself he could be a poet as well as anybody +else if he’d just take the time to it. And then, +with one last delighted cackle, he called Jack, +his nephew, and bade him be nimble and be +quick about delivering that Valentine to Cross-Patch. +Jack hastily jumped over the candlestick +as directed and ran down Pudding Lane +with the pink paper heart in his hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> + +<p>Jack had gone but a few steps when he heard +a little squeaking noise which sounded like—well, +it sounded to Jack like a mouse with a cold +in its nose. He stopped to listen. Yes, there it +was, a choked little squeak of a noise. Then, to +Jack’s surprise, up started somebody from behind +the winter hedge near by. It was Mistress +Mary, Quite Contrary, and it was she who was +making the noise. Mistress Mary was crying.</p> + +<p>Of course, she pretended she wasn’t. When +she saw Jack, she giggled in a silly little desperate +way to cover up her sobs, the way girls often +do when they’re caught in tears.</p> + +<p>“Hello,” said Jack. He was glad she had +stopped crying.</p> + +<p>“Hello,” said Mistress Mary gayly, quite as +if she had never shed a tear in her life. “Where +are you going?”</p> + +<p>“Taking a Valentine,” began Jack, when +Mistress Mary unexpectedly began to cry again +in that little squealing way. Jack, much disturbed, +asked Mistress Mary what was the matter. +Whereupon, the poor girl, still weeping, +explained the cause of her woe. She was crying, +she said, because she had no Valentine for Santa +Claus, of whom she was so very fond.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + +<p>“But why haven’t you a Valentine?” asked +Jack.</p> + +<p>“Just because I was so contrary, I guess,” +admitted Mistress Mary. “My mother told me +to get one ready, but I didn’t want to then—and +now it’s too late. Oh, dear, it’s often very +uncomfortable to be contrary, Jack.”</p> + +<p>“It must be,” thought Jack to himself. But +to Mistress Mary he said, “Well, what are you +going to do about it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” answered Mistress Mary +mournfully. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to do +now. And, oh, Santa Claus will think I don’t +love him. And I love him better than anybody +else in Pudding Lane.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you send Santa Claus a flower +from your garden, Mistress Mary?” Jack suggested. +“Flowers make fine Valentines, you +know.”</p> + +<p>Mistress Mary shook her head sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>“Alas,” she said, “my crocuses are contrary, +too, Jack. They ought to be out now, but somehow +they just won’t bloom.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” said Jack gravely. Truly this was +pretty bad, he thought to himself, that a girl +should set such an unhappy example to the very +flowers in her garden.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> + +<p>Then he thought of Mother Goose, who always +knew how to get people out of trouble.</p> + +<p>“Let’s ask Mother Goose what to do,” he said +to Mistress Mary.</p> + +<p>“But Mother Goose is not here.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she is,” Jack told her. “She’s spending +the week-end with old King Cole. Let’s run +right up to the palace and ask her.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Mistress Mary, “that’s the +very thing.” For once in her life the contrary +girl agreed with somebody, so the two children +ran off hand in hand toward the palace of Old +King Cole.</p> + +<p>Mistress Mary was not the only person in +Pudding Lane that night who was in trouble. +Meanwhile, something had happened at the +Clauses’. It happened so quickly too. The children +had all gone to bed and Santa Claus and +his mother were sitting up addressing the last of +the Valentines and Misery was watching them. +Then the next minute, while they were still busily +scratching away with their pens, Misery +<i>wasn’t</i> watching them.</p> + +<p>“Where’s that cat?” asked Mrs. Claus, as +she looked up. She always called Misery “that +cat” and she always pretended that she did not +like him a bit, yet it was Mrs. Claus who had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> +given Misery so much cream when he was a kitten +that it made him fearfully sick, and it was +Mrs. Claus who now had to be watched lest she +give him more meat and gravy than was good +for his digestion.</p> + +<p>So now she said, “Where’s that cat?” in a +tone of great asperity, and she frowned blackly +at the place by the stove where Misery had been +but a moment before.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he’s gone to bed,” said Santa Claus, +as he carefully drew a great flourish under +Humpty-Dumpty’s name.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus got up and went over to the box +where Misery slept.</p> + +<p>“Not here,” she reported, after rummaging +around in it. “Where is that cat?”</p> + +<p>She looked under the stove and in her workbasket +and behind the baby’s cradle. No Misery! +She went into Mr. Claus’s bedroom and +looked in the drawer where he kept his best blue +shirt. No Misery! She finally went out into +the woodshed and prowled around there in the +dark, calling for Misery. No green eyes appeared. +No purring black shape came to rub +against her feet. By this time Mrs. Claus was +really alarmed. She flew back to the kitchen +and Santa.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p> + +<p>“He’s gone!” she told her little boy.</p> + +<p>“Misery?” Santa asked, staring.</p> + +<p>“Misery himself,” answered Mrs. Claus.</p> + +<p>Santa jumped to his feet and ran around the +room, calling the cat. He ran all over the whole +house, looking for Misery. No cat was to be +found, but the twins and Mr. Claus and even +the baby woke up at his racket, and they set up +a horrible din at the news of Misery’s departure. +The four boys howled with grief; the baby +screamed to keep them company; Mr. Claus kept +shouting, “Great snakes, great snakes, great +snakes,” and, oh, dear, such a time as there was +in the Claus household at that late hour on St. +Valentine’s Eve.</p> + +<p>Of course, the Clauses kept right on looking +for the cat. Mr. Claus, good soul, even went +outdoors in his bare feet (he never had got his +green slippers back since the time of the first +Snow Man that year). He went out into the +yard, calling the cat so loudly that if the creature +had been within ear-shot, he would have +been frightened away by the noise. He went +into the shop with a candle and poked around +in the shelves and drawers there. (They <i>had</i> +found Misery sleeping sweetly there in a nest of +buns one time.) But although they all hunted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> +high and low for that cat, it soon became apparent +that Misery was not to be found.</p> + +<p>It was a sad and sober company that gathered +around the kitchen stove when the search had +been abandoned.</p> + +<p>“He’s gone,” spoke Mr. Claus in a hollow +tone. Mr. Claus looked rather peculiar in his +nightcap and overcoat and bare feet, but nobody +noticed that.</p> + +<p>The twins howled again. Santa Claus +blinked. Mrs. Claus was seen to rub her eyes +impatiently.</p> + +<p>“I knew that cat would get us into some kind +of a bother,” she said.</p> + +<p>“And the mice,” said Mr. Claus. “I’m +afraid that when the cat’s away, the mice will +play.”</p> + +<p>“Of course they will,” spoke up Mrs. Claus +sharply. “Anybody knows that.” Then Mrs. +Claus looked at the clock and jumped energetically +out of her chair.</p> + +<p>“Mercy on us, Mr. Claus,” she exclaimed. +“Here it is after nine! What can we be thinking +of to let the children stay up like this?”</p> + +<p>With which she gathered her six children up +and packed them all off to bed.</p> + +<p>But if you think Santa Claus could go to sleep<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> +that night, well, you just never were the owner +of a runaway cat. For Santa could think of +nothing but Misery as he lay in bed. He could +see nothing but Misery’s beautiful green eyes +and swaying tail. He could hear nothing but +Misery’s purr, “the bee buzzing inside him,” +as he called it. The Valentines were forgotten, +all the fun of the next day was forgotten, +as Santa mourned his lost Misery that night.</p> + +<p>But presently he heard a slight noise outside +the house. It sounded as if it were right there +by his window. He thought he heard a whisper, +then a tiptoe, then a little hushed-up laugh. For +a moment, he was afraid. It might be Taffy, for +Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, and +came around at night quite often to steal a round +of beef. Then he jeered at himself for being a +scaredy-cat and climbed bravely out of bed. He +looked out of the window and saw there—what +do you think? Four hands, two green eyes, and +a curly head. It was Jack and Mistress Mary +with Misery in their hands!</p> + +<p>“Hey!” screamed Santa Claus excitedly.</p> + +<p>Mistress Mary laughed and Jack called out +softly “Hello!”</p> + +<p>“Hey!” screamed Santa Claus again. He +reached out his hands and took Misery in them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> +Oh, how nice and warm Misery felt to him. And +was the bee buzzing inside him? Santa Claus +put his ear down to the silky black body. Yes, +there it was. Misery was happy too, glad to get +home again.</p> + +<p>Then the rest of the Clauses came rushing in. +A boy can’t shout “Hey!” in the middle of the +night, as Santa Claus had done, without waking +folks up, you know. When they saw the cat, +they cried out too. And when they looked out +of the window and saw Mistress Mary and Jack +standing there laughing, they cried out again. +At least, Mrs. Claus did.</p> + +<p>“Good gracious!” she exclaimed. “Where +did you children come from?”</p> + +<p>“From old King Cole’s palace,” they told her.</p> + +<p>“And what are you doing here?” she asked +them.</p> + +<p>“We brought Misery back,” they explained.</p> + +<p>“Name of goodness,” was all Mrs. Claus +could say.</p> + +<p>Then Jack and Mistress Mary went around to +the front door, came into the parlor, and the +Clauses all gathered around them to hear the +story of the discovery.</p> + +<p>“Well, there isn’t much of a story,” said Mistress +Mary. “Jack and I just went up to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> +palace to see Mother Goose a minute. We +wanted to ask her—something.” She looked +warningly at Jack. “And when we got there, +we found them having a party in the throne +room. The King and Mother Goose were dancing +a polka, the fiddlers three were playing their +fiddles, and the Queen of Hearts, well, the +Queen was asleep, but her ladies in waiting +weren’t, for they were playing games with the +King’s Men—oh, it was quite a party!”</p> + +<p>“It must have been,” said Mrs. Claus. She +wondered how often the King indulged in such +goings-on while his people were asleep in their +beds.</p> + +<p>“But the cat,” prompted Santa. “Where +did you find the cat?”</p> + +<p>“Why, right there,” said Mistress Mary. +“Right there.”</p> + +<p>“In the King’s palace?” asked Mrs. Claus +incredulously. “Our Misery up at King +Cole’s?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded Mistress Mary.</p> + +<p>“Why, a cat may look at a King, Mrs. Claus,” +the baker reminded her.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Claus was flabbergasted.</p> + +<p>“Little did I ever think that our cat would +go amongst royalty,” she said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, he did, anyway,” said Mistress Mary. +“And he was having a lovely time too. I never +heard of a cat doing that before, running away +to the king’s, but that’s where your cat was, just +the same, for we found him right there, didn’t +we, Jack?”</p> + +<p>“We did that,” said Jack.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Claus, “I suppose it was +too dull for him here, Santa Claus, with just +you and me here in the kitchen. Misery loves +company, you know.”</p> + +<p>Then she got up and went to the door.</p> + +<p>“I don’t wish to seem unmannerly,” said +Mrs. Claus, “but I know you two children ought +to be home and asleep. Does your mother know +where you are, Mistress Mary?”</p> + +<p>“We stopped and told her on the way,” replied +Mistress Mary, “but we ought to go now, +I know.” Then Mistress Mary went over to +Santa. “I meant to give you a Valentine, Santa +Claus,” she said. “I did mean to, but here it is +St. Valentine’s Eve and I haven’t any for you, +after all. I was contrary about it—”</p> + +<p>“Why, Mistress Mary,” exclaimed Santa +Claus, “you brought Misery back to me. And +Misery’s the very best Valentine I could possibly +have.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + +<p>Mistress Mary, happy as could be at this, +beamed at Santa Claus. Mother Goose had told +her that same thing—that if she took Misery +back to his master, it would be the best Valentine +he could have. And now Santa Claus had +said so himself, and everything was all right. +She went home overjoyed, and as Jack walked +beside her, he thought what a nice girl Mistress +Mary was when she forgot to be contrary.</p> + +<p>It was not until Jack got clear inside the candlestick-shop +that he remembered the Valentine +his uncle had given him to take to Cross-Patch. +Then what a sinking feeling he had in his heart. +What would the old candlestick-maker say? +How could he have forgotten to deliver the Valentine +when it was the very thing he had been +sent out for? Poor Jack, usually so nimble, so +quick, so obedient, could have thrashed himself +for his forgetfulness. He turned around to the +door. Perhaps he could go back now and slip +the Valentine under Cross-Patch’s door. But +the candlestick-maker, who had looked as if he +were dozing there on the bench, opened his eyes +and spoke to Jack.</p> + +<p>“Did ye leave her the Valentine?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Jack grew red and began to stammer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m going—I’m going back—now—” he +said.</p> + +<p>“Then ye didn’t leave it?” asked the old +man.</p> + +<p>Oh, dear, how Jack hated to admit his disobedience. +The old candlestick-maker was +really such a good uncle to him, and now he +had just gone off and forgotten to do his errand. +But he had to answer, for the old man had his +little eyes pinned on him.</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” he said hesitatingly. “No, sir, I +forgot it, somehow. But I’ll go back now.”</p> + +<p>The old man closed his eyes again for another +doze.</p> + +<p>“Never ye mind,” he said. “It’s just as well. +Don’t believe me and that old woman would +get along very well, anyway.”</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c3">III</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">HOW HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO THE<br> +KING’S PARTY</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was the fourteenth of March and there was +a great stir and bustle in Pudding Lane. +The ladies, in curl papers, were washing +and ironing and mending like women possessed; +the men hustled about their work at topmost +speed; even the children had no time for play, +but were busy running errands, taking baths, +helping their mothers, fast and furiously.</p> + +<p>And what was the reason for all this industry? +Why, the day of the month was the reason. But +perhaps you don’t know what the fourteenth of +March stands for; I have met children who +didn’t. The fourteenth of March is Old King +Cole’s birthday, and on this particular day the +merry old soul was going to have a party in the +palace, to which he had invited every single person +in Pudding Lane.</p> + +<p>“I declare,” said Mrs. Claus suddenly, as she +rushed about her tiny house with even more energy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> +than ever, “I declare, I forgot all about +Humpty Dumpty!”</p> + +<p>She looked up at the baker, who was baking—well, +it’s a secret what Mr. Claus was baking, +and a surprise, so I think I’d better not tell even +you what it was. “Well,” went on Mrs. Claus, +“I <i>am</i> be-twittered, or I never should have forgotten +Humpty Dumpty, Mr. Claus.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you wouldn’t,” agreed Mr. Claus, +adding an extra flourish to the—well, to <i>it</i>.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus ran to the door.</p> + +<p>“Santa,” she called, “run right down to the +Dumpties’ and see who’s going to sit up with +Humpty to-night. I clean forgot about him. +Tell Mrs. Dumpty I’ll sit myself, if nobody else +has offered.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Claus looked up in alarm.</p> + +<p>“You’d never miss the birthday party to sit +up with Humpty Dumpty, would you?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“I would if there was nobody else to sit up +with him,” replied his wife stoutly, though in +her heart she did hope she would not have to +miss the King’s birthday party, for she had made +herself a fine new yellow waist, had Mrs. Claus, +and she was expecting to make quite a sensation +in it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> + +<p>“Dear me,” said Mr. Claus, “I don’t want to +go to the party alone with five children, Mrs. +Claus.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you may have to,” was his wife’s comforting +reply. “Poor Humpty Dumpty! He’s +a public charge, Mr. Claus, what with having no +father, and I’m not the one to neglect him, I’m +really not.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus, for all her tart speech, <i>was</i> a good +soul, wasn’t she? It’s not hard to see where +Santa Claus got his kind heart.</p> + +<p>But when Santa came back from the Dumpties’, +it was to report that Jack and Jill, who +lived in the Dumpty block, had offered to stay +with the invalid while Mrs. Dumpty disported +herself with royalty for one evening. Jack, who +still had his crown bandaged up, and Jill, who +wore a patch on her cheek even now, had painful +memories of their own tumble, you see, and +so naturally felt most sympathetic toward poor +Humpty in his misfortune.</p> + +<p>“Why, bless their little hearts,” said Mrs. +Claus, “aren’t they good children? I never +would have thought it of that tomboy Jill, to +be frank with you.”</p> + +<p>After which display of candor, Mrs. Claus +went on with her ironing and mending, to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> +end that the Clauses should make a respectable +appearance before Old King Cole and the Queen +of Hearts.</p> + +<p>But even if Mrs. Dumpty were going to the +party, her heart felt heavy about it, poor soul. +For there sat her Humpty, confined to his chair, +the most dejected of boys. And who wouldn’t +have been dejected under those circumstances? +This was the first time that Old King Cole had +ever celebrated his birthday with the humble +people of Pudding Lane. Once the King of +France had come for that great occasion, and +Mother Goose was often invited to share his +birthday cake, but until to-day the people of +Pudding Lane had never been invited for the +festivity.</p> + +<p>And such an occasion as this was going to be +too! There was to be a supper two hours long; +there was to be music from London; there was to +be a Punch-and-Judy show; but wonder of all +wonders, there was to be a trained bear! All +this, not to mention the surprise that Mr. Claus +was baking. Oh, dear, Humpty Dumpty did +wish he could walk up the hill to the palace. If +he just could! Or if somebody could carry him. +But, alas, it was impossible. Humpty was too +heavy, the hill was too steep. So that all the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> +poor boy could do was to sit in his chair and +think, think, think and wish, wish, wish.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty came in when she was dressed +and looked at him anxiously.</p> + +<p>“You know Jack and Jill are only going to +stay until you fall asleep,” she told him. “It +wouldn’t be right to ask them to miss all of the +party.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” replied Humpty, but he could not, +for the life of him, look as cheerful as he wanted +to.</p> + +<p>“Poor boy,” said Mrs. Dumpty. Then she +added with sudden conviction, “I’m not going at +all. I’m not going. I shall stay right here with +you.”</p> + +<p>But Humpty protested so vigorously that +Mrs. Dumpty finally yielded to his entreaties. +It <i>would</i> be disrespectful to the King to stay +home, she admitted, though she certainly didn’t +feel very partyfied, she added. Then she asked +Humpty if he liked her beads, and Humpty told +her he liked them very much, though what that +boy knew about beads was very little, I suspect.</p> + +<p>“I always did like a red bead,” said Mrs. +Dumpty. “Good-by, darling Humpty. I’ll +bring you a piece of birthday cake, whether or +no.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> + +<p>I don’t believe Pudding Lane ever saw anything +half so grand as that party at Old +King Cole’s palace. There were flowers and +music, fruits and confections, jewelry and +satins, all mixed up, until it made your head +swim.</p> + +<p>The King and Queen stood up to receive their +guests in the most cordial manner possible. It +was true that the Queen of Hearts could think +of nothing else to say but “And how are you +this evening?” and then didn’t listen as the +good, honest people of Pudding Lane started to +tell her in great detail just exactly how they +were that evening. It is equally true that Old +King Cole laughed immoderately, no matter +what anybody said, and that he even laughed +at Mrs. Dumpty when she tearfully offered +Humpty’s regrets,—behavior that made that +devoted mother highly indignant. But that was +just Old King Cole’s way of being pleasant; and +it was certainly much better than folding your +arms and frowning prodigiously, as the butcher +did; or pulling a long, melancholy face, like the +baker; or bowing and jerking forward incessantly, +as the candlestick-maker seemed to think +it necessary to do. There are all kinds of ways +of being polite, but it does seem as if the butcher<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> +and the baker and the candlestick-maker might +have selected more winning methods.</p> + +<p>“Dear me, Mr. Claus,” said Mrs. Grundy, +coming up to him as he stood between his neighbors, +the picture of dismal woe, “is it such a +sad occasion as that?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Claus jumped and looked at her even +more solemnly than ever, and the butcher glared +ferociously at her, and the candlestick-maker, +bowing low, bumped the good lady’s fan out of +her hand.</p> + +<p>“Mercy on us!” ejaculated Mrs. Grundy. +“Somebody rescue me from these creatures.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon up came Jack Spratt to offer her +his arm.</p> + +<p>“There’s lean meat on the banquet table,” he +whispered. “Come, let’s have some of it.”</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Grundy disappeared on the arm of +the accomplished Jack Spratt as Mr. Claus +watched them enviously.</p> + +<p>“I wonder how he does it,” thought the baker +to himself. Poor Mr. Claus, he was but a humble +fellow, more at home with his pies and cakes +than in such brilliant company as this.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus, however, was no dullard in society, +for she could speak her mind to anybody, +and was even now telling the Queen of Hearts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> +how she had made that yellow waist she wore +out of just one yard and an eighth of cloth, not +counting the cuffs. Santa, too, was having a +fine time with all the other children, Bo-Peep, +Jack Horner, Little Miss Muffett, Matthew, +Mark, Luke and John and all the rest.</p> + +<p>Yes, they were all having a delightful time at +Old King Cole’s party. Even Simple Simon +felt at home in the palace, as he went happily +about, eating and drinking, smiling and nodding. +He even danced a bit, did Simple Simon, +and did not seem to mind at all that while he +was doing the polka, everybody else, including +his partner, was dancing a waltz. But his partner +minded, I can tell you, and if any little girl +wants to have her toes stepped on and her shoes +completely spoiled, just let her try to dance with +Simple Simon as Polly Flinders did on that +night of the fourteenth of March.</p> + +<p>At last, when everybody had danced a little, +and eaten and drunk quite a lot, and talked +some, and stared at all the trappings of the palace +a great deal, at last it came time for the +trained bear. At the announcement the little +boys yelled with delight, the little girls shivered, +the mothers and fathers sat up importantly +and looked exceedingly brave.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> + +<p>For this was no common bear, but a noted +beast from London who had made that great city +laugh and gasp many a night with his antics and +tricks. And here he came! Oh, how funny he +was, that bear. The way he walked was funny, +as he ambled slowly in, straight past the King +and Queen without so much as a glance at their +royal personages. The way he looked was +funny, as his little eyes glimmered from their +depth of brown fur, and he yawned softly in the +most bored fashion possible. The way he acted +was funny, too, and the children screamed +as he put up one paw and slowly rubbed his +nose, for all the world like a meditative old +man.</p> + +<p>But his tricks were funnier still, and as Tubby +Tim, the old bear trainer, cracked his whip and +shouted his commands, the children of Pudding +Lane, and the grown-ups, too, thought they had +never seen such a remarkable bear. As indeed, +they had not, never having seen any bear at all +before.</p> + +<p>“Up, Bumbo, old boy!” shouted Tubby Tim, +and the bear stood on his hind legs.</p> + +<p>“Waltz, Bumbo! One, two, three!” ordered +Tubby Tim, and lo, the bear was swaying +around on his hind feet in a waltz that nobody<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> +would have been ashamed of. In truth, Polly +Flinders was thinking to herself that she’d a +great deal rather dance with the bear than with +Simple Simon.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="f4"> +<img src="images/fig4.jpg" alt="bear"> +<p class="caption"><i>No Lady Wind was that. No dog either. But a<br> +bear that stood before her.  Page 43.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>But at last, when the old bear had roared loud +and alarmingly at the children (who stopped +laughing then), when he had stood on his head +and shown his teeth and rolled a hoop and done +a great many other astounding things, Tubby +Tim said abruptly, “That’s all”, and led him +out. But the party wasn’t over yet by a good +deal, for there was still the puppet show, which +Tubby Tim now started to make ready.</p> + +<p>Jack and Jill and Humpty Dumpty down in +the Dumpty house meanwhile were having a +quiet little game of “Button, button” when +they heard a noise at the door.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” asked Jack.</p> + +<p>“The Lady Wind,” answered Jill. “March +is her month, you know.”</p> + +<p>“It sounds more like a dog than a lady,” said +Jack.</p> + +<p>“Ho, ho,” scoffed Jill, “you don’t even know +wind when you hear it.” With which Miss Jill +flounced to the door and flung it wide open. +But goodness, what was that in the doorway? +No Lady Wind was that. No dog either. But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> +a <i>bear</i> that stood before her, yellow-eyed and +open-mouthed!</p> + +<p>“Oh!” gasped Jill faintly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh!” breathed Jack and Humpty together.</p> + +<p>The bear ambled into the room.</p> + +<p>“Run,” cried Jack to Jill. “Run upstairs +and shut the door tight, or he’ll eat you!”</p> + +<p>“But he’ll eat you too! Come along,” whispered +Jill.</p> + +<p>Then they both looked at Humpty Dumpty, +who sat quaking and white in his chair. For +Humpty could not run, of course, and he saw +himself a fine meal for that open mouth.</p> + +<p>“No, we must stay with Humpty,” said Jill, +shivering with fear.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” answered Jack, trembling.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps if we all fight him, we can get him +out,” suggested Jill.</p> + +<p>“Yes, come on, let’s fight him,” replied Jack.</p> + +<p>“I can’t fight,” said Humpty from his chair, +“but I can glare mighty hard. I’ll glare at him, +Jill.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you glare, Humpty Dumpty,” said Jill +encouragingly.</p> + +<p>Jack by this time had rolled up his sleeves, +ready for battle, and Jill, flinging back the hair<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> +from her eyes, rushed at the bear headlong. But +what was that bear doing, anyway, if he were +not rubbing against Jill’s knees with the affection +of an old family cat? What was he pawing +at her so softly, so gently for, if it were not +because he wanted her to play with him? Why +did he look up at her with those funny little yellow +eyes, if it were not to reassure her as to his +good intentions?</p> + +<p>“Why,” cried Jill, “I believe he’s a pet +bear!”</p> + +<p>“I think he is!” answered Jack.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if he’d like to be patted,” ventured +Humpty, putting a timid hand on Bumbo’s +back. The bear dropped on his back and +pawed playfully in the air.</p> + +<p>“He does want to play,” cried Humpty +Dumpty.</p> + +<p>What a fine playfellow he was, too, that +Bumbo bear, as the three children romped with +him there in Mrs. Dumpty’s back parlor. How +he rolled and pawed and growled—just a pretend-growl, +though; you could tell he didn’t +mean a thing by it. How he tumbled and +jumped and trotted around the room. He even +seemed to understand that Humpty could not +play as the other children could, but went to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> +Humpty’s chair and nosed and pawed around so +amusingly that the poor invalid quite forgot +himself in his delight.</p> + +<p>The Punch-and-Judy show was meanwhile +progressing at the palace, and Judy had just +given Punch a mighty cuff on the cheek, to the +infinite pleasure of the audience, when Mr. +Claus, who had laughed until the tears came, +began to fish for his pocket handkerchief. But, +as he fished, his eye was arrested by a startling +vision at the door.</p> + +<p>“Great snakes!” he roared suddenly.</p> + +<p>Tubby Tim dropped his puppets and everybody +looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>“Saints preserve us!” shrieked Mrs. Grundy.</p> + +<p>And immediately there arose such a bellowing +and crying, such a tumbling of chairs and +confusion of figures, as to make Old King Cole’s +birthday party look like a riot instead. Mr. Horner +was seen to throw off his coat in great haste, +Simple Simon began to call loudly and insistently +for help, Mrs. Dumpty started to faint, +then thought better of it, and came to again. As +for the Queen of Hearts, that royal lady +straightway went into a fine fit of hysterics, deportment +which she considered highly becoming +to queens in time of stress.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> + +<p>And what do you suppose was the cause of all +this uproar? What was this vision in the doorway +that had suddenly set all of Pudding Lane +to screaming and bawling?</p> + +<p>It was nothing more than our friend Bumbo, +who stood in the doorway blinking soberly, +with Humpty Dumpty on his back and Jack +and Jill on each side of him. Which, you’ll +have to admit, was pretty much of a surprise +for people who had supposed that the bear was +snoozing in the pantry; and which looked indeed +like a dangerous business to folks that +didn’t know what a very friendly bear Bumbo +was.</p> + +<p>But so smiling and serene were those three +children, so extremely placid was Bumbo himself, +that it finally became apparent that there +was really nothing to howl about. And so at +last the noise did subside somewhat, save for the +exceedingly loud sniffling of Jill’s mother, who +was having a little weep all to herself, and quite +naturally too.</p> + +<p>Then Jill explained the business.</p> + +<p>“He was such a friendly bear,” she ended, +nodding brightly at Tubby Tim, “so well-trained, +that Jack and I thought there would be +nothing easier than to bring Humpty up here<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> +on his back. And it was; it was as easy as pie. +And here he is.”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Claus had started up suddenly at the +mention of “pie” and bolted through the assemblage +and out of the door. Old King Cole +looked over at Mrs. Claus in a rather annoyed +manner.</p> + +<p>“What’s happened now, Mrs. Claus?” he +asked crustily. “Is your husband ill, perhaps?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I wouldn’t know, your Majesty,” replied +Mrs. Claus, who, if the truth must be told, +was deeply ashamed of her husband’s odd company +manners. “He was all right when we left +home,” and to herself she muttered that it wasn’t +her fault if the man acted like a zany. Do you +know what a zany is? Well, Mrs. Claus didn’t +either, but she supposed it was some kind of +animal, and she liked to apply the word to Mr. +Claus in what she called his “off” moments.</p> + +<p>But bless you, it was Mrs. Claus who was +having the off moment this time, for what the +baker had gone for was the secret, a thing that +everybody had completely forgotten in the hubbub +and excitement. So that not only Old King +Cole, but everybody else was surprised when +Mr. Claus came strutting back with it, the secret,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> +in his hands. When they did see it, they +remembered again, and all started to sing a verse +that Mrs. Grundy had composed for the occasion, +which began, “Sing a song of sixpence, +pocket full of rye.” And now you know, don’t +you, what the surprise was that Mr. Claus had +baked for Old King Cole’s birthday? And sure +enough, when that merry old soul cut open his +birthday pie, out flew the four and twenty blackbirds +and began to sing; and, as Mrs. Grundy +said, was that not a dainty dish to set before a +king?</p> + +<p>Old King Cole thought it was. He was the +most surprised and delighted man you ever saw, +and as the birds flew around the room and sang, +he became more charmed and bewildered than +ever, so that he really was in no condition to +make a speech when the people called for one. +But he arose just the same and, taking off his +crown, fumbled nervously with it, as he tried +to think of something to say. His people the +meanwhile beamed loyally at him, so happy +that they had really pleased Old King Cole, +who was always doing something to please them.</p> + +<p>“Friends,” began the King, “I am deeply +obliged—” Then he stopped and burst into a +hearty laugh, which rang and reverberated down<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> +the great halls and rooms of the palace until the +building almost shook.</p> + +<p>And that was as far as Old King Cole ever +got, for every time he’d try to sober down and +go on with the speech, laughter overcame him, +until at last all the people there began to laugh +just to see him. They roared, they shook, they +rocked with laughter, did those good people of +Pudding Lane, until it began to look as if they +would never get their faces straight again, never +get their breath again, never stop holding their +sides. Even the butcher left off frowning, the +baker stopped looking dismal, the candlestick-maker +ceased bowing, as they all laughed there +together. And of course Jack and Jill laughed, +and Humpty Dumpty, too, for they were the +ones to whom it was the most fun of all, because +they were the ones who had nearly missed the +party.</p> + +<p>And let me tell you something. The bear +laughed too. He didn’t make a noise about it, +and he didn’t shake, but there was a look in his +eye that was plainly a look of laughter, and +there was a twist to his mouth, as he stood there +by Tubby Tim’s legs, that was unmistakably a +grin. Yes, Bumbo laughed too. And if anybody +wants to know, he laughed many times<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> +after that as he thought of King Cole’s birthday +party and of his part in the whole performance. +For, of course, if Bumbo had not trotted off adventuring +as he did, Humpty Dumpty would +never have got to the party, and if—oh, well, +he did go trotting off, so what’s the use of if-ing +about it?</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c4">IV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>T had seemed to the children of Pudding +Lane that April Fool’s Day would never, +never come, they had been waiting for it so +long; and now that it had come, blest if it wasn’t +raining pitchforks, as Mrs. Claus said. And blest +if it wasn’t. It really did look like pitchforks, +that rain, as it came slanting down in sharp, shining +spears, splash, splash, splash, as fast as it +could come. It really looked as if the sun would +never shine in Pudding Lane again, for surely no +sun would be foolish enough even to try to break +through all that darkness and wetness and +gloom.</p> + +<p>And so, if you had been a frog in a puddle on +Pudding Lane that morning, you would have +seen noses pressed tight against every window +there and disappointed eyes fastened sadly on +the rainy world outside. You might even have +seen rain in those eyes themselves, though I +wouldn’t be positive of that. That roundish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> +nose there against the first window was Humpty +Dumpty’s; the turned-up one was Jill’s; the +straight little pretty one was Miss Muffett’s; +all those pert affairs sticking out of the buttonholes +of the Shoe were no others than the noses +of the children of the Old Woman Who Lived +there.</p> + +<p>The only nose that was not plastered against +a window was Simple Simon’s and the reason +that Simple Simon’s nose was not there was because +Simple Simon himself was out in the rain, +and his nose was with him. Yes, that foolish +fellow was standing in front of the butcher +shop, and as composedly as if it were the sun, +and not the rain, that was beating down on his +head. But why was he holding that long thick +rope so carefully in his right hand? And what +was that tiny object on the walk to which his +eyes were directed so intently?</p> + +<p>That object seemed to be a purse, a very, very +small purse—oh, now we know what poor Simple +Simon thought he was doing, don’t we? He +thought he was going to fool somebody with that +old, old trick. He thought somebody would +come along pretty soon, stoop to pick up the +pocketbook, and that he, the clever Simon, +would jerk it out of reach. He could see now,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> +in his mind’s eye, how silly the somebody would +look, and he snickered there to himself at the +mere thought of that delicious moment. Oh, +Simon, Simon! As if anybody with half an eye +would not have seen the rope long before he saw +the wee pocketbook. As if anybody would have +been apt to come strolling along in the rain, +anyway! Ah, me, I’m afraid Simple Simon’s +wits do not improve much with the years.</p> + +<p>Well, it kept on raining and Simple Simon +kept on standing there and the rest of the Pudding +Lane children kept on looking forlornly +at the rain, when whirr, swish, plop,—down +dropped Mother Goose on the gander’s back, directly +in front of Simple Simon. Simple Simon +wrenched his eyes a moment from the purse to +smile swiftly and delightedly at the beloved old +lady, who now hardly looked like herself, so +drenched and dripping was she.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Simon,” said Mother Goose, +as the gander shook a shower of water from his +back.</p> + +<p>Simon’s smile waxed wider.</p> + +<p>“Morning, mum,” he answered with a bow, +then straightened up and sent his eyes flying +back to the purse. He didn’t want anybody to +come along and pick it up when he wasn’t looking,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> +you see! Mother Goose regarded him curiously +for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Fooling somebody, Simple Simon?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes’m,” replied Simple Simon gleefully.</p> + +<p>Mother Goose laughed softly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess it’s Simple Simon you’re fooling,” +she said, and ran into the Clauses’ next +door.</p> + +<p>Simple Simon meditated a while over what +Mother Goose had just said and was highly +pleased. How funny that was, he thought, to +be fooling yourself! For, of course, Simple +Simon did not mind in the least being the butt +of his own joke. And if he didn’t mind, I suppose +we needn’t. Only it does seem like a queer +kind of April Fool’s trick to go to all that trouble +just to fool yourself, doesn’t it?</p> + +<p>Inside the cozy little kitchen at the Clauses’ +Mother Goose dried her clothes and visited comfortably +with her daughter, Mrs. Claus, and the +rest of the family.</p> + +<p>“My goodness, Santa,” she exclaimed, “you +<i>are</i> a long-faced little boy! And the twins! +Why, what can be the matter with these children, +Nellie?” She turned to her daughter, +“Are they ill?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> + +<p>“It’s April Fool’s Day, Mother Goose,” +spoke up little Santa.</p> + +<p>“I know that,” replied his grandmother +promptly. “And I, for one, think that the +Weather Man has done a fine job of fooling all +you children.”</p> + +<p>Santa Claus looked up surprised.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose that’s why he sent the +rain?” he asked Mother Goose.</p> + +<p>“Not a doubt of it in the world,” answered +the old lady vigorously. “The Weather Man +has to have a little fun, you know. And I’ll +venture he’s laughing fit to kill at the sight of +your doleful chops.”</p> + +<p>Here Mother Goose laughed merrily, and +Santa Claus tried manfully to laugh too; but +it’s hard to laugh when the joke’s on you, and +I’m afraid he didn’t make a very good job of it.</p> + +<p>“Maybe he’ll fool you again and send the +sun pretty soon,” suggested Mrs. Claus. She +felt pretty sorry for the children, did Mrs. Claus, +and she was surprised that Mother Goose did +not seem more sympathetic.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” said Mother Goose tartly. “I +say, you people are serious-minded folk for such +a day as April Fool’s. You must take a joke +better than this, you know, or you’ll spoil the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> +Weather Man’s fun entirely. Why, I shall be +ashamed to show my face up there at the +Weather Man’s house if he thinks my grandchildren +don’t know how to take a joke!”</p> + +<p>“Are you going up to see the Weather +Man?” asked Mrs. Claus.</p> + +<p>“I’m on my way there now,” Mother Goose +told her.</p> + +<p>“And what about the Man in the Moon?” +asked Mrs. Claus, smirking at the baker, who +tried his best to smirk back.</p> + +<p>“The Man in the Moon is suffering a temporary +eclipse,” replied the old lady sharply, at +which Mrs. Claus and Mr. Claus both laughed +heartily, and Santa wondered what kind of disease +an eclipse was, and if it hurt as much as +the mumps did.</p> + +<p>“As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with +seven wives, Mr. Claus,” said Mother Goose casually +to her son-in-law.</p> + +<p>Mr. Claus jumped out of his chair.</p> + +<p>“Seven wives!” he exclaimed. “Great +snakes, Mother Goose, seven wives! Why, +what would a man want with <i>seven</i> of ’em—that +is—oh, dear, seven!” Clearly Mr. Claus +was greatly agitated over this piece of news.</p> + +<p>“But they weren’t his wives, Mr. Claus,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> +added Mother Goose. “They were his brothers’ +wives. Ha, ha, April Fool!” cried Mother +Goose. At which she and Mrs. Claus and the +children shouted with delight, as poor Mr. Claus +grinned foolishly and wished he hadn’t been so +quick to bite at Mother Goose’s bait.</p> + +<p>But while all this was going on in the Clauses’ +house, Simple Simon was playing another joke +all by himself outside. For it had occurred to +him that it would be the best possible fun to +play a joke on old Mother Goose herself. And +so, what did Simple Simon do but step softly +around to the shed where the old lady had left +her gander? What did he do but take that gander +and carry him into The-House-that-Jack-Built, +that big uninhabited house a few doors +away? What did he do but hide the gander +there and then come out on to Pudding Lane +again, looking as wicked and proud of himself +as you please?</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mother Goose, when she went +out to the shed and found that the gander was +not there, “this is a pretty pickle.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus agreed that it was a pretty pickle, +but Mr. Claus differed a bit with the ladies and +called it a “fine how-do-you-do.” Anyway +what they all meant was that it wasn’t a pretty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> +pickle, or even a fine how-do-you-do, but that it +was instead a very serious thing for Mother +Goose to lose her gander. So they started +straightway to hunt the gander, but although +they searched and searched and called and called +that bird, they could not find him in all of Pudding +Lane. And at last they came back to the +house, drenched with rain, and sat down in a +gloomy circle around the stove.</p> + +<p>“Whatever will you do without the gander, +Mother Goose?” asked Mrs. Claus.</p> + +<p>“Do?” repeated Mother Goose with some asperity. +“Well, I’ll just stay here the rest of +my days, I suppose. I certainly can’t fly around +the world with nothing to fly on, can I?”</p> + +<p>“But what will the Weather Man think +when you don’t appear for your visit?”</p> + +<p>“Goodness only knows,” answered Mother +Goose. “He’ll think something, you may be +sure. And we’ll know soon enough what he +thinks. If he’s angry, he might even send a tornado. +Oh, don’t shiver now, baker. It hasn’t +struck us yet. What <i>is</i> coming over that bird? +He acts like a loon sometimes. I really think +I’ll have to get myself a fine turkey gobbler to +ride on. They have more sense than ganders.”</p> + +<p>Mother Goose would not have scolded and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> +fussed like this at the poor absent gander had +she known what a flutter that bird was in himself. +For the gander had not run away at all, +but had been taken by Simple Simon entirely +against his will, and now as he stood in The-House-that-Jack-Built, +tied fast to a bedpost, +his were harsh and desperate thoughts. To +think that he had been tricked like this by that +absurd Simple Simon, he of all fowls the most +trustworthy, the most sagacious. Tied to a bedpost +indeed! What humiliation, what degradation! +The poor gander squirmed and writhed +with the bitter shame of it; but he might as well +have stood still, for he was tied with that very +rope Simple Simon had used for his other joke, +and that rope, as we know, was a very substantial +affair, such as no mere gander could break.</p> + +<p>But while Mother Goose fussed and the gander +squirmed, one person was laughing aloud at +the fun of it all, and that person was, of course, +Simple Simon. He could hardly contain himself +as he stood there in the rain and thought +about it. And to tell the truth, Mother Goose +and Mr. Claus <i>had</i> looked pretty funny as they +ran down Pudding Lane, calling the gander. +Mother Goose, indeed, always looked funny +when she ran, for the good old lady was so accustomed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> +to riding that she took very ill to running. +But when she ran in a rainstorm, as she +did on this day, she was just a little more ridiculous +than ever, with her long skirts wound +damply around her legs, her glasses streaming +with water, her feet in Mr. Claus’s enormous +rubber boots which sloshed, sloshed, sloshed.</p> + +<p>As for Mr. Claus, he was not quite so funny +until you noticed the cascade of rain that came +spouting down on his nose through a hole in +his umbrella, and then he became very funny +indeed. And the really ludicrous thing about +that was that the more Mr. Claus tried to dodge +the waterfall, the faster it came through the +hole; and the more he shifted the umbrella +around, the more accurately did the waterfall +strike him on the very tip-tip of his nose. Yes, +that was very amusing, and Simple Simon +laughed himself weak now as he remembered it. +All the other children at the windows had +laughed at the sight too, though they did not +know why Mr. Claus and Mother Goose were +out in the rain like that. They had paid no +attention to Simon and his tricks. Nobody ever +did.</p> + +<p>Up in his home the Weather Man was becoming +decidedly worried at the non-arrival of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> +his expected guest, Mother Goose, and he confessed +to the Weather Woman, his wife, that he +was afraid something was terribly, terribly +wrong.</p> + +<p>“She always keeps her engagements,” he +said. “She is a most punctual woman.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps she is ill,” suggested the Weather +Woman.</p> + +<p>“She’s never been ill in her life,” said the +Weather Man.</p> + +<p>“No sign she never will be,” retorted the +Weather Woman.</p> + +<p>Just then the Weather Girl and the Weather +Boy came in, those two hardy children of the +Weather Man.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Mother Goose?” they demanded.</p> + +<p>“Not here,” replied the Weather Man.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t come,” said the Weather Woman.</p> + +<p>“Not here! Didn’t come!” repeated the +Weather Children. “Why, what’s the matter? +Is the rain too much for her?”</p> + +<p>The Weather Man looked thoughtful at this +suggestion, then turned to his wife.</p> + +<p>“Weather Woman,” he addressed her, “do +you suppose that this rain could possibly be the +reason for Mother Goose’s failure to appear?”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder a bit,” replied the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> +Weather Woman. “You know how those +earth-people are about rain. I declare, sometimes +I think they’ll never get used to it, the +way they carry umbrellas in the rain, and wear +waterproofs against it, and stay at home because +of it, as if a little water once in a while +would hurt the dear creatures!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” spoke the Weather Man, “if that’s +the reason that Mother Goose hasn’t come, we’ll +have to stop the rain, that’s all. Weather Children,” +he ordered, “kindly shut off the rain and +turn on the sun. Perhaps we’ve fooled the children +of Pudding Lane long enough, anyway.”</p> + +<p>So that is how it happened that three minutes +later, Pudding Lane found itself bathed in +clear, sparkling sunshine which left no sign of +the previous rain except the puddles in the +street, the gently dripping trees, and some little +ruffled-up birds, who shook themselves furiously +in the sun and sang loud songs of thanksgiving +that the downpour was over. And +that is how it happened that all the children +came tumbling out of their homes pell-mell as +they did and began fooling each other as fast +as ever they could to make up for lost time.</p> + +<p>Such jokes as those children played too! +There was Handy-Spandy, Jack-a-Dandy, for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> +example, who really was such easy prey it was +almost too bad to fool him. For when Santa +Claus offered the greedy fellow a nice plum +cake, or what looked like a plum cake, Handy-Spandy +just grabbed it and sank his teeth into +it without a single question—without even +much of a thank-you, though I guess that mumble +in his throat was meant for a thank-you. +And when he bit down into the cake, oh, how the +children screamed, for it wasn’t a plum cake at +all, but a cotton cake, which Mr. Claus had +made especially for the children to fool Handy +with on that first day of April.</p> + +<p>They fooled Santa Claus too, telling him that +Judy wanted him down at the Shoe; but when +Santa ran as fast as he could run down to the +shoe, there was nothing waiting there for him +but a big sign which said, “April Fool, Santa!” +Which did surprise that little boy vastly, for he +had forgotten he could be fooled, so busy was he +trying to fool other people.</p> + +<p>The children had a good deal of fun with +Tom, Tom, the piper’s son, for when he wasn’t +looking, Johnny Bo-Peep pinned a big card on +Tom’s back which read, “Please to kick me, my +dears!” And then when the children proceeded +to obey the injunction, poor Tom looked so bewildered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> +and foolish that it almost seemed as if +that were the very funniest joke of all.</p> + +<p>Oh, everybody was fooled good and plenty, +and great was the noise, the laughter and shouting. +And at last, when all the tricks had been +exhausted, and when the children were exhausted +too, out came Mother Goose from the +Clauses’ house.</p> + +<p>“I say,” she cried to the children, who had +surrounded her until you couldn’t see a thing of +her but the tip of her pointed hat, “I say, I know +somebody you haven’t fooled!”</p> + +<p>Oh, was there still somebody to fool? Delightful!</p> + +<p>“Yes,” went on Mother Goose, “we can still +fool somebody else. We can still fool the gander, +children! For he’s run off to fool us, I suppose, +and now if we find him, it’ll be a joke on +the silly bird, you see.”</p> + +<p>So they started out on the great search for the +gander, all of them, scattered in every direction. +And what of Simple Simon? Well, Simple +Simon was just as pleased as he could possibly +be over the whole affair, for now that he had +fooled Mother Goose by hiding her gander, he +was perfectly willing to fool the gander by +bringing him back to Mother Goose. You see,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> +he was so simple that he didn’t comprehend that +to bring the gander back would not really fool +him at all. So into The-House-that-Jack-Built +trotted Simple Simon, chuckling jovially at the +whole affair, and out he came again in half a +minute, leading the dejected old gander behind +him.</p> + +<p>“Bless me,” said Mother Goose, when she +caught sight of the gander, “here he is. Why, +Simple Simon, you are a fine fellow, indeed you +are.”</p> + +<p>Simple Simon, no longer able to contain himself, +laughed outright.</p> + +<p>“I did fool you, after all, didn’t I?” he asked +proudly. “I hid the gander, Mother Goose,” +he went on excitedly, “and you never guessed +it at all.”</p> + +<p>And there the absurd fellow had given the +whole thing away! Oh, how the children enjoyed +that joke, and how Mother Goose laughed +too. But above all the racket could be heard +Simple Simon’s great guffaws celebrating his +own wit and smartness, like the simpleton he +was.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c5">V</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">M</span>RS. PETER, PETER, PUMPKIN-EATER +was briskly shaking out her +best parlor rug in her back garden one +fine May day when flap, flap, clack, clack, came +a noise to her ears.</p> + +<p>“Bless me,” said the tiny lady, looking up, +“if Mrs. Dumpty isn’t at it too.”</p> + +<p>True enough, the mother of Humpty was +likewise in her back garden, beating a rug, and +as Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater looked to the other side +of her, she discovered that Jill’s mother was doing +precisely the same thing. Then she saw +that the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe was +shaking out <i>her</i> rugs too, and so were Mrs. +Grundy and Mrs. Claus, the mother of Santa,—why, +all of Pudding Lane was shaking out +its rugs at that very minute! Which was not +so strange, when you consider that this was the +first day of May, which, as anybody knows,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> +means house-cleaning to any right-thinking +woman. But the first of May means also a Maypole +and a May Queen and baskets of flowers +on the door knobs. And now we’re coming to +the really sad part of this story.</p> + +<p>For it did look as if house-cleaning this year +were going to crowd out May Day in Pudding +Lane completely. Always before, while the +mothers of Pudding Lane were cleaning their +houses, Mother Goose had come to give the children +their May Day, so that they had never +missed it. But this year Mother Goose had +gone to a house party at the Frosts’, Jack and +his wife, you know, who do a good deal of entertaining +in their slack season. And so, since +Mother Goose was not there and the mothers +of Pudding Lane were so busy with house-cleaning, +it did look very doubtful about the Maypole.</p> + +<p>The children, Bo-Peep, Jack Horner, Polly +Flinders, Jack and Jill and Santa Claus, were +talking about it in Santa Claus’s shed that very +morning.</p> + +<p>“They could house-clean to-morrow. I +wouldn’t mind living in a dirty house one more +day,” ruminated Jack.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t mind it forever,” spoke up Jill.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> +Which was probably true, for Jill was not the +tidiest little girl in the world.</p> + +<p>Then Simple Simon jumped up quite suddenly +and began to dance, throwing his long +legs gleefully around and laughing as he did +so,—quite a spectacle, I can assure you. Even +the children, who were used to his queer ways, +were astonished, and they were still more astonished +when he abruptly sat down, and drawing +them all close about him on the shed floor, began +to tell them a wonderful secret, in a whispering +voice so full of “shishes” and “shushes” they +could hardly hear what he said.</p> + +<p>And as soon as Simple Simon had finished, +the children all jumped to their feet and ran +off together, so that in another moment not one +of them was to be seen in Pudding Lane. Their +mothers did not even miss them, so deep were +they in the business of house-cleaning.</p> + +<p>A deadly earnest business it was too. You +could see by the way Mrs. Dumpty pressed her +lips together that this was no laughing matter. +You could tell by the set of Mother Hubbard’s +jaw that she’d see this affair through to the finish, +come what would. And as for the tiny Mrs. +Pumpkin-Eater, well, although her rug was +three times as big as she was, and she herself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> +was only one third as big as she ought to have +been, she shook that offending piece of carpet +as if to shake its very red roses off, and I think +she would have loosened a petal or two, if they +had been any but woolen roses.</p> + +<p>But if all this were deadly serious to those +excellent housewives themselves, it was an even +grimmer business for their husbands. If ever a +man is miserable, it is during spring house-cleaning, +and already on this day uncomfortable +things had begun to happen to the men of Pudding +Lane. Mr. Claus, for one, had risen to find +the kitchen table upside down in the back garden +and had been forced to eat his breakfast +from the window sill, no good way to start the +day, certainly. But it was rather worse for +Jack Spratt, who got no breakfast at all. Mrs. +Spratt simply told him she couldn’t be bothered, +unless, she added, he’d “do with a piece +of fat meat”, which of course, being the man +he was, he <i>couldn’t</i> do with.</p> + +<p>Mr. Horner, poor man, slipped on a piece of +wet soap which was on the kitchen floor—though +it certainly had no business there—and +nearly broke his neck. And Peter, Peter, Pumpkin-Eater +was forced to appear in public in his +shirt sleeves, because, when he had marched to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> +his old peg that morning to fetch his coat as +usual, it was to discover that not only had the +coat disappeared, but the peg had too—which +shows how far things had gone in the pumpkin +shell that morning.</p> + +<p>But the most miserable of all men in Pudding +Lane that day was Old King Cole, the +merry old soul himself. It does seem as if a +King ought not be bothered with such unpleasant +affairs as house-cleaning. But Old King +Cole was bothered, for the Queen of Hearts +was nothing if she was not a good housekeeper. +Consequently, the king had awakened that +morning to find carpets up and curtains down, +furniture stacked, dishes, brushes, paint cans, +brooms, buckets everywhere, and the Queen, her +royal head in a dust cap, chasing the servants +about in what looked like a mad game of tag.</p> + +<p>Moreover, as the Queen was having the +throne regilded and the chairs all resilvered, +poor Old King Cole had to stand up all the +time, unless he chose to sit on wet paint, which +he didn’t. And worse than that, he had to stand +perfectly still too, for when he tried to walk, +he found himself stumbling over mattresses, +crashing into glass dishes, stepping into buckets +of water, and slipping on wet paint brushes.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> +My goodness, how uncomfortable he was, standing +there in the midst of all that higgledy-piggledy, +while the Queen and the fiddlers three +and all the king’s men rushed insanely around, +never once looking at him.</p> + +<p>His legs soon began to ache dreadfully; his +head buzzed with the noise. He called for his +pipe. Nobody paid the least attention. He +called for his bowl. It was not brought. He +called for his fiddlers three. They leaped up to +him, made deep hurried bows, offered their +apologies, and were off to help the Queen of +Hearts again, who at that moment was at the +top of a stepladder, wrestling with a curtain +rod.</p> + +<p>“This is enough,” said Old King Cole bitterly +to himself, and, smashing through the +glass dishes, paint buckets and wet mops on the +floor, he bounded out of the throne room and +through the front door. Old King Cole had run +away from home and family. Not that the +Queen of Hearts cared in the least. In fact, as +she saw her liege lord departing, she was heard +to murmur something about “good riddance”, +hardly the way to speak of a king, I should +think. Then she continued battling with that +curtain rod with the greatest relish in the world.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> +There’s something about a curtain rod that +makes women—well, anyway, the Queen of +Hearts was certainly enjoying herself, that was +evident.</p> + +<p>He ran and ran, did Old King Cole, and he +didn’t know in the least where he was going, +and finally, being fat, he just had to stop for +breath. So he did. And then he saw that, although +he had been running a long time, he +really hadn’t run far at all, having gone in a +circle, as people so often do when they think +they’re going straight.</p> + +<p>“Fiddlesticks,” said Old King Cole. “I +thought I’d be halfway to Dover by this time.”</p> + +<p>Dover? Dover? What was he going to +Dover for, do you suppose? Could it be that +Old King Cole had reached such a pitch that +he was thinking of going away over to France +to see the King of France for a while? I +shouldn’t be surprised. He really was quite +worked up.</p> + +<p>Well, anyway, there he stood on Pinafore +Pike, puffing and blowing and saying “Fiddlesticks”, +and goodness knows what he would have +done next if he hadn’t seen Simple Simon ambling +along the road. But he did see him, and +Simple Simon told him the secret, and the first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> +thing that old king knew, he and Simon had +gone off in just the opposite direction from +Dover.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, however, something pretty serious +was happening in the palace. For just at +the moment when everything was at its topsy-turviest, +who should walk in on the Queen of +Hearts but the King of France? Yes, right +through the front door came that elegant fellow, +and there was the Queen of Hearts, dust +cap and all, on the top step of the ladder. Was +ever a woman so humiliated? Was ever a +Queen caught in such a condition? The Queen +of Hearts thought not, and as she climbed, blushing +and confused, down that horrible ladder, +she wished desperately to herself that she had +never heard of house-cleaning.</p> + +<p>And what was her chagrin when the King of +France told her that the very reason he had left +France was to escape the house-cleaning in his +own palace. And he had walked right into the +same muss here in Pudding Lane! The King +of France laughed heartily as he told the Queen +of Hearts this, because he thought it was funny, +but it wasn’t funny to the Queen of Hearts—no +indeed—and she wrung her grimy hands in +despair.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> + +<p>The news spread quickly through Pudding +Lane that Old King Cole had slipped away, and +that the King of France had walked in suddenly +and caught the Queen in her dust cap. And +you may be quite sure that the people of Pudding +Lane soon gathered together to talk it +over.</p> + +<p>“We ought to Pay our Respects to him,” said +the candlestick-maker.</p> + +<p>They all agreed that they ought.</p> + +<p>“But how do you Pay Respects?” asked Mr. +Horner.</p> + +<p>The candlestick-maker, not having the least +idea, pretended to be too deep in thought to +hear.</p> + +<p>“It’s certain and sure the poor Queen can’t +entertain him for long,” spoke up Mrs. Grundy, +who had a small opinion of Her Majesty, as we +know.</p> + +<p>“She ain’t exactly the brilliant talker,” admitted +the candlestick-maker, who wasn’t exactly +the brilliant talker himself, when it came +to that.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Claus, looking quickly around, +gave a little cry, at which everybody jumped.</p> + +<p>“Where are the children?” she cried. “I +haven’t seen a child since early morn.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> + +<p>Great goodness, where were the children? +Pudding Lane had forgotten them completely +in the excitement of house-cleaning, foreign visitors, +and suchlike. But they were aroused to +action now, those mothers and fathers. They +ran around the village, calling and shouting, +until the Queen of Hearts and her regal guest +heard them and came down to see what the noise +was about. They joined the search party then, +and just as everybody had begun to think that +the children had been swallowed by the earth, +or eaten by bears, or something else terrible, +they came across them all, down behind Honeysuckle +Hill. And what do you suppose they +were doing?</p> + +<p>They were dancing around a Maypole, a beautiful, +flower-covered Maypole, which stood a little +tipsy in the ground, it is true, but which, nevertheless, +was one of the best Maypoles that +Pudding Lane had ever seen. They were dancing +and singing, every one of them, and what’s +more, there was Old King Cole himself, between +Mistress Mary and Polly Flinders, galloping +around that pole as if he had never heard of +gout. For once, Simple Simon had thought of +something really worth while. For this, you +see, had been his secret. He had suggested to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> +the children that they build their own Maypole, +and they had done it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="f5"> +<img src="images/fig5.jpg" alt="maypole"> +<p class="caption"><i>They were dancing around a Maypole, a beautiful, +flower-covered Maypole.  Page 76.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>Well, how surprised the parents were, to see +what a beautiful Maypole the children had +made. How surprised Old King Cole was to +see the King of France. And how surprised the +Queen of Hearts was to find her husband there +with the children. Indeed, everybody had +something to be surprised about, and so, of +course, it was a most exciting occasion.</p> + +<p>Then Old King Cole proposed that the mothers +and fathers, with the King of France and the +Queen, should join in the dance. Then the ladies +protested that they weren’t dressed fit and +proper. Then Old King Cole said “Nonsense”, +and finally it all ended up with everybody’s getting +in, and dancing and singing, and having a +perfectly riotous time.</p> + +<p>They had a Queen of the May too. Everybody +thought the Queen of Hearts ought to be +the May Queen, except the Queen of Hearts +herself, who was so tired of being a Queen, and +Mrs. Grundy, who wanted to be the May Queen +herself. So Mr. Spratt, who knew what to do +and when to do it, suggested that “our royal +and honored guest, the King of France, crown +the Queen of the May, whomsoever he would.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> + +<p>The King of France looked critically around +the circle of ladies. He looked at Mrs. Grundy +and passed her by. He looked at Humpty +Dumpty’s mother, and that little lady thought +she should faint from agitation. Then he looked +at the Old Woman, at Mrs. Horner, at Mrs. +Flinders, and passed them all by. After which, +to everybody’s intense excitement and joy, he +marched straight up to—Mrs. Claus, of all +people!</p> + +<p>Oh, dear, what a stir that created! And can +you imagine how Mrs. Claus herself felt at this +honor? Can you see her blushing and bobbing +and saying, “Yes, Your Majesty,” two dozen +times without stopping? Can you see her grow +glassy-eyed with embarrassment when, a moment +later, the King of France laid the crown +of roses on her topknot,—which, as she thought +to herself bitterly, hadn’t been crimped for +days? Can you see her sitting stiff as a ramrod +and burning with blushes, at the side of the +resplendent King of France, who was also King +of the May?</p> + +<p>Well, perhaps a May Queen should not be +goggle-eyed and red-faced as Mrs. Claus was. +Perhaps she should not gulp and wring her +hands as Mrs. Claus did. Perhaps she should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> +have had her hair crimped, and perhaps she +would have been better dressed in a gown without +those big patches under the arms. But Pudding +Lane was well satisfied with their May +Queen, and thought her most queenly and elegant. +So they danced around her, singing and +clapping, and never did a woman feel more +proud and happy than did Mrs. Claus on that +day. Only one person felt prouder and happier +than she, and that was Mr. Claus, who at all +times thought his wife a remarkable woman, but +in this new glory considered her too wonderful +for speech. And of course, Santa Claus and the +twins nearly burst with pride in their mother.</p> + +<p>As for the real Queen, she was having a lovely +time. It seemed so nice not to have to be regal +for once, and she skipped and frolicked between +Jack Spratt and Peter, Peter quite like an ordinary +woman. Peter, Peter, by the way, was +the only person there who was not quite happy. +For Peter’s coat never had been found in the +frenzy of his wife’s house-cleaning, and the poor +little man was therefore dancing there in his +shirt sleeves, to his great mortification and +shame.</p> + +<p>And when it was quite dark, and they couldn’t +dance any more, if the Queen of Hearts, in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> +spasm of generosity, didn’t invite them all up +to the palace for tarts and lemonade, a fine finish +for any May-Day party. After which the +King of France said he thought he ought to be +off. So he went away, and the people of Pudding +Lane went home at last, after a happy and +eventful day.</p> + +<p>And ever after that, while the mothers of Pudding +Lane cleaned house on the first of May, the +children and the men prepared the May-Day +party, which turned out to be just the way to +manage the first-of-May problem, so that everybody +should be happy. So Old King Cole never +ran away from the palace again, of course. +And by the way, Old King Cole never did +tell anybody that he had started out for France +that time when he ran away, for he didn’t +want to confess that he had gotten lost. But +wouldn’t it have been funny if he <i>had</i> gotten to +France only to find the French palace in the +same uproar as his own? There might be a +moral to that, something about home-keeping +hearts, or sticking to the ship, or some such, but +I guess we won’t bother with morals.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="f6"> +<img src="images/fig6.jpg" alt="present"> +<p class="caption"><i>On the same stagecoach from Dover came a present<br> +from the King of France to Mrs. Claus.<br> +Page 81.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c6">VI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">THE POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was about a month after the King of +France had been to visit Pudding Lane that +the stagecoach from Dover brought the +Jack of Hearts on a visit to Old King Cole and +the Queen of Hearts. As you remember, the +Jack had no use for Pudding Lane because it +wasn’t Paris, and nobody quite knew, indeed, +why he ever came to the little village which he +held in such scorn. Mrs. Grundy said he came +when he ran out of funds and wanted to live a +while on his relatives. Perhaps that was merely +Mrs. Grundy’s rather vulgar way of putting it, +and perhaps it was true. Anyway, he came and +upset the palace quite as much as usual with his +French and his fine manners and his old habit +of stealing tarts.</p> + +<p>But on the same stagecoach from Dover came +a present from the King of France to Mrs. +Claus, which was far more exciting to Pudding +Lane than the presence of the Jack of Hearts.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> +You remember, of course, what an impression +Mrs. Claus had made on His Majesty on May +Day, but did you ever dream he would go so far +as to send her a gift? Well, nobody else did, +least of all Mrs. Claus herself, who almost +fainted when the coach drove up to her house +and the driver climbed down and handed her a +large square wooden box.</p> + +<p>“Whatever—?” shrieked Mrs. Claus excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Great snakes!” ejaculated the baker, who +was standing by.</p> + +<p>“What could be in such a box?” inquired +Mrs. Claus of the world at large.</p> + +<p>“Fine French china,” guessed Mr. Claus.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus’s eyes glittered hopefully.</p> + +<p>“A lamp,” suggested the candlestick-maker, +who was there too.</p> + +<p>“A dog,” burst out Santa Claus.</p> + +<p>Santa was right. The King’s present was a +French poodle, as jolly a little puppy as Pudding +Lane had ever seen. It was surely very +kind of the King of France, and Mrs. Claus was +deeply sensible of the honor paid her by His +Majesty, but what did she want with a puppy +dog, she who had six children? as she rather +clumsily put it. Santa Claus and the twins<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> +begged so hard to keep him, however, that Mrs. +Claus said well, if they would feed him and +wash him and make him mind, he might stay.</p> + +<p>But the Clauses could not keep the poodle, +after all, and all because of Misery. For that +wretched cat began to act like a feline possessed +the minute he laid his green eyes on the newcomer, +and clawed and scratched and spat at +the poor little dog until he squealed with terror.</p> + +<p>After a few hours of this, Mrs. Claus shut +Misery up in the woodhouse and locked the poodle +in the kitchen and ran over to Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater’s.</p> + +<p>“But I thought Misery loved company,” +said Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, when the story was +finished.</p> + +<p>“Not when the company’s a dog,” said Mrs. +Claus. “And, oh, dear, Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, +I don’t know what we’ll do unless—unless—well, +unless you’ll take the dog off our hands as +a kind and neighborly act.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mrs. Claus,” objected Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, +“isn’t the pumpkin shell too small for a +poodle? There is really so little room here.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus looked around the pumpkin shell +appraisingly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p> + +<p>“It is a bit small; he’s a fat poodle.” Then +she brightened. “But perhaps the carpenter +would build you a kennel in the back garden, +Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, and you could keep the +poodle there.”</p> + +<p>And so it was decided, and that very afternoon +the carpenter built the kennel and the poodle +was brought over to the Pumpkin-Eaters.</p> + +<p>The Pumpkin-Eaters were rather nervous +over the prospect of keeping a poodle, but they +did consider it an honor to have a gift that the +King of France had sent, and so they met the +situation unflinchingly. Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater +fed the poodle with the rarest of titbits, beef-steak, +and cream, and mashed potatoes with +gravy, until the greedy little puppy was panting +and breathless. Mr. Pumpkin-Eater diddle-daddled +around the kennel, patting the poodle +and talking to him, and when Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater +wasn’t looking, he brought his own pillow +from their bed, so that the poodle should lie comfortably +in his new home. Yes, Mr. and Mrs. +Pumpkin-Eater were just as kind as people +could be to that poodle, and there was no earthly +excuse for his acting the way he did.</p> + +<p>But it soon became apparent that he was just +about the most troublesome poodle that ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> +lived. Not that he was really bad; you could +hardly say that of him. He just acted as if he +didn’t have any sense.</p> + +<p>It began after he had recovered his breath +from eating. Until then he was very quiet, except +for little grunts, just little happy, eating +grunts that nobody could have objected to. +Then, when he did get his breath, up he jumped +from his pillow, and the trouble began.</p> + +<p>The first thing he did was to run straight from +the kennel into the pumpkin shell and upset +every stick of the tiny furniture that the poor +Pumpkin-Eaters were so proud of. I don’t think +he meant to upset the furniture, but puppies are +not the most graceful beasts in the world, and so +as he waddled through the shell, which was +pretty small for him anyway, he just naturally +bumped into the tables and chairs and sent them +spinning.</p> + +<p>How agitated Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater was then.</p> + +<p>“Shush!” she called imperiously. “Shoo! +Get out! Scat!” She said everything she +could think of, and still the puppy kept running +around, knocking over more things, until he +finally bumped into Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater and +knocked her over too! Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater was +extremely small, as you know, and I suppose it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> +didn’t take much to upset her. She screamed +weakly as she hit the floor, at which Mr. Pumpkin-Eater +came running in from the garden.</p> + +<p>“Hey!” called out Mr. Pumpkin-Eater angrily +to the poodle. Then he shushed and +shooed and scatted at the poodle, but the blessed +dog just jumped up against him as if he had +done something praiseworthy, and the next +thing they all knew, Mr. Pumpkin-Eater was +flat on his back too, bellowing for help, as the +poodle ran excitedly about, yelping with joy.</p> + +<p>The neighbors came running in to help, the +Clauses, the butcher, Mrs. Dumpty (who was +sure somebody else must have fallen off the +wall), the Old Woman, Mr. Horner, Mr. and +Mrs. Flinders, all of them. Of course, they +didn’t all go inside the shell, for there wasn’t +room. But Mr. Horner did and gallantly picked +up the prostrate Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, and the +butcher squeezed his way in and lifted Mr. +Pumpkin-Eater to his feet. Then Mr. Pumpkin-Eater +made a dive for the poodle, who by +that time was on the bed, chewing up Mrs. +Pumpkin-Eater’s best lace spread. The puppy, +still thinking it all the greatest joke in the +world, ran out of the shell into the garden and +jumped right up into the Old Woman’s arms,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> +squealing as happily as if he had found an old +friend.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the Old Woman, “here he is.”</p> + +<p>“Put him in the kennel!” cried everybody.</p> + +<p>The Old Woman started for the kennel with +the puppy wriggling delightedly in her arms—he +still thought it all a lovely lark—and maybe +all would have been well then, if a certain perky +little sparrow had not chosen that particular +moment in which to poke his nose into the +kennel.</p> + +<p>He did choose that moment, however, and so +the tragedy happened. The sparrow was halfway +into the kennel, pecking at some toothsome +crumbs, when the poodle suddenly leaped from +the Old Woman’s arms full on the back and tail +of the unsuspecting little bird. A cry of joy +from the poodle, a shower of feathers, then out +backed the poor sparrow, tottering and surprised, +with his tail nipped off.</p> + +<p>How indignant Pudding Lane was at that! +How they all scolded the poodle and sympathized +with the sparrow. Sparrows until then +had not had very good standing in the village, +as perhaps they have not in yours, but this calamity +made the people forget their old grievances +against the <i>passeres</i> (that’s the sparrow’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> +dress-up name) and they could only feel sorry +now for the particular <i>passer</i>, oh, very sorry. +True, the sparrow, though he staggered uncertainly +around and blinked in amazement, did not +act as if he were in pain. But if you’re used to +tails, of course you miss them, and the sparrow’s +had disappeared so suddenly.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the poodle was acting just as absurdly +as before. He was running and rolling +and yapping in a perfectly abandoned way, and +the more the Old Woman and the butcher and +all the rest of them scolded him, ordered him +down and bade him be quiet, the more he cut +up. It was almost as if he were a mad dog, and +yet you could see, just by looking at him, that +he was innocent as could be, that he didn’t know +in the least he was doing wrong. Puppies don’t +naturally have morals, you know, and this one +apparently hadn’t been taught any.</p> + +<p>Well, things finally got to such a pitch that +Mr. Pumpkin-Eater said firmly that he wouldn’t +have such a beast about any more, and Mrs. +Claus declared she wouldn’t have him either, +even if he were a royal poodle straight from the +King of France. They decided that the only +thing to do was to put the poodle back in the +box and send him home to Paris.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> + +<p>“But the King!” remonstrated Mrs. Flinders.</p> + +<p>“I know,” said Mrs. Claus. “But Pudding +Lane would be in ruins if we let this dog +stay.”</p> + +<p>“But nobody ever sends presents back to a +king,” chimed in Mrs. Grundy.</p> + +<p>“Well, I know somebody that’s a-going to,” +said Mrs. Claus stubbornly.</p> + +<p>“He might throw you in prison or something,” +suggested Mrs. Grundy.</p> + +<p>At which Mrs. Claus turned white, but stood +her ground: she’d have no dog that threatened +the future happiness and safety of Pudding +Lane.</p> + +<p>Just then who should come dawdling down +Pudding Lane but the Jack of Hearts, airy as +usual? When he saw the commotion in the +Pumpkin-Eaters’ garden, he stepped in. The +people curtseyed obediently; they had manners, +even though they didn’t like the Jack. Then +they told him what was the matter.</p> + +<p>“And he won’t do a thing you tell him to!” +concluded Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater. “I never saw +such a disobedient dog.”</p> + +<p>At that, the poodle leaped up against Mrs. +Pumpkin-Eater’s skirts.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span></p> + +<p>“Down!” she commanded.</p> + +<p>He barked joyously and leaped the higher.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” she ordered.</p> + +<p>But he didn’t down and he didn’t hush.</p> + +<p>“There!” exclaimed Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater +exasperatedly to the Jack. “You see, he +doesn’t mind a single thing.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he doesn’t,” replied the Jack of +Hearts quietly.</p> + +<p>“Of course!” repeated Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater. +“I don’t see any ‘of course’ about it.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the Jack of Hearts with his best +sneer, “I suppose you don’t. But didn’t you +say the poodle was from France?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater. +She did wish the obnoxious fellow would go +away and stop interfering.</p> + +<p>“And haven’t you been talking to this French +poodle in English?” he demanded further.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Well—oh, I see,” cried Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater +suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” murmured everybody else. “Of +course!”</p> + +<p>The dog just then sprang higher against the +wee Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater and began to lick her +face. She cast a beseeching look at the Jack.</p> + +<p>“<i>Va te coucher!</i>” commanded that fine fellow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> +to the dog. The poodle instantly quieted +down at Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater’s feet and began +to whine a little.</p> + +<p>“<i>Veux-tu te taire!</i>” he demanded further, +and the whining stopped at once.</p> + +<p>The Jack of Hearts looked at the abashed +Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater and the rest of the Pudding +Laners, who stood there stupefied.</p> + +<p>“I guess you wouldn’t understand it either, +if somebody talked to you in another language,” +he said crushingly, and walked indolently away, +swinging his cane.</p> + +<p>The people of Pudding Lane could have +kicked themselves for their stupidity, they said. +Of course, a French poodle straight from Paris +could not understand English. Why had they +supposed that he could? And they were disgusted +still more to have been humiliated by the +disagreeable Jack of Hearts.</p> + +<p>But kicking themselves wouldn’t do any good +now. There was only one thing left to do, and +that was to present the poodle to the Jack, +whether they wanted to or not, for Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater +couldn’t learn French for any dog. +And if she could have, she wouldn’t have, for +Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater had an idea that foreign +languages were an indulgence, like mince pie at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> +night or two dresses in one year, and she +wouldn’t have yielded to it for anything.</p> + +<p>So that’s what they did. They handed the +puppy over to the Jack of Hearts, who could +speak to him in his native tongue and make him +mind like an angel.</p> + +<p>As for the sparrow, he soon recovered; that is, +he learned to walk as smartly and perkily as +ever without a tail; he even learned to fly without +it, which, as any bird will tell you, is quite +a feat. He looked funny, with his swelled-out +chest and airy manners and poor little chopped-off +stumpy back view. But the Pumpkin-Eaters +didn’t care how he looked, for he just exactly +fitted the pumpkin shell now and at last +they had a pet, did the Pumpkin-Eaters, just exactly +suited to their needs. So that if you ever +pass by the pumpkin shell and look in at the +window, you’ll see him there. But if he turns +his back, don’t laugh at the poor little fellow. +It might hurt his feelings. He’s never seen his +back and doesn’t know how funny he looks.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c7">VII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">BO-PEEP FINDS OUT HOW A DUTCH UNCLE<br> +TALKS</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">M</span>R. BO-PEEP came home to dinner one +hot July day to find his daughter not +there.</p> + +<p>“Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep and +doesn’t know where to find them,” explained +his wife.</p> + +<p>“Oh, leave them alone and they’ll come home +and bring their tails behind them,” answered +Mr. Bo-Peep, sitting down to his dinner.</p> + +<p>“That’s what I told her,” said Mrs. Bo-Peep, +“but you know how she is.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know how she is,” sighed Mr. Bo-Peep.</p> + +<p>And indeed he did, as did everybody else in +Pudding Lane, for hardly a week went by in +that village that Little Bo-Peep did not lose her +sheep. It was really a wonder that she bothered +with sheep at all, for certainly she had +more trouble with her flock than any other shepherdess +did in the whole world. And to-day they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> +were lost again, and, as usual, Little Bo-Peep +was hunting for them.</p> + +<p>She walked along Pinafore Pike and passed +the Blues’ house, where she saw Little Boy Blue +taking his customary nap under the haystack. +She came to the pickled pepper field where Peter +Piper was industriously picking his peck. She +met Old Mother Hubbard’s dog sniffing around +a tree trunk.</p> + +<p>But although Little Bo-Peep saw these familiar +Pudding Lane scenes, not a woolly strand +did she see of her sheep until, just as she was +about to give up in despair, she turned a corner +and plump! she bumped into the whole flock of +them running down the road toward Pudding +Lane as fast as they could run.</p> + +<p>But who was that driving them and scolding +them? A strange-looking creature with great +billowing trousers and a little blue jacket and +the rosiest—though the crossest—face you +ever saw.</p> + +<p>“Hey!” called Bo-Peep.</p> + +<p>The rosy-faced man looked up, scowling.</p> + +<p>“Hey!” he replied. “Stop!” he commanded +the sheep. “Stop this minute, you +abominable wretches, you stupid beasts, you—”</p> + +<p>“My goodness!” gasped Bo-Peep. “How<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> +dare you talk to my sheep like that? How—”</p> + +<p>“Look here,” interrupted the rosy-faced man. +“You be still. You don’t know who I am.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’re not very polite, whoever you +are,” replied Bo-Peep indignantly. “You’re +certainly not a gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“I am a gentleman!” shouted the man. +“And if you were a lady, you’d know a gentleman +when you saw one. Haven’t I got on a +gentleman’s clothes? Haven’t I got a gentleman’s +haircut?” He bent down his head and +swept off his hat to show her. “Well, then, I +am a gentleman. But don’t you wish you knew +me?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t,” replied Little Bo-Peep +more softly. For after all, she thought to herself, +she need not lose her temper just because +he did. “No, sir, I don’t like you very much, +really, and I’m going home now with my sheep.” +Then she added, “But I do thank you, sir, for +bringing my sheep back. How did you do it? +They’re usually very disobedient.”</p> + +<p>“How did I do it?” repeated the rosy-cheeked +man. “Why, just by talking to them +like a Dutch Uncle. For that’s who I am, my +fine young lady. I am the Dutch Uncle, you +know.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> + +<p>So he was the Dutch Uncle of whom Little +Bo-Peep and all the other children of Pudding +Lane had heard so much, the cross old fellow +who scolded everybody he knew, even those +people whom he loved the best. Bo-Peep had +never seen him before, for the Dutch Uncle had +not been to Pudding Lane since many years ago, +before Mr. and Mrs. Bo-Peep had been married, +’way back there when the Queen of Hearts was +a bride and Humpty Dumpty was a baby. But +the people of Pudding Lane, often, oh, very +often, referred to the Dutch Uncle; and now +here he was, and it was no wonder Bo-Peep +stared.</p> + +<p>“Whose uncle are you, sir?” she asked in +her gentlest tones.</p> + +<p>Questions are supposed to be rude, but if you +ask them gently, they somehow don’t sound +rude, Bo-Peep had found out.</p> + +<p>“Everybody’s, of course!” replied the Dutch +Uncle. “My goodness, you are an ignorant +girl. Now if your parents would only put you +in my charge—”</p> + +<p>Oh, dear, he was off again! But he finally +stopped, so Bo-Peep tried another question.</p> + +<p>“And where is the Dutch Aunt?”</p> + +<p>“Dutch Aunt!” exclaimed the Dutch Uncle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> +scornfully. “She asks me where the Dutch +Aunt is! There isn’t any Dutch Aunt. Didn’t +you know that?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I didn’t,” replied Little Bo-Peep. +“There ought to be one, you know. Uncles always +do have aunts.”</p> + +<p>She didn’t mean that exactly, but you know +and the Dutch Uncle knew what she meant. +And now, strangely enough, the Dutch Uncle +stopped frowning at her and smiled.</p> + +<p>“I do indeed need a Dutch Aunt,” he agreed. +“In fact, that’s just what I’ve come to Pudding +Lane for, Bo-Peep, to find a Dutch Aunt.”</p> + +<p>“To take her away from Pudding Lane and +back to Dutchland?” asked Bo-Peep.</p> + +<p>“Dutchland!” laughed the Dutch Uncle. +“Oh, dear, Bo-Peep, you are an ignoramus.”</p> + +<p>“Holland, I mean,” Little Bo-Peep corrected +herself.</p> + +<p>Only she did think to herself that Dutchland +was a better name for it, after all, than Holland. +And she was thinking, too, what an exceedingly +pleasant fellow the Dutch Uncle was +when he forgot to talk like a Dutch Uncle.</p> + +<p>Which is exactly what the people of Pudding +Lane had always said about him; that if only +he hadn’t been such an old busybody, attending<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> +to everybody’s affairs, he would have been the +nicest uncle in the world.</p> + +<p>The Dutch Uncle got a tremendous ovation +when he and Bo-Peep got back to Pudding Lane +with the sheep a few minutes later. At least +“ovation” is what the Town Crier called it. +Anyway, they made a big fuss over the Dutch +Uncle, for they loved the old fellow, even if +they did call him names, and they were glad to +see him after all these years.</p> + +<p>As for the Dutch Uncle himself, he was overjoyed +to see his old favorites, and he greeted +and scolded them all in the most affectionate +manner possible.</p> + +<p>“As I live and breathe, Mrs. Dumpty!” he +exclaimed, catching sight of that fat little lady. +“How glad I am to see you. But you ought,” +here he frowned in the midst of his rosy smile, +“you ought to take Humpty to London, you +know, to consult the great doctors there.”</p> + +<p>“And there’s Mr. Claus! Baker, baker, why +will you waste your talents in Pudding Lane +when you might easily be Assistant Chief Currant +Bun Maker to the Lord Mayor of London +himself?”</p> + +<p>(You would have thought he was the British +Uncle the way he talked about London.)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p> + +<p>“Ah, Mrs. Grundy!” He bowed low and +kissed that lady’s hand. “How many moons +has it been since I have had this privilege? But +that long face of yours won’t do, my dear old +friend. Really, you ought to cheer up, you +know.”</p> + +<p>He next spied a young girl.</p> + +<p>“Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary!” he cried +delightedly. “How does your garden grow? +You were just a baby when I saw you last. But +you must mend your ways, Mistress Mary. Contrary +girls, you know—”</p> + +<p>And so he went the rounds. He chided Simple +Simon for not trying to improve his wits. +He urged Little Miss Muffett to give up her diet +and try green vegetables. He insisted that the +Old Woman abandon her Shoe and go to live +in a house like other respectable folk. And he +even rebuked Old King Cole as being far too +merry for the dignity of his position.</p> + +<p>Yes, he was just the same. Queer, wasn’t it? +But then everybody is queer in one way or another, +and the Dutch Uncle really did have the +softest heart in the world under his little blue +jacket, as the people of Pudding Lane had always +suspected and now found out that very +day.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> + +<p>For suddenly the Dutch Uncle whirled +around and demanded:</p> + +<p>“And where is pretty Dolly Daffy-Dill?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty Dolly Daffy-Dill?” repeated everybody, +and then they all looked at each other.</p> + +<p>Could it be possible that the Dutch Uncle believed +that Dolly Daffy-Dill was still the same +girl he had known so many years ago? Did he +not know that she had grown older, just as everybody +else had? Had he not heard how crabbed +she had become, so crabbed, indeed, that she +wasn’t even called Dolly any more, but Cross-Patch, +which suited her much better?</p> + +<p>It seemed impossible that the Dutch Uncle +did not know all these things, but he didn’t, apparently, +so Mr. Horner, the father of Jack, +tried to explain.</p> + +<p>“She’s older now, you understand,” he said. +“And we call her—Cross-Patch.”</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Cross-Patch, draw the latch,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sit by the fire and spin,”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>quoted Mrs. Grundy.</p> + +<p>Oh, dear, it was too bad that the Dutch Uncle +had to find out all this about Dolly, and they +all felt very sympathetic. But was the Dutch +Uncle distressed? No, indeed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> + +<p>“Of course, she’s older!” he exclaimed. “I +had forgotten that, but it’s all the better. And +you say she’s cross? Hurray, what a fine Dutch +Aunt she’ll make!”</p> + +<p>With which, to everybody’s astonishment, the +Dutch Uncle hastened to old Cross-Patch’s +house, the same little house where he used to +call on her when she was a girl and he a dashing +young blade.</p> + +<p>And so his courtship commenced, the strangest +courtship that Pudding Lane had ever seen. +Isn’t it queer that a cranky old woman like Cross-Patch +should have inspired the tender passion +in the hearts of such hosts of men? First there +was the candlestick-maker and now here was the +Dutch Uncle. Well, that’s love, you know, and +there’s no doing anything about it.</p> + +<p>But something else happened in Pudding +Lane that quickly drove the Dutch Uncle’s love +affair out of everybody’s thoughts. It was really +something so terrible and so sad that nobody +would have ever dreamed it <i>could</i> happen. And +this is what it was: Bo-Peep’s sheep came home +one day, after a long absence, and they didn’t +have their tails behind them!</p> + +<p>Oh, so sad! So sad!</p> + +<p>And how Bo-Peep cried, how the lambs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> +bleated, how Mr. Bo-Peep hunted for the tails, +how doleful Old King Cole looked, how frightened +everybody was. But although Little Bo-Peep +wept and Mr. Bo-Peep hunted and Old +King Cole worried himself sick, the missing tails +were not returned to their owners and King +Cole finally said that everybody, every single +person, would have to go out on a hunt for them. +He even made a speech about it.</p> + +<p>“What is a sheep without a tail?” he asked +the assemblage.</p> + +<p>“Nothing!” he answered himself triumphantly, +which wasn’t strictly true, although it +made a profound impression on his hearers.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, what is a whole flock of sheep +without a tail?” he finished up in grand climax.</p> + +<p>And so, spurred on by Old King Cole’s oratory, +all of Pudding Lane started on the hunt. +It did seem as if they were always searching for +something in that town. Once it was Santa +Claus, once it was the Pied Piper, ganders, cats, +and now it was tails.</p> + +<p>I said all of Pudding Lane went on the hunt, +but I forgot the Dutch Uncle, who was sitting +with Cross-Patch in her back garden, sipping a +cup of tea. And he must have been talking awfully +loud and drinking tea awfully hard, for he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> +didn’t seem to hear a bit of the commotion when +the whole town departed on its quest.</p> + +<p>But Cross-Patch had sharp ears and she knew +what was up, and she said to her gallant +caller:</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you help a body who’s in trouble +instead of fiddling with a teacup?”</p> + +<p>The Dutch Uncle looked at her amazed, for he +had just been telling her what a sweet creature +she was and her remark sounded rather +abrupt.</p> + +<p>“What is it, my love?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I said why don’t you go out and help a +body? Why don’t you join in the search for the +tails of the sheep?”</p> + +<p>The Dutch Uncle jumped up, ashamed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I ought to help, I know. I am very fond +of Little Bo-Beep and feel so sorry for her in her +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Then go out and show your sympathy,” replied +the Dutch Uncle’s lady love grimly. “I’d +go myself if I weren’t so old and crippled.”</p> + +<p>“Old, love!” repeated the Dutch Uncle playfully. +“Crippled!”</p> + +<p>“Go on to your tails,” replied Cross-Patch +stolidly.</p> + +<p>The Dutch Uncle, looking crestfallen, ceased<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> +his gestures, picked up his hat and started for +the gate. Indeed, he looked so wretched that +Cross-Patch relented a bit.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” she called after him. “If you +find the tails, Dutch Uncle, I might—in fact I +will—consider becoming the Dutch Aunt.”</p> + +<p>The Dutch Uncle looked at her beaming, yet +almost unbelieving.</p> + +<p>“Wonderful woman!” he exclaimed rapturously. +“Glorious—”</p> + +<p>“Will you get on to those tails?” cried Cross-Patch, +exasperated.</p> + +<p>She hated foolishness, did Cross-Patch, and +the Dutch Uncle was so full of it. She often +wished that he would scold her as he did everybody +else. Being cross herself, she would have +enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>When the Dutch Uncle got into the street, he +found that every single person was gone. All +the houses and shops were closed. Even the +palace at the top of the hill looked deserted.</p> + +<p>But the Dutch Uncle could hear a little noise +from somewhere or other, and as he listened intently, +he decided that it must be the bleating of +those poor little sheep down in Bo-Peep’s +meadow. He then went down to the meadow +and there they were, bleating pitifully, and there +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>was Bo-Peep too, under a tree and crying as if +her heart would break.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="f7"> +<img src="images/fig7.jpg" alt="sheep"> +<p class="caption"><i>“Look here,” he said to the black sheep. “You’re<br> +responsible for all this.”  Page 105.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>She raised herself up when she heard the +Dutch Uncle’s step and wiped her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Do you hear them bleating?” she asked him.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the Dutch Uncle, “I do.”</p> + +<p>The Dutch Uncle then made a discovery; the +black sheep of the flock was not bleating at all, +but was frisking around as merrily as could be, +watching the others with wicked glee out of the +corner of his eye. The Dutch Uncle watched +him a moment and then, without a word to Little +Bo-Peep, he marched straight up to that black +sheep, took hold of his pink ribbon collar and +looked him sternly in the eye. The sheep +squirmed a little and tried to brave it out, but +the Dutch Uncle was too much for him, so he +squirmed a great deal more and dropped his eyes +in the most ashamed way.</p> + +<p>Whereupon the Dutch Uncle <i>did</i> give him a +dose of his best Dutch Uncle talk—such a dose!</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said to the black sheep. +“You’re responsible for all this. You know exactly +where those tails are, and you’ve known +all along, and now right this minute you’re going +to take Little Bo-Peep and me and show us +where they are. You are a wicked, wicked sheep,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> +you are, but we’ve got you this time, you wretch, +you—” Well, he couldn’t think of anything +worse than a wretch, so he stopped with that, and +waited for the black sheep to do something.</p> + +<p>And the black sheep did something, right +enough. He turned around and walked off, the +Dutch Uncle and Little Bo-Peep behind him, +and he kept on walking until at last they came to +a wood on the very edge of which stood a tree. +And there the black sheep stopped.</p> + +<p>“What’s this?” asked the Dutch Uncle.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” answered Little Bo-Peep.</p> + +<p>Then the sheep raised his eyes, the Dutch +Uncle and Bo-Peep raised theirs, and there on a +branch what should they see but ten little white +tails all in a row, hanging like white flowers +among the green leaves, with one little black one +in the middle!</p> + +<p>“Oh!” shrieked Little Bo-Peep joyfully.</p> + +<p>“Ah-ha!” exclaimed the Dutch Uncle.</p> + +<p>And the next thing the tails knew, they were +being carried back to the sheep in the meadow +at Pudding Lane.</p> + +<p>Everybody was overjoyed when it was known +that Little Bo-Peep had found her sheep’s tails, +but of course, the next problem was to get them +back on the sheep. The carpenter was all for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> +tacking them on, though he quickly took back +his suggestion when he remembered that it was +sheep they were talking about, not houses or +boards. Jack-of-All-Trades offered to glue them +neatly back in their places, and the cobbler said +that if sewing were necessary, he would gladly +render his services.</p> + +<p>The cobbler’s idea was considered a good one, +for the great London doctors were sewing people +now, and if it were good for people, it would +certainly do for sheep. So they called Doctor +Foster, who had just got back from Gloucester, +and asked his advice about the sewing.</p> + +<p>“No, no, <i>no</i>!” said Doctor Foster. “Doctors +don’t sew things on, they just sew things up. +But if you just tie these tails to the sheep, they’ll +grow back as nicely as you please.”</p> + +<p>So that’s what they did, and the tails did grow +back, just as he had said, as nicely as you please. +Only one looked a little different from its old +self, and that was the black sheep’s, which was +rather to one side and at a rakish angle. But +then the black sheep deserved it, for all the trouble +he had caused. Because the Dutch Uncle +thought that the black sheep not only knew +where the tails were all the time, but that he +himself made the sheep lose their tails. I don’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> +see how he could have, really. I think the tails +just dropped off. Still, the Dutch Uncle may be +right. We’ll never know, for sheep can’t talk, +and the black sheep wouldn’t tell if he could. +Anyway, it all came out all right.</p> + +<p>All but one thing and that concerns the poor +Dutch Uncle, who didn’t get his Cross-Patch, +after all. For when he went back to her in high +glee, told her about the tails, and began calling +her high-sounding names, Cross-Patch suddenly +became fifty times crosser than she had ever been +before, told him she couldn’t stand his sugarish +nonsense and left the room.</p> + +<p>And that was the end of the Dutch Uncle’s +romance. All might have been different if he +had only talked to Cross-Patch like a Dutch +Uncle, but that’s so often the way with gentlemen +in love; they become such different creatures. +However, he did turn on Cross-Patch +just as she was leaving the room, and then he +certainly did talk to her like a Dutch Uncle, for +he was very angry and disappointed.</p> + +<p>Too late, though. Cross-Patch drew the latch, +sat down to spin and never for a second regretted +her action. She was even glad the old bother +was gone.</p> + +<p>Poor Dutch Uncle, having to go back to Holland<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> +without the Dutch Aunt of his dreams. +Everybody felt sorry for him, and especially did +Little Bo-Peep, who had come to love him so +much.</p> + +<p>It was Little Bo-Peep who walked with him +down the road when he set out that day for Banbury +Cross. They said good-by and shook hands. +The Dutch Uncle had tears in his eyes and Bo-Peep +was sniffling right out.</p> + +<p>But the Dutch Uncle soon came to himself.</p> + +<p>“Look here, you shouldn’t have come so far +with me. The sheep will get lost and your +mother will be worried. Go straight home, you +naughty child.”</p> + +<p>But Bo-Peep only smiled at him.</p> + +<p>“You’re an old fraud,” she told the Dutch +Uncle.</p> + +<p>And then it was that the Dutch Uncle knew +that she had found him out, this Little Bo-Peep +of Pudding Lane. Yet he wouldn’t give in, +even then.</p> + +<p>“Go straight home, I tell you!”</p> + +<p>But he kissed her, and then was gone.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c8">VIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">THE SAND MAN’S SCARE</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">M</span>RS. BLUE was busy in her kitchen one +August morning when she heard +a racket in the cornfield.</p> + +<p>“At it again,” she murmured and ran out to +the side fence.</p> + +<p>“Little Boy Blue,” she called loudly, “come +blow your horn. The sheep’s in the meadow, +the cow’s in the corn.”</p> + +<p>No answer from the little boy, lying under a +near-by haystack. Mrs. Blue opened her mouth +to call again when up popped Farmer Tom from +behind the barn. Farmer Tom was the Blues’ +neighbor, and it was Farmer Tom’s cornfield that +the cow was in.</p> + +<p>“Where’s the boy that looks after the sheep?” +demanded the farmer.</p> + +<p>“He’s under the haystack fast asleep,” admitted +poor Mrs. Blue.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="f8"> +<img src="images/fig8.jpg" alt="cow"> +<p class="caption"><i>What could Mrs. Blue do? She could do nothing<br> +but climb the fence, skirts and all.  Page 111.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>Farmer Tom snorted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, he must get them animals out of my +corn,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Blue nervously, +and then called again, “<span class="allsmcap">LITTLE BOY BLUE!</span>” so +loudly that you would have thought any fellow +might have waked up. Little Boy Blue did almost +wake up too. He grunted, stirred, rubbed +his eyes, but then if he didn’t curl down deeper +in the hay and go straight back to sleep.</p> + +<p>What could Mrs. Blue do? She could do +nothing but climb the fence, skirts and all—for +the gate was a long way off—and go after +Little Boy Blue, so that’s what she did. She +climbed the fence, marched over to the haystack +and shook—yes, shook—her sleeping son until +at last he was awake. Then he scuttled away +and led the sheep and cow into the pasture +where they belonged.</p> + +<p>This was the way things were always going +with the Blues. Boy Blue was forever falling +asleep, the cows were forever getting in the corn, +Farmer Tom was always scolding and fussing +and Mrs. Blue was always worrying. Of course, +it was worse in summer, when the warm air was +drowsy and the haystack was soft and inviting. +But even in winter it was bad enough, for then +Little Boy Blue went to sleep over his books,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> +over his supper, over his games. He had actually +been caught at it during an exciting game +of Hide-and-Go-Seek, when he had hidden behind +the hedge in Mistress Mary’s garden and +then promptly gone to sleep there.</p> + +<p>But you cannot sleep all of the time, even if +you’re a Little Boy Blue, and so it was that +Little Boy Blue found that he was not sleeping +very well of nights, because he slept all day. It +was a dull business too, lying awake in the dead +of the night, with nothing to see except perhaps +a streak of moonlight or the shadow of the pear +tree, nothing to hear except the dickery, dickery, +dock, of the kitchen clock, nothing to do but +wait for daylight to come.</p> + +<p>And so on this same night, as usual, Little +Boy Blue lay stark awake, even starker awake +than he sometimes was, for his naps had been +more frequent and longer that day. It was early +still, about eight o’clock, and although Little +Boy Blue had been in bed only half an hour, +it seemed to him that he had been there exactly +one hundred years, he was so tired of it.</p> + +<p>He twisted and turned and rolled and kicked. +He propped himself up on his elbows and stared +up at the stars: “Twinkle, twinkle, little star, +how I wonder what you are,” and then he almost<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> +did go to sleep wondering just exactly what stars +were—fire or silver or flowers or what. Little +Boy Blue had not studied astronomy yet. But +just as he almost fell asleep, clink, clank came +a noise, and he came to with a jerk. What was +that noise? It sounded like a milk pail, clink, +clank. He listened hard, but no further sound +came. He squirmed and turned some more. +Finally he sat up straight in bed.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to get up,” he said to himself. +“Right up.”</p> + +<p>Which he did. He groped in the dim light for +his clothes and put them on—his blue suit, his +shoes and stockings, his favorite blue cap with +the red button on top. Then he tiptoed softly +out of his room, through the kitchen and into the +yard.</p> + +<p>Oh, Little Boy Blue, what would your mother +say if she knew you were not in bed and asleep? +What would your father say if somebody should +tell him that his little boy was out in the middle +of the night like this, walking around? But +they didn’t know it, those two good souls nodding +by their candle in the second-best parlor, +which is probably a good thing, as it would have +distressed them. Not that Little Boy Blue +meant the least harm in the world. He had just<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> +thought he’d take “a bit of a turn” and try that +way to get sleepy. He had heard the candlestick-maker +say once that he always took “a bit +of a turn” before he went to bed, which made +him sleep like a top. As if tops did sleep—the +funny old candlestick-maker.</p> + +<p>Little Boy Blue had hardly taken three steps +when clink, clank, his foot bumped against something +which made that same noise he had heard +a few moments before in bed. He stooped down. +It looked like a bucket, but it wasn’t one of his +mother’s milk pails. What could it be? He put +his hands into it. There was something inside +that felt gritty and sticky and damp. He looked +closer and felt it again. It was sand.</p> + +<p>But what on earth was a bucket of sand doing +on the Blues’ side stoop, and who in the world +had left it there? Little Boy Blue did not know. +Perhaps his father had forgotten it, he thought. +Perhaps Farmer Tom had put it there. He and +Mr. Blue were always lending each other things—bags +of gravel, baskets of chips, nails and +bridles and chicken feed.</p> + +<p>Well, whatever it was, this was not the place +for it, Little Boy Blue knew that. So he picked +it up and carried it back to the tool house, and +there he put it in a corner out of harm’s way, like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> +the careful little boy that he was. And then +he went away to take his bit of a turn.</p> + +<p>Little did Boy Blue know what he had really +done by hiding that bucket of sand, though the +fact was that he had done something epoch-making +in Pudding Lane. Epoch-making is a big +word, but then Little Boy Blue had done a big +thing. For whom do you suppose that sand belonged +to?</p> + +<p>It belonged to the Sand Man, that fellow who +slips along by our windows at night, throws his +handfuls of sand in our eyes and makes us feel +heavy in our eyelids and sleepy all over. He +had left his sand for the least little while on the +Blues’ side stoop, while he went up to the palace +to put the King and Queen to sleep, and now +Boy Blue had hidden it. Think of it! The +Sand Man without his sand!</p> + +<p>Do you wonder that when he came back, he +wrung his sandy hands and beat his breast in +frenzied despair? Do you wonder that he trembled +all over? Poor Sand Man! It did look bad +for him. Never before had he failed to do his +work. Every single night, for years and years +and years, he had gone on his circuit from house +to house, and put folks to sleep, first the children, +then the grandfathers, and after that, sometimes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> +quite late, the mothers and fathers and big sisters +in the parlor.</p> + +<p>And now on this night, his sand was gone, +everybody would stay wide awake, and goodness +knows what angry message Old King Cole +would send him. That merry old soul might +even deprive him of his job, and then what would +he do for a living, and what would the Sand +Woman do, and all the little Sand Children? +It was a sad thought, and the Sand Man shuddered +as he stood there in the shadow of the +Blues’ house, wondering what to do next.</p> + +<p>As Little Boy Blue walked down Pudding +Lane, he wondered why the Shoe was lighted +up so brilliantly, and as he passed the Dumpties’ +he thought it strange indeed that the candle in +Humpty’s room was still burning. It was late. +What should children be doing awake at such an +hour? They hadn’t slept all day to make them +wakeful, like Boy Blue himself. The Clauses’ +house was brightly lighted too, and he could see +the Flinderses’ fine new lamp from London +burning gayly in Polly’s room.</p> + +<p>Now, of course, we know exactly what was +happening, even though Little Boy Blue did not. +We know and the Sand Man knew, but Little +Boy Blue did not know, and certainly the distracted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> +mothers of Pudding Lane did not know +what was the matter with their children that +night. And how exasperated they were too, +those mothers.</p> + +<p>“What does <i>ail</i> you, Santa Claus?” asked his +mother of that little boy, who was sitting up in +bed with not a sign of sleep about him.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” answered Santa Claus, much +puzzled himself. “Only I just can’t sleep, and +I don’t believe I ever will sleep again.”</p> + +<p>“Mercy on us!” breathed Mrs. Claus fearfully.</p> + +<p>“Humpty, darling, are you ill?” asked Mrs. +Dumpty anxiously. “You’ve never been wakeful +like this before.”</p> + +<p>“No, not ill, just wide awake,” answered +Humpty.</p> + +<p>“Children, will you get into your beds and +go to sleep?” demanded the Old Woman Who +Lived in a Shoe, beside herself with impatience +at all these dozens of children scampering around +the Shoe at the impossible hour of nine o’clock.</p> + +<p>“But we’re not a bit sleepy,” spoke up Judy.</p> + +<p>“Not a single bit!” echoed Polly and Jumbo +and Jocko and all the rest.</p> + +<p>That was the way it was in every house in +Pudding Lane that night. The mothers tried<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> +spanking, and it didn’t work. Spanking really +doesn’t make you sleepy, though sometimes it +makes you try harder to get sleepy. They tried +bread and milk. They tried lullabies. They +tried everything, and still the children of Pudding +Lane were as wide awake as could be +until finally, when they all begged their mothers +to let them go out and play, those frantic +women, wondering what Old King Cole +would say to such a performance, consented. +And with a whoop loud enough to be heard in +Banbury Cross, the children of Pudding Lane +rushed outdoors for a glorious romp in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>What a night that was! Everybody was up, +even Humpty Dumpty, looking on from his +window. Little Boy Blue had joined them, of +course. Polly Flinders, Little Bo-Peep, all the +Old Woman’s children, Jack Horner—not a +single child in Pudding Lane was missing, for +even that baby, The Little Girl Who Had a +Little Curl, was brought out and dumped in the +midst of the fun. You know her. She was only +three, but already she was a well-known character +in the village. A changeable child. One +minute she would be very good indeed, and the +next she would be—simply horrid. But she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> +was very pretty, and she had a little curl right +down in the middle of her forehead.</p> + +<p>Unless you have played outdoors in the moonlight +yourself, you can never imagine how much +fun it is. There’s something about it that makes +mere playing in the daylight and sunshine seem +very ordinary. Perhaps it’s the shadows. +You’re always mistaking them for something +else, which is very funny. Little Bo-Peep actually +tagged the shadow of the Clauses’ gate once, +thinking it was Jumbo! Perhaps it’s the moonlight +itself, thin and gleaming and rare. Perhaps +it’s the jolly little stars, kicking up their +heels there in the sky. Anyway, it’s pure delight +to be out on such a night, and the children +of Pudding Lane thought they simply never had +had such a good time as they were having that +night.</p> + +<p>They played Tag and Blind Man’s Buff and +Ring-Around-a-Rosy. Oh, yes, I forgot to say +that singing on such a night seems to be music +of a special sort. Even Simple Simon’s poor +cracked voice did not sound bad that night as +they sang “Ring Around a Rosy, Pocket Full +of Posies.” They played Drop-the-Handkerchief, +too, which is particularly good at night, +for the handkerchief is so hard to see.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> + +<p>Well, they played on and on, while the +mothers looked at them round-eyed from the +windows and wondered if their darling children +would ever, ever, ever get sleepy and come in to +bed like good and law-abiding citizens. They +played on and on and on, while the Sand Man +crouched in a corner of the Blues’ side stoop and +pondered desperately on his fate. And they +might have been playing yet if the Little Girl +with the Curl had not suddenly cut up one of +her capers.</p> + +<p>But she did. She cut up a terrible caper. She +cried and kicked and jumped up and down. She +screamed and howled and made faces. Oh, she +was <i>horrid</i>!</p> + +<p>At first, the children tried to pacify her by +ordinary means.</p> + +<p>“Come ride on my back, Little Girl,” invited +Santa Claus. “I’ll be the horse and you can be +the rider.”</p> + +<p>But the Little Girl only stamped her foot at +him.</p> + +<p>“Little Girl, look here, I’ve got a top!” called +out Tom, Tom, the piper’s son.</p> + +<p>But the Little Girl only stuck out her tongue +at him!</p> + +<p>“Little Girl, look at me!” cried Jack-Be-Nimble,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> +jumping over a candlestick for her benefit.</p> + +<p>But the Little Girl only lay down on the +ground and kicked and screamed some more.</p> + +<p>The Little Girl’s mother came out, and the +Little Girl’s father came out, and they spanked +her. But even that did not do any good on this +terrible night.</p> + +<p>They were all perfectly desperate. What +could they do with such a child? The party was +spoiled. The fun was over. The beautiful midsummer +night’s dream was broken. And all because +of that horrid Little Girl.</p> + +<p>At last, however, in the midst of her caper, +Little Boy Blue had a sudden idea. He didn’t +say a word to anybody, but he ran back to his +father’s tool house, picked up the pail of sand +and brought it to the Little Girl. And lo, when +the Little Girl saw that bucketful of lovely sand, +she stopped right in the middle of a howl, sat +down and began to dig in it as hard as she could +dig. She dug with both fists and sent the sand +flying. She loved sand to play in, the Little +Girl did, and Pudding Lane had so little sand, +being far from the sea.</p> + +<p>The children, breathing sighs of relief, began +to play again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> + +<p>But the next moment, the games and the night +and the whole beautiful party began to seem +rather stupid. First it was Jill who yawned.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, I’m really getting sleepy,” she confessed.</p> + +<p>Whereupon Jack said that he was really getting +sleepy too. Humpty Dumpty was seen nodding +at the window. The Little Girl with the +Curl had fallen over on her pail, fast asleep. +Simple Simon had one eye closed. Santa Claus +had both eyes closed. The Old Woman’s children +were blinking like lazy little pussy cats +and Little Boy Blue had gone to sleep standing +up.</p> + +<p>And the next thing they knew it was to-morrow. +How surprised they were to find themselves +in bed exactly as if nothing had happened.</p> + +<p>“What did happen?” they asked their mothers.</p> + +<p>“Why, you just got sleepy,” answered the +mothers.</p> + +<p>But of course, that really wasn’t it at all, and +I think it’s funny that nobody guessed that the +sand belonged to the Sand Man. Nobody did, +however, and they don’t know it to this day.</p> + +<p>And one thing you may be sure of and that is +that the Sand Man was never so careless as to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> +leave his sand bucket around any place again. +That night, when the children had all been carried +in to their beds, he sneaked quietly down +from the Blues’, snatched his precious bucket +quickly under his arm and, after putting the +grown-ups to sleep, ran for home.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said to the Sand Woman, +after he had told her his exciting story, “I want +you to sew a button on my jacket for me to hang +the sand pail on, so that I shall never, never, +never forget and leave it any place again.”</p> + +<p>So the Sand Woman sewed a large button on +the Sand Man’s coat, and ever after that the +Sand Man kept his pail right with him wherever +he was, and never, never, never forgot and left +it any place again.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c9">IX</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">WHY TAFFY THE WELSHMAN STOLE MEAT</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">T</span>AFFY the Welshman had come to Pudding +Lane and that quiet village was in +a turmoil. For Taffy was not only a +Welshman but Taffy was a thief. Perhaps you +have heard of him. He specialized in meat.</p> + +<p>Some thieves go in for gold watches, some deal +in silver spoons. Taffy confined himself to meat. +Once in a while he descended to bones, but usually +it was meat, here a knuckle of veal, there a +shoulder of lamb, yonder a round of beef. If +ever a man knew how to steal meat, Taffy was +that man. He could nip off a roast as you or +I couldn’t nip off a feather, airily, easily, with +jaunty grace. He could nip it when you weren’t +looking or when you were. He could nip ten +pounds or one pound with equal art. A born +genius was Taffy, and he loved his work and +pursued it diligently.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that every morning Mrs. Dumpty, +Mrs. Claus, the Old Woman Who Lived in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> +Shoe, Mrs. Jack Spratt and all the other women +of Pudding Lane would trot to the butcher’s and +buy meat; every afternoon Taffy would steal it, +and every night—no meat for supper. And the +men were getting tired of it. Especially Jack +Spratt.</p> + +<p>“It’s all very well,” he said to Mrs. Spratt +one day, “it’s all very well for these foreigners +to come swarming into our fair city, but I must +have lean meat soon, or I don’t guarantee, Mrs. +Spratt, I don’t guarantee that nothing will happen.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spratt quailed. Her husband’s was a +delicate constitution and she well knew what +the effect would be if he were deprived of meat +much longer. He would probably slam doors +and kick things. He might even hurl his shoe. +Once he had hurled his shoe when there was a +shortage of lean meat in Pudding Lane. Awful +to think of it, but he did do it.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” repeated Jack Spratt, “it’s all very +well for foreign robbers to come swarming—”</p> + +<p>Really though, Jack Spratt was talking nonsense. +In the first place, poor Taffy hadn’t +“swarmed” into Pudding Lane. If there’s +only one of you, you can’t swarm; there was only +one of Taffy. In the second place, Jack Spratt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> +needn’t have laid down the law like that to his +wife. She couldn’t help it if Taffy was a thief. +She was tired of eggs and lettuce herself, and +thought yearningly of her own favorite fat meat. +At night she dreamed of it, juicy, dripping +chunks of it.</p> + +<p>It was like that in every house in Pudding +Lane, the men demanding meat, the women buying +it, and then losing it that way. It did seem +rather queer that the women couldn’t keep their +meat once they had bought it, but they couldn’t. +Even the Queen of Hearts couldn’t keep her +meat, and the unfortunate lady had many a scene +with Old King Cole over the disappearance of +the royal chops.</p> + +<p>“I can’t help it,” she told him, “if your friend +Taffy steals meat all over the place. But if I +were the King—of course, I’m only a woman, +a mere Queen—but if I were the King, I’d soon +fix that fellow. I’d take it up with the Welsh +ambassador.” Which shows how much she knew +about diplomatic matters. And it wasn’t any +use talking to her, for if Old King Cole had said +there wasn’t any Welsh ambassador, the Queen +would have demanded, “Well, why isn’t there +one?” and a long argument would have ensued. +Some women are like that.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> + +<p>Only two people in Pudding Lane did not +suffer from the ravages of the thieving Taffy. +One was Little Miss Muffett, who was quite content +now, as always, with her curds and whey; +and the other was the butcher. For the more +meat Taffy stole, the more meat the butcher sold. +He was doing a rushing business and he was +very happy. Furiously he bought pigs and sheep +and beeves at the big market in Banbury Cross, +and brought them back on loads and droves to +Pudding Lane. Furiously the women bought +his meat butchered from these pigs and sheep +and beeves. Furiously Taffy nipped the meat +from their cupboards and cellars and shelves. +Yes, the butcher was very happy.</p> + +<p>But as Jack Spratt had intimated, this state +of affairs could not go on forever. The men +were getting worse. They stalked savagely; +they had glitterings in their eyes; they gathered +in the candlestick-maker’s shop and muttered together. +Even that mild husband and father, +Mr. Claus, was a changed man, and one day, as +he eyed his wife in an odd, bloodthirsty way, +Mrs. Claus spoke her mind.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Mr. Claus,” said she, “I’m not a +roast of mutton, sir.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Claus gaped.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></p> + +<p>“Nor am I a leg of pork,” went on the extraordinary +woman.</p> + +<p>Mr. Claus gaped wider.</p> + +<p>“So you needn’t look at me like a cannibal,” +she told him. “I won’t be cooked and eaten, +even by you. Pray don’t delude yourself.”</p> + +<p>“My dear—” remonstrated the baker with +a ghastly smile.</p> + +<p>“No,” continued Mrs. Claus, “nor shall you +cast your eyes upon my children in that fashion. +No doubt Santa Claus would make a delicious +meal, Mr. Claus, but you shall not feast yourself +upon him. Yes, and the twins would probably +be as tender flesh as a man could taste, but +you are not the man who will taste it. I am surprised +at you, Mr. Claus, that you should turn +heathen like this and want to eat your family +alive; I really am.”</p> + +<p>Oh, what a woman she was! Had Mr. Claus +mentioned eating his family? Had he even +thought of such an atrocious thing? Yet on and +on rattled Mrs. Claus, and she probably would +have been rattling on yet, if just then the Town +Crier had not come along, ringing his bell and +shouting something. What was he saying?</p> + +<p>“Make your sandwiches! Bake your cakes! +To-morrow is picnic day!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="f9"> +<img src="images/fig9.jpg" alt="hill"> +<p class="caption"><i>The next morning at nine o’clock the whole town<br> +started out for Honeysuckle Hill.  Page 129.</i></p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p> + +<p>Picnic day, oh, yes, so it was. To-morrow was +picnic day; Mrs. Claus had quite forgotten it.</p> + +<p>Now the picnic that the Town Crier was calling +was the picnic that Pudding Lane had been +talking about all summer, but never, until now, +had really got around to. It was a bit late for +picnics, being September, but you have to have +at least one picnic a year, and if it won’t come +off early in the season, it just has to come off +late, that’s all. And to-morrow, finally, Pudding +Lane’s annual picnic was to come off.</p> + +<p>But how can you have a picnic without ham? +Mrs. Claus wanted to know. And what is a picnic +without cold tongue? demanded Mrs. +Dumpty. Nevertheless, the women went ahead +making their sandwiches just the same, cheese +sandwiches and currant jam sandwiches, and +sandwiches of watercress. They baked their +cakes and stuffed their eggs and fished out their +pickles and collected their bananas and packed +their baskets with all these things. And the next +morning at nine o’clock the whole town started +out for Honeysuckle Hill.</p> + +<p>The picnic went off with a bang, despite the +meat crisis. Indeed, so successful an affair was +that picnic that Old King Cole felt moved to +make a formal statement, and he did so, saying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> +that it was very gratifying to him as king for a +picnic to attain such heights as this. Although +just why he should have been gratified, I don’t +know, since all he did for the picnic was to come +to it and eat at it. Still, his statement made the +women very happy; it’s a great thing to please +a king.</p> + +<p>And so everything was going as smoothly as +you please—until something happened to Miss +Muffett.</p> + +<p>It was this way. Little Miss Muffett sat on +a tuffet, eating her curds and whey. She was +talking and smiling and having a lovely time +when along came a spider and sat down beside +her. Oh, dear, how she jumped and screamed. +For if there was anything in the world that Little +Miss Muffett was afraid of, it was a spider. +And yet spiders were always pursuing her. +Every time that girl sat down on a tuffet to +enjoy her repast of curds and whey, along would +come a spider and sit down beside her, just as +that spider did to-day. It may be that spiders +are particularly fond of curds and whey, or perhaps +Miss Muffett herself had a fatal fascination +for spiders. Anyway, wherever she went +she was pursued by spiders, an unhappy fortune, +surely, for a little girl as timid as Miss Muffett.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>To-day, however, the courtly Mr. Horner, +always the man to assist a lady in distress, rose +up heroically and chased the spider off. At +least, he thought he chased the spider off, and +everybody else, including Miss Muffett, thought +so too, when suddenly the spider appeared again +beside Miss Muffett and this time frightened +Miss Muffett away.</p> + +<p>One look at the hideous creature sitting there +so calmly beside her, and overboard went the +bowl of curds and whey, up flew Miss Muffett +shrieking, and away she was gone, down Pinafore +Pike in a cloud of dust.</p> + +<p>Mr. Horner, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker +and all the other men let out great +roars, the women screamed, the children cried. +What a scene, where all had been sweet peace +before. And then, away leaped Mr. Horner +down the road after Miss Muffett, away leaped +Mr. Spratt after him, and in another moment +every man, woman and child in Pudding Lane +was tearing madly down Pinafore Pike behind +the flying skirts and scampering feet of Little +Miss Muffett.</p> + +<p>And the spider? Well, the spider with one +look at the empty havoc around him, legged it +off to Mrs. Spider and the children, sighing as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> +he went. It was too bad, he was thinking to +himself. He adored Little Miss Muffett with +all the fervor of his spiderish heart, yet every +time he went near her, she squealed and pulled +up her skirt and ran away from him.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she didn’t like him, he thought. Oh, +dear, it’s a hard world for spiders. Nobody +really likes them, even when they are as faithful +and devoted as this old fellow was. Well, +Mrs. Spider liked him anyway, he reflected, and +the spider children liked him too. Home was +the place for spiders, so home he would go and +there in the bosom of his family console himself +as best he could.</p> + +<p>For ten good minutes the people of Pudding +Lane kept their furious pace down Pinafore +Pike. They panted and heaved and got red in +the face, especially Mrs. Dumpty; their knees +wobbled and waggled, especially the candlestick-maker’s; +their tongues hung out, particularly +Simple Simon’s; their arms flapped, Mr. +Claus’s most of all. But still they kept on.</p> + +<p>Old King Cole lost his best ruby crown and +never looked back after it. Polly Flinders +stubbed her pretty toes and bore the pain unflinchingly. +Mrs. Claus’s back hair went streaming +in the wind, and she didn’t even know it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> + +<p>What they were running for, I don’t know, +and they didn’t know themselves, I’m afraid. +Why they didn’t stop, I can’t say. But they +didn’t, until they turned the corner toward Banbury +Cross and there they did stop, suddenly and +stock-still.</p> + +<p>And it was no wonder they stopped, for the +most astonishing sight confronted them. Indeed, +it was so astonishing they couldn’t believe +they were seeing aright. It didn’t seem possible +that they <i>could</i> be seeing hundreds of cats and +hundreds of dogs like that.</p> + +<p>For that’s just what they saw: hundreds of +cats and hundreds of dogs, all there together, +with hundreds of bones and hundreds of chunks +of meat. And in the midst of that mass of fur +and sharp eyes and wagging tails and crunching +jaws stood Taffy the Welshman, smiling +happily at the scene.</p> + +<p>The people of Pudding Lane blinked; they +rubbed their eyes. Surely something was the +matter with their eyesight. But Taffy himself +looked natural enough, and his voice when he +spoke, sounded natural too. Taffy was speaking; +he addressed himself, very properly, to Old +King Cole.</p> + +<p>“Welcome, sir,” said he graciously. “Welcome<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> +to Your Majesty, welcome to the Queen of +Hearts, and heartiest greetings to all your +people here.”</p> + +<p>But Old King Cole couldn’t answer, for staring +at the cats and dogs.</p> + +<p>“I knew you would come some day,” went on +Taffy smoothly, “and now—here you are. We +welcome you, sir, cats, dogs and Taffy himself.”</p> + +<p>No answer from Old King Cole, glaring angrily +now at the cats and dogs.</p> + +<p>“You must understand, sir,” began Taffy.</p> + +<p>“But that’s just it,” burst out Old King Cole, +“I don’t understand at all. I tell you, Welshman, +this is a serious thing. You break the law, +you defy punishment, you steal meat from my +people day in and day out, and now I find you +here, consorting with hundreds of dogs and hundreds +of cats on the public highway. Can it be, +sir, that you have robbed us of beef and mutton +only to feed these beasts?”</p> + +<p>“That is the truth, Your Majesty,” answered +Taffy softly. “I spend my life stealing meat +for these poor creatures. Is it so wrong of +me?”</p> + +<p>“Wrong? Of course it’s wrong,” thundered +Old King Cole. “Don’t you know wrong from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> +right, Welshman? Didn’t your mother teach +you that it was wrong to steal?”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” replied Taffy, “but you don’t know +about these cats and dogs, King Cole. These +are special cats and dogs, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Special cats and dogs?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, stray cats from London and Banbury +Cross, the loneliest cats in the world; dogs +without owners, the most miserable dogs there +ever were. Oh, you should have seen them when +they first came to me. They would have broken +your heart. Seedy, dingy, scrawny, all of them, +sad-eyed and starving.”</p> + +<p>“Starving?” repeated Old King Cole incredulously.</p> + +<p>“Starving,” whispered everybody else, frightened.</p> + +<p>“Starving,” said Taffy again. “That’s why +it takes so much meat now, King Cole. They eat +all the time, sir. You can see how they’re eating +now. I don’t suppose they ever will get really +filled up. They’ve been at it for days, yes, and +for nights too.”</p> + +<p>“They eat all night too?” asked King Cole.</p> + +<p>“All night long and all day long and never +stop except for the briefest of naps,” Taffy +told him. “You see, there’s no joke about this,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> +King Cole. These are really hungry animals.”</p> + +<p>It was easy to see that Taffy was right, for +as the people of Pudding Lane looked at the animals, +not one cat raised an eye at them, or not +one dog, but lickety-lick, crunchety-crunch, they +kept on eating, eating, eating.</p> + +<p>It was an odd sight, all those gray and black +and brown furry bodies, all those tails in the air, +all those clamping jaws, and not one sound but +lickety-lick, crunchety-crunch. It was a sad +sight too, for the people of Pudding Lane had +never known that animals could be as hungry as +that.</p> + +<p>And so they nearly turned themselves inside +out in their generosity, those kind-hearted citizens +of Pudding Lane. Mr. Spratt declared +rashly that he didn’t care if he never saw a piece +of lean meat again; Mr. Claus magnificently +offered to abstain from beef the rest of his life; +and Old King Cole ordered the Queen of Hearts +to see that eggs appeared thereafter on the royal +breakfast table, instead of the usual chops.</p> + +<p>Taffy, however, wouldn’t listen to these sacrifices. +He was about to move on anyway, he +said.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to Hamelin next and after that, +who knows, I may even go to France and steal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> +some meat from the French awhile. The cats +and dogs have to be fed, but of course I can’t deprive +you good people of your proteins forever.”</p> + +<p>The good people didn’t know what proteins +were, but they vowed again that these poor creatures +could have Pudding Lane’s meat as long +as Pudding Lane had any meat, such a pitch had +their ecstasy reached.</p> + +<p>But no, Taffy insisted that they had suffered +enough, and that he must go. And before they +knew it, he was gone, followed by his winding +procession of cats and dogs.</p> + +<p>The funny part about it was that the people +of Pudding Lane were actually sorry to see him +go. They had forgotten he was a thief, you see; +they had forgotten their recent anger and annoyance +against him. They had forgotten everything +except that Taffy the Welshman was a +man who was kind to animals, a man who lived +and plied his trade for cats and dogs alone. And +this fact was so important that they had forgotten +the picnic too; they had even forgotten the +spider.</p> + +<p>And so those very people who had called +Taffy the worst names only that same morning +now watched his departing figure down the road<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> +and called out, “Good-by, Taffy, good-by. +Good luck, good luck.”</p> + +<p>Fancy wishing a thief good luck! It doesn’t +seem respectable, but that’s what they did.</p> + +<p>And as for Taffy, he did have good luck. He +went on his way ever after that, stealing meat, +feeding the cats and dogs and having a lovely +time. For Taffy enjoyed the stealing part quite +as much as the feeding part, if the truth must +be known. It’s deplorable. People oughtn’t +to enjoy stealing, but Taffy did enjoy it, and +there’s nothing we can do about it.</p> + +<p>Perhaps some day he’ll reform and be an honest +man. Yet if he did, the cats and dogs might +have a hard time of it, so we’d better let him +alone, I guess. If we must have thieves in the +world, Taffy’s the very sort to have.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c10">X</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">THE CROOKED MAN GETS A BRAND-NEW<br> +REPUTATION</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE Crooked Man had invited Santa +Claus to visit him and the Clauses were +sitting at the kitchen table trying to decide +about it.</p> + +<p>“I can’t think why he should have asked Santa +to his house,” said Mrs. Claus. She looked down +at the letter in her hand, which was, of course, +written in extremely crooked characters on a +funny little crooked piece of paper.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he’s heard about the toys and wants +Santa Claus to make some for the crooked children +next Christmas,” suggested Mr. Claus.</p> + +<p>“The crooked children!” exclaimed Mrs. +Claus. “You ought to know by this time, Mr. +Claus, that the Crooked Man is a bachelor.”</p> + +<p>“Is he?” asked Mr. Claus. “Dear me. +Then who lives with him on the Crooked Mile?”</p> + +<p>“He bought a crooked cat which caught a +crooked mouse, and they all live together in a +little crooked house,” explained his wife.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, I see,” said the baker. But he didn’t +see. He simply couldn’t imagine a crooked man +and a crooked cat and a crooked mouse all living +together in a little crooked house. It sounded +like a bad dream to Mr. Claus, not like real life. +In real life, men and cats and mice are straight.</p> + +<p>“I suppose it will be all right for Santa Claus +to go,” Mrs. Claus was saying.</p> + +<p>“I suppose so,” assented her husband.</p> + +<p>“Nobody ever did visit him, though.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mr. Claus, “the Crooked Man +doesn’t stand very well among the best people, +I must admit.”</p> + +<p>“Well, do you suppose,” Mrs. Claus stopped, +reddening. “Could it be, baker, that the +Crooked Man’s morals are crooked, too?”</p> + +<p>The baker’s face fell. Morals. He hadn’t +thought of them. But naturally, the morals of +a crooked man would be crooked, wouldn’t they?</p> + +<p>So he said to Mrs. Claus, “Why, yes, certainly +his morals would be crooked. Santa Claus must +not accept this invitation to visit the Crooked +Man. In fact, Mrs. Claus, I forbid it,” he finished +up pompously, just as if he, a sage man, +had thought up the morals himself.</p> + +<p>Santa Claus, who was sitting at the table too, +didn’t quite understand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> + +<p>“What are morals?” he asked his mother.</p> + +<p>“Morals?” replied Mrs. Claus. “Why, +washing your face every morning is morals, +and telling the truth, and going to bed at +eight o’clock, and minding your parents, and +saving your pennies—all those are morals, +Santa.”</p> + +<p>“Do you have to have them?” asked Santa. +They sounded very uninteresting. He could +think of lots of people who were most amusing +and lovable, though they didn’t do all those +things: the candlestick-maker, for instance, who +didn’t wash very often; and Piggy Peddler who +stayed up till all hours; and Simple Simon, who +didn’t ever save his pennies, but squandered +them prodigally on horehound lozenges, his favorite +confection.</p> + +<p>“Have to have them?” repeated Mrs. Claus, +shocked. “Well, I guess you do, Santa Claus. +If you don’t have morals, you don’t get very far +in this world, sir. Morals make the world go +’round, don’t they, Mr. Claus?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Claus, thus appealed to, looked dubious.</p> + +<p>“I thought it was love that made the world +go ’round,” he ventured.</p> + +<p>“Well, love is morals,” asserted Mrs. Claus. +You can’t catch that woman very often.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span></p> + +<p>The subject was getting too deep, however, +and she hastily changed it.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you,” she said. “Instead of visiting +the Crooked Man, Santa Claus can go to the +Gingerbread Fair.”</p> + +<p>At which suggestion Santa Claus forgot morals +and love and the Crooked Man and everything +else, so thrilled was he over the Gingerbread +Fair.</p> + +<p>The Gingerbread Fair was the great celebration +which was held at Pye Corner every year. +It was a magnificent affair, of that Pudding Lane +was certain, although only Mr. Claus and King +Cole had ever gone so far as to attend it. Mr. +Claus went on business, of course, and Old King +Cole went for pleasure.</p> + +<p>And now Santa Claus was going. What an +experience for a little boy only nine years old! +Why, most of the grown-ups of Pudding Lane +lived and died without going to it. Even Mr. +Flinders, the wealthy, had not permitted himself +that luxury, though it was said that he was planning +to take Mrs. Flinders to the Gingerbread +Fair on their twentieth wedding anniversary.</p> + +<p>Pye Corner was so very far off, you see. It +was farther than Banbury Cross, farther than +Hamelin, almost as far as London. You went<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> +down Raspberry Road, along the Crooked Mile, +across Minnow Creek, up Rocking-horse Row, +and there, just before you got to London Bridge, +was Pye Corner. It took almost a day to get +there by foot; it took half a day to get there by +coach. No wonder the citizens of Pudding Lane +had never traveled so far.</p> + +<p>It was decided that Judy-Who-Lived-in-a-Shoe +should accompany Santa Claus on his trip +to Pye Corner, for Santa Claus could hardly bear +to do anything without his favorite little friend, +and to do such a wonderful thing without her +was unthinkable.</p> + +<p>Mr. Claus was to take Santa and Judy to the +Gingerbread Fair, but Mr. Claus didn’t take +them; he took the mumps instead. Where he +took them from was not known, for the Claus +children had had the mumps long before, but +where he took them at was quite clear. His poor +jaws swelled up like balloons, his face ached +worse than he had ever supposed a mere face +could ache, and on the very day of the Gingerbread +Fair, Mr. Claus lay in his bed, moaning, +without a thought of gingerbread.</p> + +<p>Poor Mr. Claus, with those aching balloons +where his face used to be. Poor Santa, without +any father to take him to the Gingerbread<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> +Fair. Poor Judy, all dressed up and waiting in +the Shoe for a Mr. Claus that would never come.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus, however, was not the woman to +let plans slip simply because her spouse had +chosen this unlucky moment in which to take on +a distressing malady. She would never get to +the Gingerbread Fair herself, probably, but she +was determined that Santa should go. So what +did she do but bustle down to the Town Crier’s +and beg him to take the children and the pies to +the Gingerbread Fair? Not that it took much +begging. The Town Crier had his hat on his +head before she had finished her first sentence, +and before she had started her second, he was +halfway down Pudding Lane toward the baker’s +shop.</p> + +<p>So it was the old Town Crier instead of Mr. +Claus who climbed into the stagecoach ten minutes +later, with Santa and Judy in tow, and a +great basket of Mrs. Claus’s pies on his arm. +Into the coach they got and away they went, +Santa Claus and Judy and the Town Crier and +the pies. They bowled along Raspberry Road, +they bumped along the Crooked Mile, they +forded Minnow Creek, they rolled along Rocking-horse +Row, and they swung into Pye Corner, +that great metropolis, at exactly twelve o’clock.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> + +<p>“We have arrived,” announced the Town +Crier sonorously. The Town Crier never said +things; he always announced them. Even when +he uttered a mere “Good morning”, he rolled it +out like a piece of news, sang it, cried it.</p> + +<p>But Santa Claus and Judy knew they had arrived +without his telling them. They knew it by +the sound of a fife and drums; they knew it by +the sight of a dozen merry-go-rounds, of Punch +and Judy shows, of brightly colored stalls, of +children, children, everywhere; and most of all, +they knew it by the mountains of gingerbread +pigs that were piled up as high and as far as they +could see.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Judy!” whispered Santa Claus, pressing +her hand fervently.</p> + +<p>Judy nodded blissfully.</p> + +<p>“I know,” she answered. “But come on. +Let’s hurry. Oh, it’s a lovely Gingerbread Fair, +Santa Claus.”</p> + +<p>And it was a lovely Gingerbread Fair, quite +the loveliest one Pye Corner had ever had. And +such a time as Santa and Judy had that whole +long, sunny afternoon, while the Town Crier at +his stall announced Mrs. Claus’s pies and made +change, incorrectly, for the buyers who ate Mrs. +Claus’s pies.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p> + +<p>The first thing to do was to buy their gingerbread +pigs, those brown crusty beasts with +curled tails and sprouting horns (the gingerbread +species have horns if other pigs do not), and each +pig bearing the name of its owner in sticky pink-and-white +icing. There on her pig you could +read Judy’s name, plain as day, J-u-d-y, and +there on Santa’s pig blazed forth his name too, +S-a-n-t-a. The man did it with a little squeezer +while you waited.</p> + +<p>You picked the pig, you told your name, you +paid your penny, and the pig was yours miraculously.</p> + +<p>Some of the pigs had freckles, candy ones, but +the freckled pigs cost two pennies, and a plain +pig does very well if your pennies are limited, +as Santa’s and Judy’s were. There was the +merry-go-round yet to be reckoned with, and the +circus, and the Punch and Judy—oh, lots of +things.</p> + +<p>The merry-go-round came next. Judy rode +a wild bull, a creature with snorting nostrils, +angry red eyes and a lolling tongue; Santa Claus +strode a Mexican pony whose long tail stuck out +straight behind him. They had just mounted +when the music commenced, a tune that wheezed +from a bronchial music box in the middle somewhere;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> +the platform began to move slowly, the +bull and the pony started to rock.</p> + +<p>Faster went the music, faster went the platform, +faster rocked the pony and the bull. +Judy’s fat little legs clung frantically; Santa +Claus gripped tight with his fists. The world +spun around them, a flying haze of faces and colors +and shapes. On and on and on they went, +whirling, rocking, dipping, swaying, plunging.</p> + +<p>When it was over and they stood dazed on the +ground again, Judy gulped, then turned to +Santa.</p> + +<p>“But what makes the merry go ’round, +Santa?” she asked.</p> + +<p>Santa Claus didn’t know exactly. In fact, he +didn’t know at all. But that only made it better. +If you don’t know precisely how wonderful +things happen, it seems to make them more wonderful, +somehow.</p> + +<p>In the circus, they saw an elephant that +waltzed and a clown who was fearfully funny +because his coat tails were forever getting afire. +In the Punch and Judy show there were six +Punches and five Judys. Think of it! At the +candy stall, Judy and Santa bought taffy that +was spun off a wheel like wool. They shot guns +and threw rings at bottles and bowled at ninepins.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> +And then, when they had spent every single +penny they had, they went back to get the +Town Crier—and he wasn’t there. The stall +was deserted, the pies were gone, and so, evidently, +was the Town Crier.</p> + +<p>They looked all over the whole Gingerbread +Fair, but no Town Crier was to be found. +Where he had gone, nobody could say, until an +old apple woman in the next stall, who had +known it all along, mumbled that he had picked +up his traps and gone home by the five-o’clock +stage.</p> + +<p>“Gone home!” ejaculated Judy.</p> + +<p>She and Santa looked at each other.</p> + +<p>“He does forget things, you know,” Santa reminded +Judy.</p> + +<p>“But he wouldn’t forget us,” Judy said.</p> + +<p>“He did, though,” put in the old apple +woman. Then she softened. “Look here, you +childer,” she said, “it’s yet light. Best hurry +home afore dark. Your mothers will be worried-like.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s too far to walk before dark,” said +Santa Claus. “We live ’way off in Pudding +Lane.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" id="f10"> +<img src="images/fig10.jpg" alt="lane"> +<p class="caption"><i>“But it’s too far to walk before dark,” said Santa<br> +Claus. “We live ’way off in Pudding Lane.”<br> +Page 148.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>The apple woman considered them a moment. +Then she spoke.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> + +<p>“I’ll give yer a lift. Nobody’s buying apples, +anyway,” she said savagely.</p> + +<p>She did give them a lift, if you can call it a +lift, that short ride she gave them in her wheelbarrow +on top of apples. Still, even if Judy +did keep tumbling off like a very apple herself, +even if Santa Claus did ache all over from sitting +on the knobby things, it was better than nothing, +the apple woman’s lift. And when she dumped +them in front of her cottage on Rocking-horse +Row with a hoarse “Good night to yer”, Judy +and Santa thanked her heartily.</p> + +<p>Their thanks were hearty, though their hearts +were rather faint. It did seem forlorn to be there +alone on Rocking-horse Row, so far from home +at such an hour. It was now nearly seven, and +the sun was getting ready for bed behind the +hill.</p> + +<p>But Santa and Judy were brave children. +Judy didn’t cry and Santa didn’t flinch. They +simply picked up their tired feet and went on. +They weren’t really lost, you see, because they +knew the way. Only it was such a <i>long</i> way; +that was the trouble.</p> + +<p>Well, they walked and walked, and finally +they came to Minnow Creek, several inches deep +and at least four feet wide. Minnow Creek was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> +fun, though, because they took off their shoes and +stockings and waded across it. They wiped +their feet on Judy’s petticoat, put on their shoes +and stockings and approached the Crooked Mile. +That indeed looked bad. It was such a crooked +mile, twisting and curving like dozens of horseshoes. +People always got lost on it. And now, +to make it worse, it was almost dark. In another +moment, it would be pitchy. Then what would +they do?</p> + +<p>The darkness plumped down on them at last. +Santa Claus could see nothing but a few feeble +stars overhead; Judy could not see a foot ahead +of her. Hands clasped, they walked on, frightened +and quiet, hardly daring to whisper.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, a yellow light flashed up +ahead of them.</p> + +<p>“Firefly,” said Judy.</p> + +<p>“Lantern,” said Santa.</p> + +<p>But it wasn’t a firefly, it wasn’t a lantern; it +was a lamp in a house. As they got closer, they +talked about the house, whose it was and whether +they should knock on the door or not. Judy was +afraid it might be a witch who lived there, but +Santa Claus pooh-pooh’ed that.</p> + +<p>“You know there aren’t any witches except +in stories,” he said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p> + +<p>“But this may be a story,” was Judy’s answer.</p> + +<p>“You only read stories.”</p> + +<p>“You could be a story as well as read it,” asserted +Judy.</p> + +<p>Santa didn’t understand that, so he made no +answer, but marched straight up to the door +and knocked. Witch or no witch, he was going +to ask for help.</p> + +<p>The man that came to the door looked something +like a witch, to be sure, gnarled and twisted +as he was, with a long irregular nose, and knotted, +hunched-up body. He spoke pleasantly +enough, however.</p> + +<p>“Good evening,” said he. “Why, bless my +soul, it’s children.”</p> + +<p>“Please, sir,” spoke Santa Claus courageously, +“it’s Judy and Santa Claus of Pudding +Lane.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t tell me,” exclaimed the gnarled +man. “Why, come in, Judy and Santa Claus of +Pudding Lane.”</p> + +<p>He held the door open so that the yellow light +streamed out of the little house. The children +could see the house more plainly now. It was an +odd-looking house, leaning every which way, +like a house in a puzzle. Its door sagged at a +dizzy angle; its windows were put in aslant.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> +Its very chimneys were askew on top of its zigzag +roof.</p> + +<p>Wondering, the children followed the +hunched-up man into his crazy house. How +queer it was inside too. The fireplace seemed to +stand on its ear; the table supported itself on one +leg; the lamp was upside down. And there, beside +the fire, lay a cat such as had never been +seen before, a cat all angles and points, between +his paws a mouse whose ears were crisscross, +whose tail was curly like a corkscrew.... Oh, +now Santa Claus knew.</p> + +<p>This was the Crooked Man, and here was the +crooked cat who caught a crooked mouse and +they all lived together in this little crooked +house.</p> + +<p>Santa Claus had guessed the truth. When he +asked the man timidly if he really were the +Crooked Man, his host gave a pleasant, crooked +smile and jerked his crooked head in assent.</p> + +<p>“I am that,” he replied. “And I’ve wanted +to see you, oh, so much, Santa Claus, because +you’re an understanding fellow, even if you are +only nine, and I thought—”</p> + +<p>“You thought—” prompted Santa.</p> + +<p>“Well, I thought—” the Crooked Man +seemed rather embarrassed “—I thought that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> +maybe if you knew me and liked me, just a little, +of course—that maybe—”</p> + +<p>“That maybe everybody else would like you +too, and not be afraid of you any more?” finished +up Santa for him.</p> + +<p>The Crooked Man nodded vigorously, with +an eager look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Why, of course they will,” said Santa Claus. +“I do like you, Crooked Man. You’re very kind +and agreeable, and when I tell my friends in +Pudding Lane just how nice you are, I’m sure +you’ll be very popular there. I really am sure +of that, sir.”</p> + +<p>The Crooked Man blinked at this, trying to +keep back some grateful tears that wouldn’t be +kept, however, but pursued a crooked course +down his cheeks.</p> + +<p>“It’s rather lonely being crooked, I suppose,” +said Judy, trying to be tactful.</p> + +<p>“It is,” replied the Crooked Man huskily. +“It isn’t being crooked that’s so bad; it’s just +that nobody else is crooked, you see.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I see,” said Judy soberly. “It’s like +spelling. If nobody else knew how, you +wouldn’t have to learn, but they do, so you do,” +she ended up rather incoherently.</p> + +<p>“Only I can’t help being crooked, no matter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> +how hard I try,” said the man, “and you can +learn spelling.”</p> + +<p>“Can you?” thought Judy. Privately, she +thought she would never learn spelling any more +than the Crooked Man would ever straighten +out.</p> + +<p>Well, that was the way Pudding Lane discovered +what a nice chap the Crooked Man was, +after all. For, of course, he took the children +home in his cart as fast as he could, when they +told him their story, took them home to their +mothers, and was the object of much praise and +admiration from all of Pudding Lane. Especially +did the Town Crier praise and admire +him.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how you remembered to bring +’em,” he said, marveling. “I forgot ’em clean as +a whistle. Had a feeling I had left something +behind, but couldn’t remember what it was. +You must have an excellent memory,” he went +on. “Perhaps crooked memories are better +than straight ones.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” agreed the Crooked Man, smiling +crookedly.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c11">XI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY</p> + + +<p><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe +was busy making broth one afternoon +when she looked out through the lowest +buttonhole of her home and spied Mrs. Dumpty +coming up the walk.</p> + +<p>“Why, Mrs. Dumpty, this <i>is</i> a surprise!” +cried the Old Woman. “I’m so glad to see you. +Do come right in.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty could not muster a smile in answer +to the Old Woman’s cordial greeting. She +was a jolly little pudding of a lady with a round +face and no waistline whatever, but to-day her +mouth drooped at the corners and she looked very +worried, as indeed she had looked all these +weeks of Humpty’s confinement. “I just +thought I’d run over a while,” she said to the +Old Woman. “Humpty’s asleep.”</p> + +<p>“Of course!” exclaimed the Old Woman +Who Lived in a Shoe delightedly. “I’m so glad +you did, Mrs. Dumpty. Now come right in.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty sighed heavily. She was very +fond of the Old Woman, but it was an ordeal +to climb into that Shoe every time she wanted +to call, and she had always said she didn’t know +why in the world the Old Woman didn’t call +Jack-of-all-Trades and let him build a few steps +up to the Shoe. However, the Old Woman was +queer about her home, and so now Mrs. Dumpty +bravely lifted one fat little foot for the climb, +and pretty soon, panting and pink, she had +scrambled into the Shoe.</p> + +<p>“And how is Humpty?” inquired the Old +Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, as she hastened +to put the kettle on.</p> + +<p>“He will never be any better,” answered +Mrs. Dumpty sadly. “He will never walk another +step. Oh, Old Woman, if he had only not +sat on the wall that day—”</p> + +<p>“I know,” murmured the Old Woman sympathetically. +“But Humpty doesn’t suffer any +pain, does he?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty’s face cleared. “No, not a +bit,” she answered. “But, Old Woman, what +do you suppose the doctor says he must have +now?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the faintest notion,” declared the +Old Woman.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></p> + +<p>“A wheel chair!” Mrs. Dumpty’s little eyes +bulged as she told her news.</p> + +<p>“A wheel chair!” repeated the Old Woman +Who Lived in a Shoe. “Well, whatever in the +world is that?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a chair with wheels on it,” explained +Mrs. Dumpty. “You see, Old Woman, if +Humpty could be pushed around in a wheel +chair, it would be almost—not quite, but almost—as +good as walking.”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course!” agreed the Old Woman. +“What won’t they be thinking up next?” she +concluded admiringly.</p> + +<p>“But,” Mrs. Dumpty’s face became troubled +again, “there isn’t a wheel chair in all of Pudding +Lane. I’ve been to the butcher’s and the +baker’s and the candlestick-maker’s, and they +haven’t any. And all the king’s horses and all +the king’s men, which the king has so generously +put at my disposal”—here Mrs. Dumpty +straightened up a bit proudly—“even they +have no wheel chair. And meanwhile my poor +Humpty sits by the window in his rocker.” She +was ready to cry, poor thing.</p> + +<p>The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe brought +her a cup of tea without a word, and without +a word sat down beside her guest and began to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> +stir her own tea vigorously. She was thinking, +was the Old Woman, for this was indeed a +dilemma for the Dumpties, and the Old Woman +wanted to help them out of it if she could. So +she stirred and stirred and stirred her tea, making +a great clatter, while Mrs. Dumpty sat looking +sadly at her cup.</p> + +<p>And finally the Old Woman Who Lived in a +Shoe set her cup down noisily, with a great light +in her eye. “Well, Mrs. Dumpty, why don’t +you ride a cockhorse to Banbury Cross and get +a wheel chair there?” she exclaimed triumphantly.</p> + +<p>At this suggestion Mrs. Dumpty stared at the +Old Woman in amazement. It was a daring idea—Mrs. +Dumpty had never been to Banbury +Cross in her whole life; but it was a sensible one, +too, for surely if any place would have a wheel +chair, Banbury Cross would be that place. +Mother Goose had been to Banbury Cross time +and again, and she had reported it to be a flourishing +center, with as many as a dozen shops.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty opened her mouth into a little +round “O”, then closed it again and finally +spoke. “Why—” she brought out. It was +such a truly astonishing idea, she just couldn’t +grasp it all at once. And yet, too, the minute<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> +the Old Woman had spoken, Mrs. Dumpty +knew that to go to Banbury Cross was the very +thing to do.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” the Old Woman Who Lived in +a Shoe was urging her. “You could go one day, +come back the next, and stay at the Threepenny +Inn all night. It’s a very fine inn, I hear.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty hesitated. “I’ve never traveled,” +she ventured timidly, her fat little body +quivering with the excitement of merely thinking +about traveling.</p> + +<p>“Good time to begin,” replied the Old +Woman energetically.</p> + +<p>“It’s as far as ten miles,” she objected feebly.</p> + +<p>“The end of the world is farther,” was the +Old Woman’s response.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how to ride a cockhorse.”</p> + +<p>“You just sit on ’em,” the Old Woman enlightened +her, though she herself had never ridden +one and didn’t know in the least what she +was talking about.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty looked at her friend admiringly. +“You are so brave,” she said. “Oh, Old +Woman,” she cried out suddenly, “will you +go with me?”</p> + +<p>“In the name of goodness!” exclaimed the +Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. “What<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> +would I do with all my children? Who would +spank them and tuck them in their beds?”</p> + +<p>But it was finally arranged that the Old +Woman should go with Mrs. Dumpty to Banbury +Cross to buy the wheel chair for Humpty, +and that night everybody in Pudding Lane knew +of the proposed expedition. Mrs. Claus had +kindly offered to look after Humpty, and Old +Mother Hubbard had been asked to bring her +poor dog over and stay in the Shoe with the innumerable +children. Needless to say, Mother +Hubbard was only too glad to leave her bare +cupboard for a full one, for a couple of days.</p> + +<p>And so the night before the great day Mrs. +Dumpty went to bed, trembling with agitation +over the bold undertaking of the morrow, and +hardly slept a wink. But the Old Woman, who +stayed awake too, smiled into the dark as she +thought of the journey, for she was an adventurous +old woman, and it looked like a lark to +her.</p> + +<p>Of course the Town Crier had got everything +all mixed up in his announcement about the +coming event. For he had told it far and wide +that the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe and +Mrs. Dumpty would start on their momentous +journey at seven o’clock, which was not at all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> +the truth, the ladies having set their hour for six. +It seemed rather early; but, as Mrs. Dumpty +said, ten miles was a long way, and they might +not get there the same day,—terrifying thought.</p> + +<p>But somehow, what the Town Crier had said +didn’t seem to make any difference, for everybody +on Pudding Lane was there at six o’clock +just the same. That is, everybody was there except +poor Humpty Dumpty himself and the +Town Crier (who was much astonished when +he went out at seven o’clock to find that the ladies +had already gone). The Old Woman Who +Lived in a Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty were indeed +being honored with an impressive send-off.</p> + +<p>And you should have seen those two women! +They had never been so magnificent before; no, +not even when Mrs. Claus gave a party and +everybody had been so enormously dressed up. +Mrs. Dumpty had got out her wedding dress for +the occasion, and she surely did look elegant in +it, in spite of the fact that it was much too tight, +as fat ladies’ wedding dresses always, always are. +In one hand she carried a package containing her +nightcap, three fresh handkerchiefs and a bottle +of cough sirup; in the other an egg basket filled +to bursting with lunch. The Old Woman Who +Lived in a Shoe had wanted very much to wait<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> +and have dinner at the Threepenny Inn, but Mrs. +Dumpty would hear of no such carryings-on.</p> + +<p>As for the Old Woman herself, she was in +black silk with a fine new feather on her bonnet +and a pea-green parasol to keep the sun away. +Jumbo and Jocko and Judy and all the other +children of the Old Woman, who followed their +mother in a winding string from the Shoe to the +crossroads, had never seen her look so regal and +were extremely proud of her appearance.</p> + +<p>Well, there they stood at the crossroads, Mrs. +Dumpty quivering with fear and excitement, the +Old Woman impatient to be off, and all their +friends standing around and wondering how it +felt to be going on such a long journey. And +precisely at six o’clock into their midst pranced +the jaunty little cockhorses driven by the keeper +of King Cole’s stables. For these travelers were +to ride no ordinary cockhorses, but the King’s +best. The King was still deeply interested in +Humpty’s case and was helping in this substantial +manner. One of the horses was a sleek little +white horse with a bright eye; the other was black +and tossed his mane in the liveliest fashion possible. +Mrs. Dumpty grew pale at the sight of +them, for she was sure she was going to fall and +break her neck. But the dauntless Old Woman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> +picked up her skirts and almost danced a jig in +her impatience to be off.</p> + +<p>And now the great moment was here. The +Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe began hastily +to kiss all her children, which took some time, of +course. Mr. Claus, the baker, stepped gallantly +forward to offer his services to Mrs. Dumpty in +mounting her horse, a service that Mrs. Dumpty +accepted with deep gratitude. Mr. Claus bent +low and cupped his hand, into which Mrs. +Dumpty stepped timidly and uncertainly. As +Mr. Claus gave her a boost, Mrs. Dumpty +grabbed the horse’s mane, the horse started to +go, but “Whoa, whoa!” commanded Mr. Claus +in a bellowing voice, and finally, shaking and +pale, the little fat lady was on her horse.</p> + +<p>She was on, but she wished for all the world +that she were off.</p> + +<p>However, there was nothing to do except +start, and there, who was that galloping by on +the white horse but the Old Woman, holding +on for dear life and waving her parasol in joyful +excitement! The black horse started then +too, and clutching the lines and the egg basket +and her bonnet all at once, and screaming +weakly, Mrs. Dumpty was seen to follow her +friend in a mad gallop down Pinafore Pike.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> +And that was the last that Pudding Lane saw +of them for seven whole days.</p> + +<p>Yes, Mrs. Dumpty and the Old Woman Who +Lived in a Shoe actually stayed away from home +for seven whole days, a thing that nobody in +Pudding Lane had ever done before, except +Mother Goose, who was of course a privileged +character.</p> + +<p>At the end of the second day everybody went +down to the crossroads to meet the home-coming +travelers, for nobody dreamed that they +wouldn’t come back just as they had promised; +they were such extremely reliable women. But +dusk came, and they had not appeared. Little +wobbly stars ventured out, and no cockhorses +came flourishing around the corner. At last it +grew quite black and was really night, and still +the Old Woman and Mrs. Dumpty had not +come home to their children.</p> + +<p>Where could they be? asked everybody of +everybody else. It was very mysterious.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid they’re lost on the road,” said +the butcher.</p> + +<p>“It’s a perfectly straight road,” the baker reminded +him.</p> + +<p>“They may have come to grief in Banbury +Cross,” suggested the candlestick-maker.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>“I fear they have,” said the carpenter.</p> + +<p>Just then one of the king’s men came riding +by and saw the anxious group. “What is the +matter?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>The cobbler stepped up with respectful importance. +“The Old Woman Who Lived in a +Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty went to Banbury Cross +two days ago and have not returned, sir,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“Have you had bad news of them?” asked +the king’s man. “No news is good news in +King Cole’s kingdom, you know,” and with that +he flicked his horse and rode off.</p> + +<p>How relieved they all were! For of course +that explained everything. No news was good +news. That was one of old King Cole’s laws. +How they had forgotten it, even for a moment, +they could not imagine; but they had, every one +of them, though you couldn’t find a body of +more law-abiding citizens in the whole kingdom. +So they went home to bed, with no further anxiety +about the Old Woman and Mrs. Dumpty +so far away in Banbury Cross.</p> + +<p>But even if the Old Woman Who Lived in a +Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty had not been safe and +sound, Pudding Lane would have had no time +to worry about them after that. For something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> +else happened so much more serious that nobody +could think of anything except that.</p> + +<p>It began, indeed, that very night. Everything +was still and quiet throughout the whole +village, for it was way past midnight and Pudding +Lane had been asleep hours and hours, +when suddenly Polly, one of the little girls who +lived in the Shoe (the fat one, you know), woke +up. It was a queer thing for her to do, to wake +up right in the middle of the night like that, but +then she felt queer, with a wavy feeling in her +stomach that was most uncomfortable. Polly +had never had such a feeling before, except one +time when she ate too much jelly cake at Mistress +Mary’s birthday party. But there had been +no jelly cake this night. Just the usual broth +and spanking. The broth could not do that to +her stomach, she thought to herself, and certainly +Old Mother Hubbard’s gentle little +spankings wouldn’t hurt a mouse. The tender-hearted +old lady did not enjoy that part of her +duty in the Shoe one bit, and the children had +really almost forgotten what a good sound +spanking was like.</p> + +<p>As Polly lay there, wishing the wavy feeling +would go away, she heard Patsy in the next bed +give a little moan. (Patsy was the one without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> +any front teeth.) The next minute Judy, on the +other side of her (the one who couldn’t spell), +turned over in her sleep with a sob. The baby +began to cry; Jocko and Jumbo and the twins +and the several unnamed children sat up in bed +with a start; Mother Hubbard’s poor dog began +to bark as if in pain.</p> + +<p>“Mercy on us!” Mother Hubbard jumped +out of bed and began to fumble for a candle. +“What in the world is the matter with you +children?”</p> + +<p>Just then she stumbled against one of the little +beds and the next minute was pitched off her +feet over against another bed.</p> + +<p>“What <i>is</i> the matter?” cried old Mother +Hubbard desperately. “Why are the children +sobbing and moaning? Why is this beast yowling? +Why can’t I keep my feet?”</p> + +<p>With that she lighted a candle and looked +around, and she soon discovered what the trouble +was. The trouble was that the Shoe, up to that +time a perfectly substantial dwelling, was swaying +ever so slightly in the wind, for all the world +like a ship on the gently rolling waves of the +sea. No wonder the children were sick! No +wonder the poor dog yowled and old Mother +Hubbard couldn’t walk straight!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p> + +<p>But old Mother Hubbard knew what to do, +right enough. She staggered to the cupboard +and took down a big bottle, after which, stumbling +and tumbling, she went to each little bed +with a dose and a comforting pat for every +child. She gave the poor dog, not a bone, but +a dose of medicine too, and finally, after she +herself had taken a big tablespoonful, she rolled +back into bed, the baby in her arms, her nightcap +over one ear.</p> + +<p>The wind quieted down and the children went +to sleep, but the next day old Mother Hubbard +had a fine tale for the women of Pudding Lane.</p> + +<p>“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Claus, +when she heard of it. “Whatever did you +do?”</p> + +<p>“I gave ’em a quart of peppermint oil,” related +Old Mother Hubbard. “And they all +went to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Well!” Mrs. Claus drew a long breath. “I +must say, neighbor, I’m glad I have only +Humpty to look after. To live in a shoe with +all those children, and to have it act like a rocking-chair +at night—” Mrs. Claus threw up +her hands at the thought of such a situation and +thanked her stars it wasn’t <i>her</i> who had to go +through it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></p> + +<p>And that was only the beginning of it. The +real disaster came four nights later.</p> + +<p>It was the worst night Pudding Lane had +seen in many a day, as Mrs. Claus said,—a real +November storm with a whipping rain that +lashed angrily in every direction and wind that +tore at trees and chimneys until they creaked +and cracked with the strain.</p> + +<p>Nobody on Pudding Lane so much as stuck +a nose out that night. By seven o’clock everybody +was tight in bed, some of them even hiding +under the bedclothes, and there wasn’t a candle +burning in the whole of the village, not even in +the palace of Old King Cole.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus, who was staying at the Dumpties’, +wondered anxiously about her own children +at home with the baker. As for Mother +Hubbard, she did wish to goodness that she were +not sleeping in an old, weather-beaten shoe that +night, for although Jumbo had fastened the buttons +up tight and had put the canvas top up, +still she feared that the Shoe might rock again +as it had the other night.</p> + +<p>And sure enough, just as she feared, as the +storm grew worse and worse, the Shoe began to +do its old trick. At first it rocked only gently, +slipping uncertainly around in the mud.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” cried Polly. “We are rocking +again, Mother Hubbard.”</p> + +<p>“We are that,” replied Mother Hubbard +grimly, longing for the safety of her own kitchen.</p> + +<p>“What shall we do?” asked Polly. “Shall +we take more peppermint oil?”</p> + +<p>“There is no more,” replied Old Mother +Hubbard. “Let’s see. Supposing—” She +was trying to think of some way to amuse all +the children so they would forget the storm.</p> + +<p>But Mother Hubbard got no further, for suddenly +the Shoe leaned over to one side in the +wind, tipping everybody and everything into +one corner. Such a hubbub of noise and confusion +as there was! The pots and pans rattled +as they flew from their hooks; the poor dog +whimpered and wailed; the baby cried. Even +the older children, who tried to be brave, were +bruised from the bumping and frightened beyond +words. Oh, dear, what a fearful and unexpected +catastrophe! And still the storm grew +worse, and the Shoe rocked harder, until they +felt as if they were in a tipsy boat on a sea +that raged and tossed. You never would +have thought that this was the dear old Shoe +that had been such a happy home all these +years.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> + +<p>“We’ll have to get out,” said Old Mother +Hubbard to herself.</p> + +<p>But as she peeped through the lowest buttonhole +she saw that the rain was beating harder +than ever against the trees, and the wind was +waving a thousand arms.</p> + +<p>Worse and worse it got. The Shoe tilted to +one side and then the other. Once it almost +tipped completely over, but the wind whirled +suddenly around the other way, and up came the +Shoe again, tottering dizzily.</p> + +<p>There was no hope. Mother Hubbard looked +around at the frightened children in the madly-rocking +Shoe.</p> + +<p>“We must get out,” she said. “Jumbo, fly +out and unbutton the Shoe as fast as ever you +can. Jocko, take the twins with you. Judy and +Patsy and Polly and Nancy, and all the others, +line up in a row. I’ll take the baby. The rest +of you jump out the minute the Shoe is opened.”</p> + +<p>Jumbo bravely climbed out of the top of the +Shoe into the storm. Jumbo was twelve and +very courageous, as you see. It was his duty to +open and close the Shoe every night, and although +the buttonhook was a rather large and +clumsy affair, he handled it like a man, and had +often been much complimented on his skill. In<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> +a twinkling the Shoe was open, and in another +twinkling the children had all jumped out into +the rain and wind and thunder and lightning.</p> + +<p>They were just in time. Old Mother Hubbard +and the poor dog had but just stepped out +of the rickety Shoe when over it went for the +last time, spilling beds and stoves and stools +helter-skelter. It was a sad spectacle for the +children of the Old Woman Who Lived in a +Shoe. But there was no time for repining. Already +they were all soaked and shivering. On +a run they all started for Mother Hubbard’s +kitchen.</p> + +<p>You can imagine what an uproar there was +in Pudding Lane the next day, when everybody +heard of the accident that had happened to the +Shoe. Everybody went to Mother Hubbard’s +kitchen to see the children, to ask questions, to +shake their heads and to say what a dreadful +thing it was. It was a great day for the children +who had lived in the Shoe, for although it +was sad to be homeless, still they did enjoy being +talked about and made over, and soon began +to feel very important.</p> + +<p>On that day nobody even thought of poor +Humpty Dumpty, except Mrs. Claus, who was +still staying with him, and Humpty sat at home<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> +alone, wondering where his mother was and +wishing somebody—oh, just anybody—would +come to see him. And just as he was wishing +that, who do you suppose came up the walk?</p> + +<p>Yes, it was Mrs. Dumpty, wheeling a great +chair in front of her and smiling as she used +to smile in the days when Humpty was well. +When he saw her, Humpty almost jumped out +of his rocker with delight, and indeed that reunion +between the Dumpties was such a one as +to make Mrs. Claus, who was there, sniffle and +clear her throat.</p> + +<p>“Well, where on earth have you been?” was +Mrs. Claus’s question.</p> + +<p>“We’ve been in Banbury Cross,” answered +Mrs. Dumpty. “Where else?”</p> + +<p>“But why did you stay so long?” persisted +Mrs. Claus. “We have been so alarmed about +you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” replied Humpty’s mother, “we had to +wait for the sick boy, who had this chair, to get +well. It was the only chair in Banbury Cross, +you see.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty’s home-coming was a happy +one, but what do you think the feelings of +the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe must have +been when she found out what had happened?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> + +<p>The Old Woman had had a good time in Banbury +Cross. In fact, she had never had quite +such a good time in all her life, she told Mrs. +Dumpty. But just the same, she was most eager +to get home to her dear children, and she was +anxious to live in a shoe again after those days in +the Threepenny Inn. And so as she rode the +cockhorse up Pinafore Pike and turned into Pudding +Lane, she was indeed a happy woman.</p> + +<p>And then her eyes fell on the poor old overturned +Shoe, and she thought she should faint +with terror. Up she dashed to inspect the ruins. +The Shoe was twisted and bent and lying on its +side deep in the mud. How horrible to come +home from a journey and find your home a +wreck!</p> + +<p>But where were the children? Had they all +been carried off by the storm? With a cry the +Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe ran down +Pudding Lane. Soon she learned the truth. She +was indeed relieved to find her children, every +single one of them, safe and happy with Old +Mother Hubbard. But it was a sorrow to have +no home, and the Old Woman, for the first time +in her life, had not the heart to spank the children +all around before putting them to bed.</p> + +<p>The next morning King Cole sent for the Old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> +Woman to come to the palace, and it was suspected +that the merry old soul had some plan +for new quarters for her and all her children. +Mother Hubbard’s cupboard was barer than ever +now, and they really could not stay there another +day longer. It turned out to be just as +the two women had thought. Old King Cole, +after considering the matter carefully, handsomely +offered the Old Woman the use of The +House-that-Jack-Built, rent free, until another +shoe could be found. Shoes were so scarce, you +know, that she might never find one again. And +so it was considered that the King’s offer was a +very fine one, and that the Old Woman Who +Lived in a Shoe and her children ought to be +thankful and happy to be given such a beautiful +home.</p> + +<p>But somehow the Old Woman was not happy +one single bit, for although The House-that-Jack-Built +was a much more elegant affair than +the old Shoe, still the Old Woman didn’t like +houses, however elegant, and had always said, +you know, that she would never live in one.</p> + +<p>She thought and thought before she accepted +the King’s offer. The old slipper she had gone +to housekeeping in so many years ago was empty, +but it was far too small for the innumerable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> +children and therefore would not do. The laced +shoe she had moved into next was unfit for habitation +now. It had never been repaired or +blackened since it was first made, and, of course, +no shoe can last with that kind of treatment. So +finally she had to accept Old King Cole’s offer, +simply because there wasn’t anything else to do. +And that afternoon they moved in, the Old +Woman and all those children.</p> + +<p>The House-that-Jack-Built was really a very +beautiful house, with porches and steps and fine +furniture; for Jack had expected to live there +himself and had put a good deal of work on it, +as you know. Moreover, nobody had ever lived +in it at all, for Jack had suddenly lost interest in +the house and had gone back to the city, after +selling the house to King Cole. It was understood +that the lady for whom Jack was building +the house had changed her mind about marrying +him.</p> + +<p>Yes, it was a beautiful house, but somehow +the Old Woman and even the children did not +appreciate it at all. It was hard for them to live +in a house, you see, after spending their lives in +a shoe, and it really isn’t any wonder that they +all cried a little bit into their pillows that night +before going off to sleep.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> + +<p>The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe had +really expected that she and her children would +get over their homesickness but it seemed that +every day they longed for their old home a little +more, until they really were not happy at all, but +quite miserable. They were ashamed of themselves, +for King Cole had been so good to them +they felt almost wicked to be ungrateful, and +they tried hard not to let anybody know how +wretched they were in their grand new house. +But the truth was that they all wanted only one +thing in the world, and that was their old buttoned +Shoe again, where they could go on living +as before.</p> + +<p>And then one day it all came out. The Old +Woman was calling on Mrs. Claus when somebody +mentioned the Shoe. Before she knew +what she was doing, the Old Woman was crying—yes, +crying as hard as she could cry—and +though she was furious with herself for doing it, +she couldn’t stop at all.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus was amazed at this. “Why, Old +Woman,” she said kindly, “I didn’t know you +felt that way about the Shoe.”</p> + +<p>The Old Woman nodded her head, as she +continued to sob and rock. And right then Mrs. +Claus made a promise to herself. She promised<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> +herself that Mr. Claus, who was a very influential +citizen, should go to the King and tell him +just how the Old Woman felt, for surely their +good, kind King could do something about the +Shoe, if only he knew how important it was.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus kept that promise to herself, and +the next day the baker went off to interview the +King, who was most surprised to hear this news +and extremely worried over it. He was such a +merry old soul he could not bear to have anybody +in the kingdom in the least troubled or unhappy.</p> + +<p>“But there’s no other shoe,” he told Mr. +Claus. “What can I do to help the poor Old +Woman?”</p> + +<p>“Could this one not be set up again?” inquired +Mr. Claus helpfully. “Mended, perhaps, +and fastened firmly against future +storms?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see; I’ll see,” said the King. “I’ll send +for the carpenter and let him look it over.”</p> + +<p>That same afternoon the carpenter made a +careful inspection of the Shoe. He looked at +the buttons. They seemed sound and good. He +investigated the buttonholes, and they were +found to be satisfactory. The sole had not a +single hole in it, and the toe could be patched<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> +to be as good as new. But there was that heel, +a run-over affair that made the whole Shoe stand +crooked. And even if that were made even +again, he doubted whether it would not slip in +the mud as it had before, when the rains came +again.</p> + +<p>The carpenter was about to give an unfavorable +report to King Cole, when he had a sudden +and brilliant idea. They could put a rubber heel +on the Shoe, and it would then stand firm and +true and never again be blown by the wind and +pushed around in the mud. It was the very +thing!</p> + +<p>Old King Cole hailed this as a most excellent +idea and straightway sent for the Old Woman.</p> + +<p>“Dear me, what next?” said the Old +Woman, when she got the message to appear +again at the royal palace, for she did not know +that Mr. Claus had taken up her case with the +King, you see.</p> + +<p>But up to the palace she went, and when old +King Cole told her that she could live in her +Shoe again, after it had been repaired with a +patch on the toe and a rubber heel, the elated +woman just danced a jig right there in the throne +room, until King Cole laughed to see her, and +even the Queen was amused. She could hardly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> +stop to thank the King, but she did manage to +make a bow, after which she ran home to the +children, kicking up her heels and waving her +arms in hilarious delight. Such a furor as she +created when she told those children that they +were going back to live in the Shoe again. They +had never been such a happy family before.</p> + +<p>Old King Cole had said that they might move +into the Shoe in exactly one week, during which +time the carpenter was to make the Shoe as good +as new, even to polishing it with fine new polish. +But the King did not know, when he made that +promise, that there was going to be more trouble.</p> + +<p>The trouble arose when the cobbler heard that +the carpenter was going to London to buy a rubber +heel for the Old Woman’s Shoe.</p> + +<p>“Shoes are a cobbler’s business,” he said, and +with that he went in great indignation to Old +King Cole.</p> + +<p>“What is this you are saying?” asked the +King, who did not always listen very carefully +to what people said.</p> + +<p>“I’m saying, sir,” repeated the cobbler, “that +shoes are a cobbler’s business.”</p> + +<p>“I agree with you,” replied the King. “But +why have you come here to tell me what I already +know?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p> + +<p>“Because, sir, you have put the carpenter to +work mending a shoe here in Pudding Lane,” +said the cobbler.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, of course I haven’t,” began King +Cole. “Oh, I see, you mean the Old Woman’s +Shoe?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“That, and no other, sir,” said the cobbler.</p> + +<p>The King looked embarrassed. “Oh—er—well, +let’s call the carpenter in,” he said, for +he saw that the cobbler was determined to stay +it out.</p> + +<p>But when the carpenter came in, and old King +Cole told him that the cobbler had objected to +their previous arrangement, then it was the carpenter’s +turn to be offended.</p> + +<p>“But, sir,” said he, “the Shoe is the Old +Woman’s house, isn’t it? Then why isn’t it a +carpenter’s business to make the necessary repairs?”</p> + +<p>The King sighed. It was a problem. Whose +business was it to mend the Old Woman’s Shoe, +the cobbler’s or the carpenter’s? It was a shoe, +and it was a house. He was frank to say he +couldn’t settle it. He turned to the queen, but +she, as usual, was asleep, her crown on her nose. +The poor King didn’t know which way to turn.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to do except send for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> +whole town to come up to the palace to consider +the weighty problem. So the Town Crier was +sent out in a great hurry to summon all the +people to the palace. And for once in his life +the Town Crier managed to get through the job +without making a single mistake.</p> + +<p>The people of Pudding Lane were indeed surprised +that King Cole should send for them in +that hasty manner.</p> + +<p>“It must be very serious,” they told each +other.</p> + +<p>“Maybe the Queen is sick,” suggested Mr. +Horner.</p> + +<p>“She might even be dead!” Mrs. Grundy +added hopefully.</p> + +<p>“Well, come along, let’s hurry,” urged the +piper, and so they all rushed into the street and +hurried pell-mell to answer the summons of the +King.</p> + +<p>The King shook hands with everybody and +then tried to awaken the Queen, but that lady +must have been exceedingly tired and sleepy, for +though he shook her and shook her, she wouldn’t +wake up at all.</p> + +<p>“Let her sleep,” said the butcher in a kindly +manner. “We all know what it is to be sleepy.”</p> + +<p>The King, looking relieved, cleared his throat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> +and told them all just what the trouble was. +When he mentioned the Shoe the Old Woman +almost fell over with astonishment, for she had +no idea that it was on account of her that the +meeting had been called. And when he related +how the cobbler and the carpenter were quarreling, +the Old Woman felt a terrible fear in her +heart. Supposing the matter never could be +settled, and she would have to stay in The +House-that-Jack-Built all the rest of her life.</p> + +<p>“And now,” the King ended, “I leave it to +the people to decide.”</p> + +<p>Everybody looked scared. It was such a +knotty problem, and there was so much to be +said for the standpoint of both the cobbler and +the carpenter, that they just stood there and +didn’t say anything.</p> + +<p>“Come,” said King Cole. “What do you +say, candlestick-maker?”</p> + +<p>The candlestick-maker started and then tried +to look wise. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly know +what to say, sir,” he said importantly.</p> + +<p>“What about you, Mr. Horner?” The King +turned to Jack Horner’s father. “What advice +have you to offer?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Horner shook his head. “It’s too much +for me, sir,” he admitted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p> + +<p>Then the Old Woman herself was asked for +an opinion.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know, King +Cole!” she cried out. “But do let’s settle +it somehow. I feel as if I should die if I +couldn’t go back to live in the old Shoe once +more.”</p> + +<p>At this outburst of grief the King’s distress +increased. He looked at the cobbler and at the +carpenter, but neither one of them would give +in an inch; he could tell that by the set look of +their faces. King Cole sighed loudly, and then +opened his mouth to speak. He was going to +tell the Old Woman that, after all, she could +not live in the Shoe again, but would have to +put up with the House-that-Jack-Built as best +she could.</p> + +<p>And just at that moment Mother Goose was +ushered in. She was on her way for a visit to +the Clauses, and she said she thought she’d just +run in to say hello to the King.</p> + +<p>“But, mercy on us!” she exclaimed, looking +around at the assembled people. “What is it—a +coronation?”</p> + +<p>Old King Cole explained affairs to his friend. +He told her how sad the Old Woman was and +pointed out the cobbler and the carpenter, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> +were standing there, glaring at each other, the +cause of the whole trouble.</p> + +<p>“Now isn’t that a hard one?” he asked the +old lady, looking at her anxiously to see what +she thought of the matter.</p> + +<p>“Hard one, nothing!” replied Mother Goose, +looking sharply at the cobbler and the carpenter. +“Give the business to Jack-of-All-Trades +and let those fellows go.”</p> + +<p>What a happy solution that was. How glad +they all were. The Old Woman Who Lived in +a Shoe was too overjoyed for words, but the rest +of the people just chattered and buzzed and fluttered +around in their pleased excitement.</p> + +<p>And so it was decided that Jack-of-All-Trades +should mend the shoe, and the cobbler and the +carpenter, feeling very cheap, were dismissed +from the presence of the King.</p> + +<p>It was exactly one week later that the Old +Woman took all her children and moved back +into the Shoe, which now stood up proudly on +its rubber heel, mended and polished until it +looked like new. In fact, it looked so fine that +the Old Woman and her children hardly recognized +it as the same old Shoe and were almost +afraid the King had fooled them and had got +a new shoe somewhere.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p> + +<p>But, sure enough, when they climbed inside, +there were the same old spots and stains on the +wall, the same old beds, and the same old pots +and pans. And then they all settled down and +knew they would be happy forever after, because +they were back in their dear Shoe, never +to leave it again.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="c12">XII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="c sp">SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING</p> + + +<p class="c xlarge">1</p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">P</span>UDDING LANE was creaking and +cracking with snow. Snow, snow, snow! +It ground under the heel of Old Mother +Hubbard as she went to the butcher’s to buy an +especially juicy bone for the poor dog; it +crunched under the tread of Mr. Horner as he +walked to the baker’s to order Jack’s Christmas +pie; it squeaked under the tread of the Town +Crier as he trudged up and down Pudding Lane, +calling, “Christmas is coming, Christmas is +coming, Christmas, Christmas, Christmas!”</p> + +<p>For Christmas was coming, and although such +an announcement was not exactly news to the +people of Pudding Lane, still it was pleasant +just to hear the Town Crier say it. There’s +something about the very word “Christmas” +that makes you feel happy and jolly.</p> + +<p>And so, since Christmas was so close, everybody +in Pudding Lane was as busy as busy could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> +be. The candlestick-maker sat day and night +working his copper and brass. The Clauses were +up to their eyes in pies and cakes. Even the +children had no time for play, but spent all their +spare moments gathering holly and mistletoe to +deck the windows and fireplaces with. And as +for little Santa Claus, nobody saw him these +days, for Christmas was his busy season, and +many weeks before he had retired to the woodshed +and emerged now only for meals and bed.</p> + +<p>But this Christmas there was something else +going on in Pudding Lane, something exciting +and mysterious and very important. It was a +tremendous secret. And it was this: the people +of Pudding Lane were going to surprise Santa +Claus himself; they were going to hang up his +stocking and put gifts in it, just as if he were not +Santa Claus at all, but a regular little boy like +all the others.</p> + +<p>It was strange that nobody had ever thought +of this before, for Santa Claus was just a regular +little boy, after all, and surely all little boys, +even Santa Claus, should have a Christmas +stocking. But somehow nobody had thought +of it, and although Santa Claus, all these years, +had been giving Christmas gifts to everybody +else, he never had got one himself. He had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> +never hung up his stocking; he had never been +surprised on Christmas morning; he had never +had any Christmas fun except the fun of surprising +other people. The funny part of it was, +too, that he had never even thought of such a +thing.</p> + +<p>But this year, although Santa Claus had not +thought of such a thing, the rest of Pudding +Lane had, and so the secret had been hatched, +and the plans were going merrily on, the plans +for surprising Santa Claus on Christmas morning.</p> + +<p>It was a good thing that Santa Claus was so +occupied, or he surely would have guessed that +something unusual was going on. He would +have guessed it from the way Simple Simon +sniggered every time he came near Santa, or by +the way Judy kept asking him over and over +what he wanted for Christmas, or by the way +everybody nudged everybody else whenever he +appeared in public. But luckily for them, he +paid no attention to all these hints, being far +too engrossed in his own Christmas affairs to notice +anything at all.</p> + +<p>Indeed, he was so abstracted as to call forth +a comment from that plain-spoken woman, his +mother.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> + +<p>“Dear me, Santa Claus,” she said one day at +dinner, as he sat staring at the wall, “I really +think that if a bear should walk in on you, you’d +sit there staring just the same,—or indeed, if +fifty bears should walk in on you.”</p> + +<p>This flight of imagination brought Santa to.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking about that little red wagon,” +he explained. “Simple Simon wants a little red +wagon for Christmas, you see, and it seems like +such a queer gift for him.”</p> + +<p>“Queer gifts to queer people,” replied Mrs. +Claus. “But eat your dinner now, Santa Claus. +I don’t intend to cook my life away and have my +children starve to death.”</p> + +<p>There was a reason why Mrs. Claus wanted +Santa Claus to hurry and finish his dinner. The +reason was that all the grown-ups of Pudding +Lane were coming to the Clauses’ that evening +to discuss the final plans for Santa Claus’s surprise. +Consequently, Mrs. Claus had a great +deal of work to do, and she wanted Santa Claus +well out of the way. It was with a great sigh +of relief, therefore, that she saw Santa finish his +dinner and depart again for the woodshed.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said she to Mr. Claus and the twins, +“he like to never went!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he did,” replied the baker, meaning, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span> +suppose, that Santa Claus did like to never went, +whatever that meant. “Do you think, Nellie, +that he guesses the least tiny bit that we’re planning +this Christmas surprise?”</p> + +<p>“No, he doesn’t guess a thing,” replied Mrs. +Claus. “He’s thinking only of little red wagons.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t he be surprised, though?” Mr. +Claus grinned at the prospect.</p> + +<p>“No little boy was ever so surprised in the +whole world as Santa Claus will be this Christmas +morning,” said Mrs. Claus with conviction. +“But look here, baker, this is no time to sit idly +in the kitchen. What about Jack Horner’s pie, +sir? And the animal crackers. Mr. Claus, I am +surprised that you would neglect the animal +crackers like this!”</p> + +<p>Whereupon, Mr. Claus, much ashamed of himself, +departed for the bakeshop and Mrs. Claus +began to tear things up in the front parlor for +the company that was coming that night.</p> + +<p>Santa Claus and the twins and the baby were +all in bed and sound asleep that night when +Mrs. Claus, attired in her best, and Mr. Claus, +attired in his best, sat awaiting their guests. +But in spite of their fine clothes, and in spite of +the fact that the Clauses’ front parlor was brilliantly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> +lighted with as many as eight or ten candles, +in spite of the fact that this was perhaps +the most important event that ever was to take +place in the humble home of the Clauses, the +host and hostess at that moment were a far from +lively couple.</p> + +<p>For as Mrs. Claus sat there stiffly, she kept +opening and closing her mouth in such tremendous +yawns that it was a wonder she didn’t swallow +herself. And as Mr. Claus stood at attention +by the door, he dozed and came to with +such lurches and pitches that it seemed as if he +must fall down on the floor just any moment, +plunged into the deepest of slumbers. Indeed, +he would have, I do believe, if Mrs. Claus, between +yawns, hadn’t called out: “Look out +there, Mr. Claus! Look out!” At which he +then would look out from his heavy, half-shut +eyes and stop lurching for the briefest while.</p> + +<p>The truth was that the Clauses were already +so terribly, fearfully, awfully sleepy that it +didn’t seem at all possible that they would get +through the evening, inasmuch as the evening +hadn’t even started yet. Night life in Pudding +Lane was not what it might have been and late +hours were extremely rare.</p> + +<p>Well, there they were, Mrs. Claus one great<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> +enormous yawn, and Mr. Claus reeling like a +sleepy wooden soldier, when thumpety, thump, +came a noise down Pudding Lane. Mrs. Claus +heard the thumpety-thump first and sat up +straighter than ever.</p> + +<p>“Look out there, Mr. Claus, look out!” she +warned him, for Mr. Claus by that time was +swaying in a most terrifying fashion. Mr. Claus +opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>“They’re coming!” she told him.</p> + +<p>“Who’s coming?” asked Mr. Claus stupidly. +He <i>was</i> far gone, wasn’t he?</p> + +<p>“They!” cried Mrs. Claus, exasperated. +“The company!”</p> + +<p>Just at that minute there came a great +bang at the door. Mr. Claus jumped a foot +high.</p> + +<p>“Who in the world can that be?” he cried. +“Who are you?” he demanded fiercely. “Who +are you?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Claus,” screamed his wife frantically, +“will you open that door or won’t you? It’s +the company come.”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Claus, determined to be a hero at +whatever cost, continued to grow more and more +heroic, as the banging at the door went on, and +striking a warlike pose he thundered, “Who are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> +you, I say, coming to disturb good honest people +at such an hour of the night?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” yelled poor Mrs. Claus at this. +“What a man!” She flew from the sofa and +flung open the door for the crowd of people that +was waiting.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grundy, as usual, came strutting in first, +ahead even of Old King Cole, which was not exactly +according to court procedure.</p> + +<p>“Well, I must say, baker!” she said haughtily, +though what she thought she must say, she +didn’t say, somehow.</p> + +<p>“What’s this, Claus?” asked the butcher +jovially. “Did you think we were come to steal +the silver?”</p> + +<p>The Queen of Hearts gave Mr. Claus a playful +dig with her elbow.</p> + +<p>“Such a man as you are, baker,” she tittered, +“to joke with us like that.”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Claus, still blinking, did not in the +least know what it was all about, and as he +looked from one to the other of that vast company +of his neighbors and friends, he showed +such complete bewilderment and perplexity that +they all burst out laughing. All but Mrs. Claus, +that is. If looks could kill, Mr. Claus would +have been dead on the spot. For Mrs. Claus<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> +was a hospitable soul and to have her husband +treat company that way was more than she +could bear.</p> + +<p>It was the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe +who finally took pity on him, as the rest of the +company just stood there and laughed at his +funny puzzled countenance.</p> + +<p>“Wake up, Mr. Claus,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Wake up and stay awake!” added Mrs. +Claus, as the Old Woman continued, “Wake +up! We’ve come to talk about the Christmas +surprise for Santa Claus. Don’t you remember?”</p> + +<p>Then suddenly Mr. Claus did remember, and, +oh, how chagrined he was then, how extravagantly +he apologized for his rudeness to the +company, and how he upbraided himself for +being such a dunderhead, as he expressed +it.</p> + +<p>It was very late in the evening when Old +King Cole, rising heavily to his feet, called for +a summing-up of the evening’s business.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Horner,” said he to Jack Horner’s +father, “will you please to summarize the conclusions +we have reached this night in regard to +Santa Claus’s Christmas surprise?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Horner, jumping up, bowed low to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> +King, cleared his throat, looked uncertainly +around him, opened his mouth and began to +speak.</p> + +<p>“I—sir—I suggest—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” Old King Cole waved his hand. +“No more suggestions, please. Just summarize, +if you will, Mr. Horner, just summarize.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Horner tried again.</p> + +<p>“Your Majesty, I would remark—”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Horner, if you please,” interrupted the +merry old soul testily, “I don’t want you to remark. +All that I ask of you is that you summarize. +Surely a King may ask such a small +favor of a loyal subject, Mr. Horner.”</p> + +<p>“Your Majesty,” spoke Mr. Horner with dignity, +“I’m afraid I must refuse to—to—sum—well, +to do as you require.”</p> + +<p>With that, Mr. Horner sat down, his face red +and his hands shaking. For the trouble with +Mr. Horner was that he didn’t know what “summarize” +meant, but rather than admit it, he +would have gone into a deep dungeon and stayed +there the rest of his life, so proud a man was +Mr. Horner.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Horner refused the King and sat +down as he did, everybody, including Mr. Horner +himself, expected something calamitous to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> +happen, for that’s what it means to be a King, +to have people do as you tell them. They all +shivered as they sat there. What would the +King say to the disobedient Mr. Horner and +what would he do? Only Mrs. Horner did not +shiver, for she was too frightened even to shiver, +but sat stone-still in her rocking chair, like a +rigid, glass-eyed doll.</p> + +<p>But what was everybody’s astonishment when +Old King Cole began to chuckle, then laugh out +loud, and finally so jolly did he become that he +rocked and gasped and held his stomach in a perfect +storm of merriment. Indeed, it began to +look as if he would never recover. He did recover, +however, due to the presence of mind of +Mrs. Grundy, who fetched a pitcher of water, +saying, as she did so, and very truly too, that +there’s nothing like water to bring a man to his +senses.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Horner,” said the King, as he +wiped his eyes of their tears of laughter and +his face of the deluge of water, “I admire your +spirit, sir. But come now, it is growing late. +Who <i>will</i> summarize for me?”</p> + +<p>Jack Spratt jumped up eagerly. He knew +what “summarize” meant and was bursting to +show off his knowledge. And here is the speech<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> +he made. You will agree, I am sure, that Jack +Spratt was a masterly hand at speeches.</p> + +<p>“Your Majesty, Your Gracious Beauty,” +(this last was meant for the Queen of Hearts +who now bowed her head in ill-concealed delight +at such praise) “ladies, one and all, and gentlemen:</p> + +<p>“We have decided here to-night on these +things, namely, and to wit:</p> + +<p>“That Santa Claus, being quite the kindest, +most generous, most wonderful little boy in Pudding +Lane” (you should have seen Mrs. Claus’s +face at that) “in fact, the kindest, most generous, +most wonderful little boy in the wide +world” (look out, Mrs. Claus, you almost fell +off your chair then), “that Santa Claus, therefore, +shall be surprised on Christmas morning as +he always surprises other children;</p> + +<p>“We have decided further, sir, that all the +children shall make with their own hands gifts +for Santa Claus and that Mother Goose shall +buy gifts for us in Banbury Cross, as well;</p> + +<p>“That then these gifts shall be stored here in +Mrs. Claus’s cupboard, shall be locked with a +strong key and stay locked until Christmas Eve +when, you, Your Majesty, are to get these +things, go up to the roof, slide down the chimney,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> +and fill little Santa’s stocking full as it will +hold, yes, even fuller, for it is well known, comrades, +that a Christmas stocking isn’t much of a +stocking if it doesn’t overflow with gifts.”</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” shouted Old King Cole, as Jack +Spratt, with one final flourish of a bow, took his +seat again, flushed with success.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” they all cried, “Hurrah! Hurrah! +Hurrah! Long live Jack Spratt!”</p> + +<p>But they had cried hurrah one time too many. +For upon that last resounding cry, Santa Claus, +in his little bed upstairs, had awakened. He did +not know what this noise was, having no idea +that Mr. and Mrs. Claus were entertaining company +that night. And so, since he did not know +what the sound was, he thought he would get up +and find out. Which he did. He fumbled +around in the dark for his slippers, groped for +his dressing gown, and upon finding these, +hurried into them and ran down the back +stairs.</p> + +<p>The noise had subsided now, however, and as +Santa Claus tiptoed in toward the front parlor, +he heard only the low murmur of voices. This +surely was a strange thing, thought Santa Claus +to himself—people to be talking in the Clauses’ +front parlor in the middle of the night. He crept<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> +to the parlor door and listened. It sounded as +if all Pudding Lane were there, he thought. +Buzz, buzz, hum, hum, whisper, whisper! He +could hear the deep voice of Old King Cole, rumbling. +He could hear Mrs. Dumpty’s high little +chirp. He could hear the cackle of the old +candlestick-maker. Buzz, buzz, hum, hum, +whisper, whisper!</p> + +<p>And what do you think they were talking +about? Were they still discussing the Christmas +surprise? And would Santa Claus hear it +all now? Oh, what a disaster that would be. +Let us put our ears close to the door, as Santa +was already doing. Hark! The Old Woman +Who Lived in a Shoe is talking.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she was saying, “I wish I were a +child. I’d love to hang my stocking up Christmas +Eve, I would.” Whew, that was a narrow +squeak, all right. They might still have been +talking about the surprise.</p> + +<p>“You know,” said Mrs. Spratt, “I’ve often +wished that myself. That’s the worst thing +about growing up, that you don’t hang up your +stocking on Christmas.”</p> + +<p>“But we could,” exclaimed Mrs. Peter, Peter +Pumpkin-Eater, “we could hang up our stockings +on Christmas Eve if we wanted to.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> + +<p>“Who’d fill ’em?” asked the candlestick-maker +bluntly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, who’d fill ’em?” demanded every one +else. “There isn’t much use of hanging up your +stocking, Mrs. Peter, if nobody fills it.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Peter, Peter looked a bit crestfallen. +“No, I suppose there isn’t,” she answered. +“Still, I think we might hang them up and just +see whether they got filled or not.”</p> + +<p>“Now, Mrs. Peter, Peter Pumpkin-Eater,” +said Mr. Horner, “you surely don’t think that +that little boy, Santa Claus, would fill our stockings +if we hung them up, do you? Why, Santa’s +got his hands full already, attending to the children’s +stockings.”</p> + +<p>“No, I’m not so foolish as to think that, Mr. +Horner,” said Mrs. Peter, Peter, “but some one +else might.”</p> + +<p>“Who might?” they all asked her. “Whoever +would fill our stockings, Mrs. Peter?”</p> + +<p>“Mother Goose might or a fairy might,” burst +out the little lady triumphantly.</p> + +<p>And the grown-ups had to admit to themselves +that in truth Mother Goose or a fairy +<i>might</i> fill their stockings on Christmas Eve. +Mother Goose had been known to do stranger +things than that in her day, and as for the fairies,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> +well, nobody can ever tell what they’re +going to do.</p> + +<p>Supposing, then, that they all should hang up +their stockings on Christmas Eve! Supposing +somebody did fill them with the gifts of their +hearts’ desire! Mrs. Dumpty’s heart fluttered +wildly at the thought; the Old Woman had a +new strange light in her eyes; and the candlestick-maker +fidgeted excitedly in his chair. Foolish +grown-ups, to sit there dreaming of impossible +things. Or perhaps they were wise. Anyway, +they were certainly happy, as they all forgot +everything for a moment and pretended that +it was Christmas Eve and that they were young +again.</p> + +<p>Old King Cole finally broke the silence.</p> + +<p>“Old Woman,” he said gently, “what would +you rather have than anything else in the +world? What would you want in your Christmas +stocking if you did hang it up, Old +Woman?”</p> + +<p>The Old Woman began to murmur as if to +herself, “Once upon a time when I was a girl, +there was a ball given in Banbury Cross, and I +was invited. The Prince was to be there, Prince +Charming himself, you know, and I had a red +dress for it, and a pair of gold slippers. Then I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> +got the measles and I couldn’t go. I’ve never +been the same since.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Old Woman,” said the King, “you +mean to say you want a ball in your Christmas +stocking?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the only thing I do want,” replied +the Old Woman. “Only it would have to be +the same ball, you know. No other ball would +do at all.”</p> + +<p>“Of course not,” King Cole said gravely, “no +other ball would ever do. I don’t care much for +balls, Old Woman, but I can understand that +perfectly.” He sighed heavily. It was sad to +hear the Old Woman mourning for that lost joy +of her youth, and sadder still, he thought to himself, +that things like balls could never, never, +never be put into old women’s Christmas stockings. +He turned then to Mrs. Dumpty.</p> + +<p>“And do you want a ball too, Mrs. +Dumpty?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty looked up at His Majesty timidly.</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” she replied, and then she hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Well—?” said Old King Cole encouragingly.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid, sir, that you’ll think I’m rather a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> +foolish woman to want what I want,” she told +him.</p> + +<p>“People aren’t foolish to want things, no +matter what they want,” King Cole pronounced +sagely. “What do you want in the whole world, +Mrs. Dumpty?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” began Mrs. Dumpty, “I want—I +want—well, I want a lace petticoat, King +Cole, a lace petticoat with a thousand ruffles!”</p> + +<p>“A thousand ruffles!” repeated King Cole, +astonished. “Why, Mrs. Dumpty, I don’t believe +there ever was a petticoat with a thousand +lace ruffles on it!”</p> + +<p>“Maybe there wasn’t, and maybe there isn’t,” +answered Mrs. Dumpty doggedly, “but that’s +what I want, King Cole. I never had enough +ruffles in my whole life, sir. And somehow, +there’s nothing quite like ruffles to make a woman +happy.”</p> + +<p>The women all murmured sympathetically at +this, as King Cole nodded next to Old Mother +Hubbard.</p> + +<p>“Ruffles for you too, Mother Hubbard?” he +asked. Women were queer, he was thinking to +himself. What on earth did they want of ruffles?</p> + +<p>“Ruffles are all very well,” responded Mother<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span> +Hubbard, “but I know something better even +than ruffles, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And that is—” King Cole smiled reassuringly +at her.</p> + +<p>“And that is a—” Old Mother threw a reckless +glance around the room, “that is a—hurdy-gurdy!”</p> + +<p>A hurdy-gurdy! No wonder they all gasped. +Who but Mother Hubbard would ever have +thought of a hurdy-gurdy?</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she repeated defiantly, “a hurdy-gurdy! +You all may think it’s funny to live +alone with a dog, with a bare cupboard yawning +in your face, but I tell you it’s not a bit funny. +No, not funny at all.” Poor Mother Hubbard’s +voice choked a bit, but she swallowed hard and +went on, “And if I had a hurdy-gurdy—oh, +I’ve always longed for music, King Cole, but +now more than ever. If I had a hurdy-gurdy—”</p> + +<p>“If you had a hurdy-gurdy,” supplied Old +King Cole eagerly, “you could play it—”</p> + +<p>“And you could sing—” the Old Woman put +in.</p> + +<p>“And you could dance,” cried Mrs. Flinders.</p> + +<p>“And the dog could dance too,” finished up +Mrs. Claus.</p> + +<p>“And see how jolly we’d all be,” said Mother<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> +Hubbard. “Now a hurdy-gurdy would be a +good thing for me, wouldn’t it?”</p> + +<p>So there they sat, those grown-ups, talking +about what they wanted in their Christmas stockings +just as Jack and Jill, just as Mistress Mary, +just as Polly Flinders, and Simple Simon, and +Little Boy Blue talked about what they wanted +in their Christmas stockings every single year.</p> + +<p>And these grown-ups did want the strangest +things. The candlestick-maker, who was the +dirtiest and shabbiest old man in Pudding Lane, +confessed that he wanted a swallow-tail coat, +“with pearl buttons on it,” he added, “and a +silk hankersniff in the top pocket.” The candlestick-maker +always said “hankersniff” for +“handkerchief” and if you corrected him, he +would declare emphatically that of course it was +sniff—what else was a hanker for?—which +seemed to settle the matter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Flinders, that citified gentleman who had +come to Pudding Lane from London, stated that +he desired pigs. For in pigs, said he, he thought +a man might find a deal of comfort and a relief +from the complexities of this world. The +butcher was frank to say that he wanted nothing +in this world but a wife. And Old Cross-Patch, +who hadn’t said a word all the evening,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> +startled the company by grunting suddenly that +she would like to have a baby.</p> + +<p>What amazing things! A ball, a thousand +ruffles, a hurdy-gurdy, a swallow-tailed coat, +pigs, a wife, a baby! As Santa Claus stood there +listening behind the door, he thought to himself +that no little boy in the world had ever faced +such a problem as this was. For, of course, if they +wanted these things, it was Santa Claus’s duty +to provide them, he thought. That was the kind +of boy he was, you know. If anybody in the +world wanted anything, he considered it his business +to see that it was forthcoming.</p> + +<p>Moreover, these grown-ups, Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, +Mrs. Dumpty, the Old Woman, the candlestick-maker, +Mr. Flinders, the butcher, Cross-Patch +and all the others, had reached such a pitch +now that they were actually going to hang up +their stockings on Christmas Eve. They were +going to do this just for fun, as they said, and +yet Santa Claus could tell by the wistful tone +of their voices, by the yearning hope in their +voices, that they did halfway expect that somebody +or other would, after all, make their Christmas +wishes come true.</p> + +<p>No wonder he didn’t sleep a wink that night, +or at least many winks. For this was the greatest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> +dilemma any boy ever was in. Here were +people wanting things. Here were people about +to hang up their Christmas stockings. And here +was he, Santa Claus, without one thing to put +in those stockings.</p> + +<p>How could <i>he</i> get a swallow-tail coat with +pearl buttons and a silk hankersniff in the top +pocket? How could he manage a ball for the +Old Woman? And how on earth could anybody, +even Mother Goose or a fairy, produce a +wife for the butcher? Or a baby for Cross-Patch? +Santa Claus’s heart was very heavy as +he thought of these things and he almost wished, +although not quite, of course, that he had never +gone into the Christmas business.</p> + +<p>But little did Pudding Lane guess what was +going on in Santa Claus’s mind these days. They +were all too busy attending to his surprise.</p> + +<p>The children made presents for Santa Claus. +Judy was knitting, with many grunts and sighs, +a pair of red mittens, and although the poor little +girl had made a mistake and knitted both mittens +for the left hand, still they were extremely +handsome mittens, red as a holly berry and +warm as fur. Humpty-Dumpty carved a whistle +for Santa, one that blew so shrill and loud +that it sounded like the wind itself whistling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> +around the corner. Jack and Jill had planted +an orange seed in a geranium pot and now, bless +you, there was growing up in that pot a lovely +little orange tree, such as nobody in Pudding +Lane had ever seen before. In fact, when they +told Mrs. Claus about it, she didn’t believe +it.</p> + +<p>“Has it got oranges on it?” she wanted to +know.</p> + +<p>“No,” admitted Jill.</p> + +<p>“Has it got orange blossoms on it?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am,” Jill was constrained to admit. +“No blossoms, Mrs. Claus.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said that lady, “how do you +know it’s an orange tree?”</p> + +<p>“Because it grew from an orange seed,” explained +Jill; “nothing would grow from an orange +seed but an orange tree, would it, Mrs. +Claus?”</p> + +<p>“That I don’t know,” answered Mrs. Claus, +“but it looks to me as though an orange tree +ought to have oranges on it.”</p> + +<p>It was about this time that Mother Goose sent +a big box of gifts from Banbury Cross for Santa +Claus’s stocking. It was about this time, too, +that Jack-of-All-Trades made a fine new key for +Mrs. Claus’s cupboard, so that when the gifts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> +were stored there they might be safely locked up +against Santa Claus’s discovery.</p> + +<p>But still Santa Claus himself was deeply +troubled. He hammered and pounded as usual +in the old woodshed, making the children’s gifts, +but still he wondered and pondered about the +grown-ups’ Christmas, and still he could see no +way out of this overwhelming difficulty. The +days flew by, Christmas was coming closer and +closer, and he had done nothing toward getting +the ruffled petticoat, the swallow-tail coat, the +wife and the baby and all the other things.</p> + +<p>And then, unannounced, Piggy-Peddler +dropped in one day and something happened.</p> + +<p>Of all the children in Pudding Lane, Santa +Claus was Piggy-Peddler’s favorite, and so it +was quite natural that Piggy-Peddler should notice +how Santa’s little fat chops drooped and +how melancholy were his blue eyes. He did notice +these things, and he wasted no time in making +inquiries, but took Santa Claus off into a +corner and said, “Look here, old man, something’s +up. Why don’t you tell Piggy-Peddler +about it?”</p> + +<p>Santa Claus, oh, so relieved now to have somebody +to confide in, told Piggy-Peddler the whole +story. He told Piggy-Peddler how he had heard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> +the grown-ups talking that night about the +things they wanted, how those grown-ups had +planned to hang up their stockings just to see if +something wouldn’t happen, and how he, Santa +Claus, longed to find those things for the grown-ups +and put them in their stockings, but couldn’t +possibly do it.</p> + +<p>Piggy-Peddler listened intently, and when +Santa Claus had finished, he spoke softly.</p> + +<p>“So that’s it,” he said. “Those dear, funny, +grown-up people. They want the things they’ve +never had. Of course they do.”</p> + +<p>“And they’ve been wanting them ever since +they were young,” added Santa Claus.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Dumpty and her ruffles,” said Piggy-Peddler.</p> + +<p>“And Cross-Patch,” said Santa.</p> + +<p>“And the candlestick-maker!” continued +Piggy-Peddler. “Can’t you just see him, Santa +Claus, switching those tails around, with a dirty +shirt above them, and his rusty boots below?”</p> + +<p>“Still, I think he’d look nice,” Santa Claus +said.</p> + +<p>“Nice! He’d look elegant!”</p> + +<p>Santa Claus laughed aloud. It would be such +fun, he was thinking, to see the candlestick-maker +flourishing happily around in his tails.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p> + +<p>“I wonder”—Piggy-Peddler was musing—“I +wonder if he would do it, just this once, +for these people of Pudding Lane.”</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>Piggy-Peddler was lost in thought.</p> + +<p>“Who, Piggy-Peddler?” persisted Santa +Claus. “You wonder if who would do what?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” Piggy-Peddler started and laughed. +“Why, I was wondering, Santa Claus, if Father +Time wouldn’t, just this one time, let these +people have an hour of their youth again. If he +would, you know, they could have all their desires. +Their wishes would all come true.”</p> + +<p>At this Santa Claus could only stare.</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s just this, Santa Claus,” explained +Piggy-Peddler. “Father Time, if he wanted +to, could turn the clock back on Christmas Eve. +He could let these people fly back to the time +when they were young, and he could give them +whatever they wanted.”</p> + +<p>“He could?” Santa’s mouth was wide open +at such news.</p> + +<p>“He could,” replied Piggy-Peddler.</p> + +<p>“Would they be children again?”</p> + +<p>“No, you never can be a child again, quite, +you know, after you’ve once grown up,” Piggy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> +said. “But you can feel very young, oh, very +young, even as young as sixteen.”</p> + +<p>Santa Claus, thinking to himself that sixteen +was not what he’d call young, spoke again.</p> + +<p>“He could make their wishes come true, you +say?”</p> + +<p>“For an hour.”</p> + +<p>“Only for an hour?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’ll be long enough. It isn’t keeping +things that’s fun, you know. Why, they +wouldn’t want these things forever, Santa Claus. +The Old Woman can’t jig around at a ball the +rest of her life, can she? And that petticoat! +Mrs. Dumpty would worry her life out washing +the thing! You know what a fussy little lady +she is.”</p> + +<p>“But the baby for Cross-Patch?” pursued +Santa Claus. He was thinking how badly he’d +feel if his baby sister should have stayed with +them only an hour.</p> + +<p>“Well, that is a little different,” admitted +Piggy. “But think of the poor baby living with +old Cross-Patch. I’ll tell you, Santa, we’ll get +her a parrot afterwards. They’re lots better for +old cross-patches than babies. Also, the butcher +doesn’t really want a wife, you know. He only +thinks he does.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span></p> + +<p>“But they said they wanted these things +more than anything else in the world,” said +Santa Claus persistently.</p> + +<p>“They do!” cried Piggy. “The things +you’ve always wanted are the very things you +want most. But that doesn’t mean you have to +keep them forever. And think how happy they’d +all be on Christmas. Why, this will make them +happy the rest of their lives, and they’ll never +get through talking about it.”</p> + +<p>“And Father Time could do this?” asked +Santa again.</p> + +<p>“He could,” replied Piggy-Peddler. “He’s +very powerful, you know. The only question is, +would he? That’s what I am wondering.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know him, Piggy-Peddler?”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” answered Piggy.</p> + +<p>“Could you ask him?”</p> + +<p>“I could and I will,” came Piggy-Peddler’s +reply. “He ought to do it for you, Santa Claus. +Father Time thinks very highly of you, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t know me,” said Santa.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, he does. He knows everybody. +He may be old and his beard may be long and +white, but he knows everybody in the world, +Santa Claus, and don’t you forget that.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p> + +<p>“And you will go to him, Piggy-Peddler,” +begged Santa Claus, “and ask him to turn the +clock back?”</p> + +<p>“I will,” replied Piggy-Peddler, “this very +minute I’ll go, Santa Claus.”</p> + +<p>And he did. He left Pudding Lane that very +minute, and as Santa Claus went back to his +work, his heart beat a little rat-a-tat-tat of joy, +as he reflected that maybe, after all, The Old +Woman could have her ball, Mrs. Dumpty her +ruffles, and Cross-Patch her baby on Christmas +morning.</p> + + +<p class="c xlarge">2</p> + +<p>Christmas Eve had come. Deeper than ever +was the snow. The houses looked as if their +mothers had put white hoods on them; the ground +was spread as with white fur; and the trees held +their burden of snow as lightly as if it were lace.</p> + +<p>But nobody had time for scenery in Pudding +Lane that night. In every house, lights were +burning; in every house, the mothers were flying +madly about, the fathers were jumping from +room to room, and the children were hopping, +shrieking, dancing, as children always do on this +best night of the year.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> + +<p>At last, however, the stockings were all up at +the fireplaces. At last the children were all in +bed and sound asleep. At last it was time for +Santa Claus, that fat little boy in a bright red +suit, to take his pack, go to the roofs, slide down +the chimneys and fill the stockings as he did every +year.</p> + +<p>But what about the surprise for Santa himself? +Wait a bit. It wasn’t time for that yet. +And what about the gifts for the grown-ups? +Were they to get the things they wanted? Was +Father Time really going to turn the clock back, +as Piggy-Peddler and Santa Claus had so ardently +hoped he would?</p> + +<p>Well, whether Father Time was going to make +the wishes come true or not, the grown-ups were +certainly hanging up their stockings. For there +was the old candlestick-maker in his shop, pawing +through a drawerful of socks. First he +pulled out a white sock, but that one, alas, had +a hole in it. Then he found a brown one, but +oh, my goodness, that one had two holes in it. +Then he found a gray sock, a woolen one that +Mrs. Claus, good soul, had knitted for him. But +that one had shrunken in the wash, and nobody +wants a shriveled-up sock to hang up for Christmas. +At last he came upon a fine black affair<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> +that looked as if it had been made for a giant, +so enormous it was. This was the very thing, +and cackling and wheezing, the candlestick-maker +hung it up beside Jack-Be-Nimble’s +smaller stocking and went to bed.</p> + +<p>The butcher hung up his stocking, and lonely +it looked too, that stocking, as it dangled from +his bachelor’s fireplace. The Flinderses hung +up their stockings, one on each side of Polly’s; +Mrs. Dumpty hung up hers,—oh, all the grown-ups +hung up stockings that night. And although +they tried to pretend to themselves that it was +all in fun, still they all knew perfectly well +that it wouldn’t be a bit funny if they should get +up the next morning to find these stockings +empty and their wishes still just wishes.</p> + +<p>Only Mr. and Mrs. Claus did not join in this +great stocking ceremony. Something had happened +at the Clauses’, which had turned that +humble home almost inside out and left no time +for such minor considerations as stockings.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus discovered it just after Santa had +left with his pack.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said she to Mr. Claus, “I’ll get out +the things for <i>his</i> stocking.”</p> + +<p>“But he’ll see ’em when he comes in,” objected +the baker.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> + +<p>“Now, Mr. Claus, you ought to know by this +time he always comes in by the back door and +goes up the back steps on Christmas Eve. +What’s the harm, then, of getting out the things +now and putting them in his stocking in the +front room?”</p> + +<p>“No harm, no harm at all,” agreed Mr. Claus +hastily.</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Claus went to her workbasket to get +the key to the cupboard in which Santa’s surprises +were hidden. The key, oddly enough, +was not there.</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s funny,” Mrs. Claus said. +Whereupon she went to the kitchen shelf, but +the key wasn’t there, either. Nor was it behind +the clock on the mantel, or in the best alabaster +vase in the parlor, or in the old valise upstairs. +And if it wasn’t in these treasure troves, where +was it? That is what Mrs. Claus wanted to +know.</p> + +<p>“Where did you put it?” asked the baker +innocently.</p> + +<p>“How do I know?” retorted Mrs. Claus. +“I seemed to remember putting it in all these +places, but I didn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Look in the almanac,” suggested her husband.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p> + +<p>“The almanac!” repeated Mrs. Claus contemptuously, +but she looked there just the same.</p> + +<p>She also looked in the woodbox and in the +apple barrel and in the cooky jar, where no key +ought ever to be and where no key was, either. +She ripped open the beds and searched under the +mattresses, and the fact that her children were +in those beds made no whit of difference to Mrs. +Claus. She tore up the carpet from under Mr. +Claus’s feet; she scratched in the corners of the +room like a cat digging for a mouse; she peered +sharply down into the stove, and when the key +was not discovered there, shook down the coals +angrily. And at last, after tearing up the entire +house by its roots, she sat down on a chair and +looked at Mr. Claus with a tragic face.</p> + +<p>“It’s lost,” she announced hoarsely.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” Mr. Claus replied soothingly, +“we’ll get another.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s a special key,” she wailed, “made +specially for this Christmas Eve. And Jack-of-All-Trades +is dead asleep by now, and if he +wasn’t, he’d never have time now to make another.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, we’ll have to break the door +open,” said Mr. Claus.</p> + +<p>“But we have no ax!” Poor Mrs. Claus,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> +she had lost all her old enterprise in that short +time.</p> + +<p>“We’ll borrow one,” replied Mr. Claus, and +with that they both leaped out of the kitchen to +borrow an ax from the neighbors.</p> + +<p>It was exactly midnight when Santa Claus +had finished filling the stockings of Simple +Simon, Jack and Jill, little Bo-Peep and all the +other children of Pudding Lane. He had just +clicked Mistress Mary’s gate behind him, when +up popped Piggy-Peddler in front of him.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right,” whispered Piggy-Peddler delightedly. +“It’s going on right now.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Santa Claus. “It is? He’s +really turning the clock back?”</p> + +<p>“This very minute,” reported Piggy-Peddler.</p> + +<p>“But it’s too early, Piggy-Peddler,” said +Santa Claus. “The grown-ups will never be +awake at this hour. They’ve just gone to bed.”</p> + +<p>Piggy-Peddler laughed.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you worry about those grown-ups. +They’re worse than children ever thought of being. +Mark my word, they’re sneaking down the +steps right this minute. Father Time knows +them; that’s why he set this hour.”</p> + +<p>“Are they really going to get the very things +they asked for?” asked Santa Claus.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></p> + +<p>“The very things,” Piggy told him.</p> + +<p>“The petticoat?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, such a petticoat! A riot of ruffles!” +Piggy-Peddler answered.</p> + +<p>“A thousand of them?”</p> + +<p>“A thousand, and one for good measure. A +thousand and one ruffles, Santa Claus.”</p> + +<p>“And the baby?”</p> + +<p>“The most wonderful baby,” replied Piggy. +“He never cries and never wakes up in the +middle of the night and never swallows safety +pins.”</p> + +<p>“Then he isn’t a real baby,” declared Santa +Claus. He knew about babies. There had been +five of them in his family.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he’s a real baby,” Piggy-Peddler insisted. +“For he does fall out of bed, and he +does eat old shoes, and he does chase sunbeams +all over the nursery floor.”</p> + +<p>Santa Claus, however, was not quite convinced.</p> + +<p>“Does he go into a rage if he can’t get the sunbeam?”</p> + +<p>“The most awful rage, bellowing and roaring.”</p> + +<p>“No tears though,” supplemented Santa +Claus.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p> + +<p>“No tears,” corroborated Piggy. “Too mad +for tears.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess he’s a real baby then,” Santa +Claus admitted. “But, oh, Piggy, don’t you +wish we could peep in at the windows and see +the grown-ups getting their Christmas presents?”</p> + +<p>“I never wished anything so much in the +world,” was Piggy’s heartfelt reply.</p> + +<p>“But it isn’t nice to peep in at windows, is +it?”</p> + +<p>“Peeping is dreadful,” said Piggy-Peddler.</p> + +<p>“So I suppose we’d better go home,” suggested +Santa.</p> + +<p>“I think that’s all we can do,” Piggy agreed.</p> + +<p>So Santa Claus went home, and Piggy went to +the Horners’, where he was staying over Christmas.</p> + +<p>Piggy did not go straight to bed, however, for +not only did he find Mr. and Mrs. Horner up +and gloating over the lovely gifts in their Christmas +stockings, but he found Jack Horner up +too—think of it, on Christmas Eve—and +moreover, making a great to-do about his Christmas +pie.</p> + +<p>“He wants to eat it now,” Mrs. Horner told +Piggy.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, let him eat it then,” advised Piggy-Peddler, +disgusted.</p> + +<p>You couldn’t do anything with a boy like +Jack, he was thinking, and there was no use trying.</p> + +<p>The rest of the grown-ups, however, had no +such difficulties to spoil their Christmas stockings, +and right that minute they were all tiptoeing +down to their front parlors just as Piggy-Peddler +said they would be doing.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dumpty, in her pink flannel nightgown +and with her eyes bulging over her sputtering +candle, was the first one down. She craned her +neck as she got near the stocking, and her eyes, +pushing themselves almost out of their sockets, +searched the dimness intently. Would the petticoat +be there? Oh, beating heart, be still! +Supposing it were not—</p> + +<p>Ah, but there it was, the petticoat of her heart, +lovelier even than she had imagined. Such +foamy ruffles! So many of them! Oh, what a +petticoat! Suddenly Mrs. Dumpty threw it +around her and rushed out. Where was the +woman going?</p> + +<p>At about the same time old Cross-Patch came +shuffling in to her stocking. She hadn’t slept +much in her excitement, but had lain there tense<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> +and still until at last she could stand it no longer. +There she came, shuffle, shuffle. She held the +candle high and squinted at the stocking. Was +that—could it be—a baby’s fuzzy head poking +up out of the top? It was! Oh, happy old +Cross-Patch. She pinched the baby to see if it +were real; she grunted and chuckled and cackled. +She wasn’t a bit cross now. Then, taking the +baby under one arm, she too rushed out and +away.</p> + +<p>And did the candlestick-maker get his swallow-tail +coat? He did. Pearl buttons, hankersniff +and all? Pearl buttons, hankersniff +and all. Did Mr. Flinders find himself possessed +of pigs? Most assuredly. Red little pigs, big +black pigs, middle-aged speckled pigs, and all +grunting and wallowing in a manner to delight +any pig-lover’s heart.</p> + +<p>But surely the butcher didn’t find a wife in +his stocking? Well, he just did. A charming +lady with a pink cheek, a high heel, and a mincing +step, a woman exactly to the butcher’s taste. +Old Mother Hubbard got her hurdy-gurdy too, +and you should have seen her and the dog dancing +to its music.</p> + +<p>But the strange thing was that all of them +took their gifts in their arms and rushed out from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span> +their homes, just as Mrs. Dumpty and Cross-Patch +had done. They all went to the same place +too, and that place was—guess where—the +Old Woman’s Shoe.</p> + +<p>Words fail me as I try to describe the scene +they all found in the once humble old Shoe. +There was the Shoe ablaze with light and color; +there were the ladies and gentlemen of the ball, +in satins and velvet, bowing and pirouetting; +there was Prince Charming himself, the most +agreeable man you ever want to see; and finally +there was the Old Woman, gay as a feather, almost +unrecognizable now in her fine red dress +and her gold, gold slippers.</p> + +<p>With great hilarity the Old Woman greeted +her friends, and if she kissed Mr. Horner and +shook hands with Mrs. Horner instead of the +other way around, as she intended, nobody +minded, especially Mr. Horner. Indeed, so +enlivened became the gentlemen that they all +said they wanted such a handshake,—which +was certainly a gay turn for the party to +take.</p> + +<p>So they frolicked on and danced and were +merry. Oh, yes, they admired each other’s +Christmas presents too. The butcher’s wife was +received with great cordiality, Cross-Patch’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> +baby was declared to be the nicest baby everybody +had ever seen; and Mother Hubbard’s +hurdy-gurdy rolled out its lovely tunes as Mrs. +Dumpty, in her ruffled petticoat and the candlestick-maker, +in his tails, stepped gravely through +a minuet.</p> + +<p>Only the Clauses were not there.</p> + +<p>But we know where they were, don’t we? Or +do we?</p> + +<p>For if Mr. Claus at that moment didn’t come +tumbling head-first into the Shoe, and if Mrs. +Claus didn’t come falling in after him, and then, +right on their heels, if Jack Horner didn’t burst +in on everybody.</p> + +<p>“We want an ax!” shouted Mr. Claus. +“Been all over the whole town and not a soul +was home.”</p> + +<p>“An ax!” they all shouted back at him.</p> + +<p>“But look here!” called out Little Jack +Horner.</p> + +<p>He was holding up a tiny something in his +hand.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” they asked.</p> + +<p>“I stuck in my thumb,” began Jack Horner.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s only that old plum he’s always talking +about,” said Mrs. Grundy.</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am,” Jack cried excitedly, “it’s not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> +a plum. It’s a key. I stuck in my thumb and +pulled out a—key!”</p> + +<p>Everybody gasped, Mrs. Claus gave a jump, +and as for Mr. Claus, “Great snakes!” he +roared. “It’s it!”</p> + +<p>And before anybody could say another word, +he had snatched the key from Jack Horner’s +hands and was gone, leaving Mrs. Claus to explain +the whole thing, a feat she accomplished +with much hemming and hawing.</p> + +<p>For Mrs. Claus, you see, in her excitement had +baked the key to the cupboard in Jack Horner’s +Christmas pie. Nobody knows how in the world +she could have done such a thing, and indeed, +to this day she swears she <i>couldn’t</i> have done it, +but she did do it, just the same, and everybody +knows it.</p> + +<p>The people of Pudding Lane were very kind +to her about this mistake.</p> + +<p>“Never mind, Mrs. Claus,” said the Old +Woman comfortingly, “it’s all right now. Mr. +Claus has gone home to get the things out of the +cupboard and Santa Claus will have his Christmas +stocking just the same, even if you did think +the key was a plum.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t,” retorted Mrs. Claus. “Whoever +could think a key was a plum?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> + +<p>“Well,” cackled the candlestick-maker, “you +put the key into the plum pie, Mrs. Claus.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claus wrung her hands and could make +no answer.</p> + +<p>“Shame on you, candlestick-maker,” said +Cross-Patch reprovingly. “Your tails have +made you cruel, sir. Cheer up, Mrs. Claus,” +she went on, “it’s just as the Old Woman said. +Santa Claus will have his Christmas stocking, +after all, and there’s nothing to worry about +now.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” spoke the Old Woman, “we +ought to go on with our party, oughtn’t we?”</p> + +<p>“We ought to, I suppose,” said Mrs. Dumpty, +smoothing her ruffles, “but—”</p> + +<p>“But what, Mrs. Dumpty?” asked Mr. Flinders +from among his litter of pigs.</p> + +<p>“But—” Mrs. Dumpty hesitated again, +“well, the truth is, neighbors, I’ve had about +enough of party.”</p> + +<p>The candlestick-maker stopped switching his +coat-tails to give vent to a great yawn.</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t mind going to bed myself,” he +admitted.</p> + +<p>“The baby’s asleep,” said Cross-Patch. “I +guess I’ll go home.”</p> + +<p>The Old Woman rubbed her eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></p> + +<p>“Balls are all right,” she said, “but bed is the +place for old women at this time of the night.”</p> + +<p>And that was the end of the lovely Christmas +party. It was the end of the pigs and the ruffles +and the swallow-tail coat; it was the end even +of the butcher’s wife and Cross-Patch’s baby. +They had had their wishes, those grown-ups of +Pudding Lane, every one of them, and they had +enjoyed that Christmas Eve as they had never +enjoyed anything else before. But now they +were just their old selves again and wanted to go +to bed. Father Time had turned the clock up +again, you see, and their hour of youth was past.</p> + +<p>But Santa Claus’s hour was not past, no indeed.</p> + +<p>For the next morning, when he came clattering +down the stairs to see his brothers and sister +open their Christmas stockings, what should he +see but his own red stocking hanging there, with +a great sign on it, saying, “Merry Christmas, +little Santa, from all your loving friends!”</p> + +<p>And what should he find in that stocking but +Judy’s mittens, and Jack and Jill’s orange tree +(and it did have a tiny white blossom on it, after +all) and the whistle that Humpty-Dumpty had +carved for him? And what was there all around +that stocking but piles and piles and piles of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span> +gifts, the nicest things that could be bought in +Banbury Cross?</p> + +<p>Was he surprised? He nearly swooned, that +fat little boy, so surprised was he. Did he like +his gifts? You should have heard him chuckle +and shout and exclaim. Was he touched at the +thoughtfulness of his friends? He thanked +them and thanked and thanked them, until they +stopped their ears, and he told his mother that +night that never in all the world were there any +such people as those in Pudding Lane. He was +curious, too, to know how they managed it all.</p> + +<p>“Who brought the things down the chimney?” +he wanted to know.</p> + +<p>“King Cole,” Mrs. Claus told him.</p> + +<p>“King Cole himself?”</p> + +<p>“King Cole himself,” said Mrs. Claus, but +she did not add that the King had stuck in the +chimney on the way down and had to be pulled +through by his feet, although that really happened.</p> + +<p>So that’s the way it all came out.</p> + +<p>Father Time turned back the clock so that +the grown-ups could be young again and have +the wishes of their youth. Jack Horner, the +glutton, ate his Christmas pie too early, but, by +doing so, saved the day. For if he hadn’t, they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span> +wouldn’t have found the key, and Santa Claus +might not have had his wonderful Christmas +stocking. Oh, yes, they would have taken the +ax to the cupboard, I suppose, but that’s no +way to open a cupboard, after all.</p> + + +<p class="c large p2">THE END +</p> + +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="transnote"> + +<p class="c">Transcriber’s Notes:</p> + +<p>Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.</p> + +<p>Perceived typographical errors have been changed.</p> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78322 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |