THE LITTLE ROSEBUD CALENDAR.
When Ray was only a baby he would hold the woolly lamb that grandma had
brought him in his chubby little fists, saying, “I love oo, lamb,” and
there was a great colored ball that he liked to roll across the floor
and say, “Oo ball, tum back, tum back.” Then he would run and catch it
and hold it up to his dear little dimpled chin.
But when he grew to be quite a little man and could walk from room to
room it pleased him to sit in the big chairs, look at the pictures
and talk to them all by himself. There was one small picture card on
his papa’s desk that Ray liked very much. It was the picture of a
golden-haired girl standing beside a large vase, with a bunch of roses
in her hand and a wreath of rosebuds on her head.
“I think she looks just like my cousin Dorothy,” said Ray, “only she
wears her dress right down to her slippers and Dorothy’s dress is
short.”
His mamma had told him that the picture girl was little Miss Calendar,
but Ray liked to call her Rosebud.
One afternoon Ray was feeling rather tired. He sat all curled up in his
papa’s easy-chair at the desk.
“Please, Rosebud, I wish you would talk to me,” said Ray wistfully,
looking at little Miss Calendar with tired eyes.
The picture-girl smiled at him and whispered, “How do you do, Ray?”
“I’m very well, thank you,” answered the little boy; “but I didn’t know
that you knew me.”
“Didn’t you?” replied Rosebud. “I know you very well indeed.”
“That seems strange,” said Ray; “how do you know me so well?”
“I see you every day and hear your mamma talking to you,” was the
answer.
“Yes, of course you do, I never thought of that,” said Ray. “Perhaps
you see everything I do.”
“I do indeed,” replied the picture-girl; “that is, I see everything you
do in this room.”
“You must excuse me for throwing all the books on top of you when I was
putting my papa’s desk in order. I hope it did not hurt you.”
“Of course I don’t like to have books thrown at me, it hurts my
feelings,” said Rosebud sweetly.
“I wouldn’t do that for anything and I shall be more careful,” added
Ray.
“Do you ever play?” asked the little boy thinking what a sweet little
playmate Rosebud would be.
“O yes, when I’m not busy.”
“What do you do when you _are_ busy?” asked Ray with curiosity.
“Well, you see,” said Rosebud, “all the days of the year are numbered
right under my feet, and when people come in to see my calendar I smile
and hold up my roses, so that they may know that it is a beautiful day
and smile also.”
“But suppose it isn’t a beautiful day,” said the boy; “suppose it
happens to be dark and rainy.”
“But every day _is_ beautiful and if it is a little dark I try to look
all the brighter.”
“I don’t like rainy days very well,” said Ray, “but perhaps they are
nice.”
“Indeed they are,” answered Rosebud; “how bright the flowers look after
a shower! And the dear rain washes everything, you know.”
“Rainy days _are_ good, I forgot about the flowers and things,” said
Ray and then added quickly, “If you were not busy now you might play
with me.”
“I’ll tell you a story,” said Rosebud, “if you would like to hear me.”
Ray was delighted to hear a story and sat very still while Rosebud
began:--
Once upon a time there was a little brown mouse whose name was Nibble.
He built himself a snug house not far from the coal-bin in a nice warm
cellar. Every day he attended to his household duties, called at his
grocery store (the pantry up-stairs) and then went out for a quiet
walk. One day he met Mrs. Ratt, who lived across the street, and he
stopped to have a friendly chat with her.
“How do you like your tenants?” asked Mrs. Ratt.
“Very much indeed,” replied Nibble. “They are so exclusive that they
won’t even tolerate a cat. Of course that shows their good sense,
because of all creatures I do dislike cats, they are so----”
“Grasping,” sneered Mrs. Ratt.
“Yes,” assented Nibble, “and nosy, if I may use a vulgar expression.”
“And sly,” quoth Mrs. Ratt, shaking her head.
“Yes, indeed,” replied Nibble, “if those horrid cats had their way they
would drive us out of existence.”
“Well, thank goodness, I’m not annoyed by the ill-bred creatures,” he
added with a satisfied blink.
“No,” sighed Mrs. Ratt, “you are rich and prosperous while I have to
scratch for a bite to eat.”
Nibble gloried in his good fortune, so he told Mrs. Ratt about all the
good things _he_ had to eat, and to crown this air of plenty he invited
Mrs. Ratt and all her family to a party the following night. Then they
parted and Nibble went home to arrange his house in neat order for his
guests.
He had some fine old cheese and was going to make a rarebit for his
friends, but he got so hungry that he ate it all up, and on the night
of the party he found that he had but one cracker and a piece of an old
shoe. He was disappointed, because he wanted to impress Mrs. Ratt with
his abundance. He had just made up his mind to go to the grocery store
before she came when he heard a little squeal outside his house, and on
opening the door there stood Mrs. Ratt and all her children.
“Good evening,” said Mrs. Ratt, “I’m afraid we are a little late, but
the fact is I’m rather timid, you know, and waited until it was quite
safe.”
“You did perfectly right,” said Nibble. “I’m afraid you live in a very
dangerous locality.”
“I should say so,” replied Mrs. Ratt, and she raised her eyes in
horror. “There have been no less than five hold-ups within the last
week, all my relations too,” she added with a squeal.
“Who is the desperado?” asked Nibble.
“Who should it be but our ancient enemy,” groaned Mrs. Ratt, shaking
her head. “A precious pair of rascals by name Thomas and Maria, they
are the terror of our peaceful community.”
“Horrors!” exclaimed Nibble, “those two midnight prowlers!”
“Yes,” sighed Mrs. Ratt, “not only committing deeds of violence, but
disturbing the whole neighborhood with their orgies.”
“Well, well,” said Nibble, “there’ll be an end to it some time,” and
Mrs. Ratt added quickly, “Yes, if there isn’t an end to us first.”
“I wonder people put up with their behavior!” exclaimed Nibble.
“Put up with it!” echoed Mrs. Ratt, with scorn, “they like it and
encourage those cats in their evil doing. Why, only the other day
I happened to be peeking through the blinds and there stood a man
stroking this same notorious Maria and calling her pet names.”
“The idea!” said Nibble, “and what did _she_ do, the pampered thing?”
“Why, even then, she had her back up about something,” was the answer.
“Suppose we think of something more pleasant to talk about,” ventured
Nibble, in his sweetest tones, “these cats grate on my nerves.”
Just then the baby rat cried out, “I’m hungry,” and Nibble had to give
him the only cracker to eat.
“Now, what shall I do?” thought Nibble; “there isn’t a thing in my
house except that old shoe, and that will only sharpen their appetites.”
All at once a new thought struck him and he said, “I have a little
surprise in store for you, my dear Mrs. Ratt; instead of having the
party in my humble place, I thought we might go up-stairs where there
is more light and air.”
“How delightful!” exclaimed Mrs. Ratt, while Nibble added, “Of course
we will be just as quiet as possible to show the folks that we do not
hold _our_ gatherings after the manner of those ill-bred cats.”
“Certainly,” assented all the rats, and they followed their host out of
the cellar and up the stairs so quietly that you would never have heard
them.
They had supper in the pantry, and a most tempting repast it was!
Crackers, cheese, apples, lump sugar and a delicious morsel of mince
pie.
“How thoughtful your tenants must be!” said Mrs. Ratt, “this pie is
really good.”
“Just like mother used to make,” said Nibble with a wink.
“But what have we here?” cried Mrs. Ratt, smelling a stone jug.
She got the stopper off and after taking a deep whiff exclaimed:
“Elderberry wine as I live!” Then she raised her eyes and said: “Ah,
Nibble, you are indeed blessed with the good things of this life!”
Nibble waved one of his front feet as much as to say, “This is really
nothing at all, you know,” when all at once those young rats knocked
over the jug of wine. It made a terrible noise and very soon footsteps
were heard approaching the pantry. In a second Nibble had started with
all his friends behind him and never stopped running until he reached
his house in the cellar quite breathless with excitement.
No sooner did he get in bed than he heard a terrible squeal in the
street and he knew that something dreadful had happened to Mrs. Ratt
and her family.
As he never saw them again he had strong suspicions that Thomas and
Maria had added another crime to their long list of misdeeds.
Whether it was owing to the elderberry wine or the hasty flight, Nibble
slept very sound that night and all the next day.
After that he felt better, and one morning he ventured to peep out.
Imagine his surprise when there sat a bold, bad cat looking at him.
“Good morning,” said Maria, pleasantly.
“How do you do?” returned Nibble with great dignity.
“O, won’t you come and play with me?” asked Maria in her most coaxing
tones.
“No, thank you,” said Nibble, “I’m too busy.”
“How doth the little busy mouse
Improve each shining minute.
She softly travels through the house
And gets the best that’s in it.”
Thus sang Maria, and then laughed long and loud, but even this little
serenade would not tempt Nibble from his cosy house.
“You are the handsomest mouse in these parts,” said the cat.
Nibble pricked up his ears; he did love to be flattered, and whispered,
“Think so?”
“I’m sure of it,” answered Maria; “and if it was not for the fact that
you’ve lost your tail you’d be the prince of fine fellows.”
“But I haven’t lost my tail,” declared Nibble; “it is very long indeed.”
“I can hardly believe that,” said Maria, “because the other day when
you went up-stairs to the pantry I could not see _any_ tail.”
“Did you see me the other day going into the pantry?” asked Nibble in
surprise.
“O yes, indeed!” answered the cat.
Now this statement of Maria’s was not true, as she had never seen
Nibble until that moment, but the foolish little mouse believed it, and
thought if the cat did not hurt him on that other day she would not now.
“I’ll just run across the cellar and then you can see for yourself what
a nice tail I have,” said the vain Nibble.
That was all the cat wanted. She caught Nibble and that was the last
that was seen of him.
When Rosebud had finished this story she danced all around on her
dainty toes. Then she glided slowly forward and backward, making low
courtesies to the little boy. After a while her steps became faster and
faster. She shook her pretty curls and beckoned to Ray, and before he
knew it he was dancing too.
Rosebud took his hand, and together they danced all around the room.
The strangest part of it was that they danced over chairs and tables as
lightly as if they were not there. O it was delightful, and Ray felt
that if there had been a window open they would have danced right out
and up to the blue sky. At last they stopped a minute, and just then
there was a step in the hall and somebody opened the door.
It was Ray’s dear mamma who had missed her little boy and had come to
find him.
“O mamma!” exclaimed Ray, “I want you to meet my little playmate.”
Ray turned to find Rosebud, but she was not there. Then he looked
behind the chairs and in every corner but he could not find her.
He was just beginning to feel very much disappointed when he happened
to looked on his papa’s desk. There was Rosebud in her old place on the
picture standing with her bunch of roses and smiling at him.