PUNKYDOODLE was at one end of the see-saw, and Jollapin at the other.
(Those are not the boys’ real names, but they will do just as well, and
they look better on paper than Joe, and,—oh! well, no matter!) It was a
very high see-saw, and they meant to have a fine time on it.
“I am an eagle!” cried Jollapin, as his end went up, up, till his
breath was almost gone, and he had to hold on with all his might to
keep from slipping. “I—am—an eagle, I say. Ho! see me fly up among the
clouds! I am sailing—Oh, I say! don’t shake her like that, Punk, or
you’ll have me off!”
“Well, you’ve been up long enough!” cried Punkydoodle. “It’s my turn
now. Look at me! I am a flying dragon! Observe my fiery eyes, and my
long wiggling tail! Hoish! I am going to descend on the fields and
dwellings of men, and lay them waste; and I’ll never stop till they
give me the king’s daughter for my bride. I may eat her up, but I am
not sure. Depends upon how pretty she is! Hoish! I descend upon the—”
Here he descended with such swiftness that speech became impossible,
and Jollapin soared aloft again.
“I am a balloon this time!” he cried.
“You look like one!” said Punkydoodle, who had not relished his sudden
descent on the fields and dwellings of men.
“I’m not an old Skinny, anyhow!” retorted Jollapin. “I am a splendid
balloon, and my name is the Air King. Proudly I ascend, rising
triumphant through the ambient air.” (Jollapin had been reading the
papers, and his speech was inflated, like the balloon he represented.)
“I pass through the clouds; I pierce them; I rise above them. The
earth lies beneath me like a—like a—”
“Like a pancake!” suggested Punkydoodle, who had little imagination.
“I wish you wouldn’t interrupt me, Punk! But what do I see? Yes, I know
it’s your turn now, but just wait a minute! What do I see? Another
majestic air-ship, sailing gloriously toward me! That’s you, Punky! Now
we’ll see-saw together, tiddledies up and down, and play the balloons
are meeting. Ha! we meet! we salute in mid-air. I wave my gilded
banner—”
Here one balloon lost his balance and tumbled off, and the other
tumbled on top of him, and there they both lay in a heap on the lawn.
“Anybody killed?” asked the elder brother, looking up from his hoeing.
“I—guess—not!” said Punkydoodle, rising slowly and feeling himself all
over. “Jollapin is all right, ’cause he has plenty of fat to fall on,
but I got a pretty good thump, I can tell you.”
“Too bad!” said the elder brother. “You need a change, dear boys;
suppose you go and weed the pansy-bed, to take your minds off your
injuries.”
[Illustration: NANCY’S NIGHTMARE]
I AM the doll that Nancy broke!
Hadn’t been hers a week.
Punch me behind, and I sweetly spoke;
Rosy and fair was my cheek.
Now my head is rolled in a corner far,
My body lies here in another;
And if this is what human children are,
I never will live with another.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
I am the book that Nancy read
For twenty minutes together.
Now I am standing here on my head,
While she’s gone to look at the weather.
My leaves are crushed in the cruellest way,
There’s jam on my opening page,
And I would not live with Miss Nancy Gay,
Though I should not be read for an age.
I am the frock that Nancy wore
Last night at her birthday feast.
I am the frock that Nancy tore
In seventeen places, at least.
My buttons are scattering far and near,
My trimming is torn to rags;
And if I were Miss Nancy’s mother dear,
I’d dress her in calico bags!
[Illustration]
We are the words that Nancy said
When these things were called to her view.
All of us ought to be painted red,
And some of us are not true.
We splutter and mutter and snarl and snap,
We smoulder and smoke and blaze.
And if she’d not meet with some sad mishap,
Miss Nancy must mend her ways.