his accomplice!" Immediately Loony John was seized and beaten, and, in
spite of his tears and entreaties, was thrown into prison.
How he escaped need not be told. There is an old saying, "A fool for
luck!" and it is a true one. Loony John got back home somehow.
Some time afterward Easter Sunday came, and when Loony John's mother
started to church she said:
"Above all things, don't forget to put the hen in the stew-pan."
"I will certainly do that," he answered.
The good woman went off, leaving Loony John very much perplexed. He did
not know which hen his mother wanted. So, after thinking the matter
over, he went into the hen-house and said:
"Which one of you is to be cooked for dinner?"
"Cluck—cluck—cluck!" answered a setting hen.
"Pshaw! don't talk Dutch!" protested Loony John; "I can't understand
you."
"Cluck—cluck—cluck!" said the setting hen.
Loony John was more puzzled than ever, but he repeated the question:
"Answer! Which one of you is to be eaten for dinner to-day?"
By this time the frightened chickens had all run out of the house into
the garden, leaving only the old setting hen who had been answering
Loony John in Dutch.
"Oh! you are the one! Very well!"
Loony John seized her and put her in the stew-pan alive. Then he began
to think, and he remembered that the eggs were not hatched and that the
nest was without a hen.
"My mother did not think of that," said Loony John, and at once he went
and sat on the nest in the hen's place.
When his mother returned home she called for her son.
"John! Oh, John! where are you?"
"Here, in a corner of the hen-house!"
"Where?" exclaimed the mother. "I do not see you."
"Cluck—cluck—cluck!" said Loony John.
"Why don't you answer?" cried his mother.
"Cluck—cluck—cluck!" said Loony John.
His mother at last found him quietly sitting on the eggs.
"What are you doing there?" she asked, angrily.
"Sh—h!" replied Loony John. "Don't make any noise. I am setting."
"Did you put the hen in the stew-pan?"
"Cluck—cluck—cluck!"
"What do you mean by that?" inquired the good woman. "Speak!"
"I say that I am setting!" said Loony John, "and I will fly off the
nest and scratch in the garden if you continue to disturb me in this
manner."
"Why do you set?" his mother asked.
"Because the hen that sat on these eggs is about to boil."
"Why, that is not the hen that was to be cooked for dinner to-day, but
the one that I picked yesterday and put in the cupboard!" The good
woman shook her head in despair and went away.
How long Loony John sat on the nest cannot be told, but one day, some
time afterward, he was passing by a farm where he saw a woman picking a
chicken and carefully placing the feathers to one side. Loony John was
very much interested in this, and so he said to her:
"Please, ma'am, tell me what you are doing with those feathers?"
The woman was not without humor, and she replied:
"Why do you ask such a simple question? I am going to plant the
feathers, of course. Doesn't your mother plant the feathers she picks
from chickens?"
"My gracious! No!"
"Well, then, it is because she doesn't own any Catchmeddler hens."
"Why do you plant the feathers?" inquired Loony John.
"Well, well! your country must be a very poor place, young man. Is
it possible you don't know that one of these feathers, carefully
cultivated, will yield each month a fat, frying-size chicken?"
"If that is so," said Loony John, "sell me two hundred dollars' worth
of your largest and finest feathers."
The woman laughed in her sleeve. She had never dreamed that an old hen
could bring her so much money. She hastened to close the trade with
Loony John, and, to show that she was not at all picayunish, she threw
in the two feet of the old hen for good measure.
Loony John went on his way happy. When he reached home he got the hoe,
went out into the garden, and began to plant his fine feathers.
"How everybody will admire my fine square of feathers!" he said to
himself. "I will call to every passer-by and say, 'Behold the beautiful
hen-patch! Has ever such a wonder been seen before?'"
The next week, however, Loony John went all in tears to find the
farm-woman.
"Well, well! my good young man!" exclaimed the woman when she saw him,
"what do you cry for? Has your house been burnt?"
"That would be but a trifle," replied Loony John.
"Alas! is your mother dead?"
"That would be an irreparable misfortune, but after awhile we should
become reconciled."
"What plague has fallen upon you?"
"The hail!" cried Loony John; "the hail that uprooted my beautiful
chicken feathers. The wind also came among them and scattered them
over the country. Do not scold me! I have hunted for them, but I cannot
find a single one."
"We should have thought about the possibility of a storm," said the
shrewd woman. "It was not hens you should have cultivated, my young
friend, but sausages—for sausages will withstand the wind and hail."
"But how would the sausages grow?" asked Loony John, drying his tears.
"Why, like apples and cherries; but the trees, instead of producing
these fruits, bear beautiful sausages. People who are not educated
think that sausages are only made by those who deal in meat. But surely
you know better," said the shrewd woman.
Loony John tried to hide his astonishment.
"Who would be so simple-minded as not to know that?" he replied. "For
how much, ma'am, will you sell the sausages you speak of?"
"Twenty dollars apiece, if they are for yourself," answered the woman.
"I'll take a dozen," said Loony John, with the air of a fine trader. "I
shall need no more to-day."
The shrewd woman brought Loony John a dozen old sausages and carefully
wrapped them up. He paid for them on the spot, and then, forgetting his
first misfortune—the wind and the hail—he returned home singing.
Loony John grew older as the days went by. A beard appeared on his
face. He even took to himself a wife; but he still remained Loony John.
One day, when the sun was shining brightly, he dressed himself in his
new suit of clothes, put on his best hat and gloves, and went to
the fair in the neighboring village. He enjoyed himself, and created
a great deal of amusement for others by his queer blunders. In the
afternoon the thought occurred to him that his wife would be expecting
him at home, and so he started to return.
Unfortunately, a shower came up, just as he was crossing a bridge. Big
drops of rain were falling on all sides. In a little while his fine
hat, his new clothes, and his gloves that he was so proud of would be
ruined.
"Goodness gracious!" cried Loony John, "if I suffer myself to get wet
like this I shall be called a simpleton indeed, and my friends will
have good cause to laugh at me. What shall I do?"
Suddenly he shouted for joy. A wonderful idea had struck him.
"I will throw myself in the river!" he exclaimed. "Once in the water,
it will be impossible for the rain to wet my clothes."
No sooner said than done. Into the water jumped Loony John. He couldn't
swim and so he was drowned. The next day the miller found the body in
the water. He drew it out, and Loony John was buried with great pomp.
On his tombstone was an inscription in Latin, which, being interpreted,
reads:
HERE LIES
LOONY JOHN
WHO
JUMPED INTO THE WATER
TO KEEP
FROM GETTING WET.
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.
Variations in hyphenation have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.