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.
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 the Old Woman had spoken, Mrs. Dumpty knew that to go to
Banbury Cross was the very thing to do.
“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.”
Mrs. Dumpty hesitated. “I’ve never traveled,” she ventured timidly, her
fat little body quivering with the excitement of merely thinking about
traveling.
“Good time to begin,” replied the Old Woman energetically.
“It’s as far as ten miles,” she objected feebly.
“The end of the world is farther,” was the Old Woman’s response.
“I don’t know how to ride a cockhorse.”
“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.
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?”
“In the name of goodness!” exclaimed the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe.
“What would I do with all my children? Who would spank them and tuck
them in their beds?”
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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 and
have dinner at the Threepenny Inn, but Mrs. Dumpty would hear of no
such carryings-on.
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.
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 picked up her skirts and almost
danced a jig in her impatience to be off.
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.
She was on, but she wished for all the world that she were off.
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. And that was the
last that Pudding Lane saw of them for seven whole days.
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.
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.
Where could they be? asked everybody of everybody else. It was very
mysterious.
“I’m afraid they’re lost on the road,” said the butcher.
“It’s a perfectly straight road,” the baker reminded him.
“They may have come to grief in Banbury Cross,” suggested the
candlestick-maker.
“I fear they have,” said the carpenter.
Just then one of the king’s men came riding by and saw the anxious
group. “What is the matter?” he inquired.
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.
“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.
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.
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 else happened so much more serious that
nobody could think of anything except that.
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.
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
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.
“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?”
Just then she stumbled against one of the little beds and the next
minute was pitched off her feet over against another bed.
“What _is_ 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?”
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!
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.
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.
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Claus, when she heard of it. “Whatever
did you do?”
“I gave ’em a quart of peppermint oil,” related Old Mother Hubbard.
“And they all went to sleep.”
“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 _her_ who had to go through it.
And that was only the beginning of it. The real disaster came four
nights later.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“Oh, dear!” cried Polly. “We are rocking again, Mother Hubbard.”
“We are that,” replied Mother Hubbard grimly, longing for the safety of
her own kitchen.
“What shall we do?” asked Polly. “Shall we take more peppermint oil?”
“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.
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.
“We’ll have to get out,” said Old Mother Hubbard to herself.
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.
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.
There was no hope. Mother Hubbard looked around at the frightened
children in the madly-rocking Shoe.
“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.”
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 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.
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.
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.
On that day nobody even thought of poor Humpty Dumpty, except Mrs.
Claus, who was still staying with him, and Humpty sat at home
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?
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.
“Well, where on earth have you been?” was Mrs. Claus’s question.
“We’ve been in Banbury Cross,” answered Mrs. Dumpty. “Where else?”
“But why did you stay so long?” persisted Mrs. Claus. “We have been so
alarmed about you.”
“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.”
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?
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.
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!
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.
The next morning King Cole sent for the Old 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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Mrs. Claus was amazed at this. “Why, Old Woman,” she said kindly, “I
didn’t know you felt that way about the Shoe.”
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 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.
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.
“But there’s no other shoe,” he told Mr. Claus. “What can I do to help
the poor Old Woman?”
“Could this one not be set up again?” inquired Mr. Claus helpfully.
“Mended, perhaps, and fastened firmly against future storms?”
“I’ll see; I’ll see,” said the King. “I’ll send for the carpenter and
let him look it over.”
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 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.
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!
Old King Cole hailed this as a most excellent idea and straightway sent
for the Old Woman.
“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.
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 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.