Paddy Pig continued to be poorly all next day; poorly and very
feverish. The circus company were concerned and worried. It added to
their anxiety that they should be detained so long at Codlin Croft
Farm. The farm animals and poultry were becoming troublesome; Sandy was
almost as tired of Charles the cock, as Paddy Pig was of Mary Ellen the
cat.
“A change of air might do Paddy Pig good. It strikes me his illness
is largely imagination and temper; listen how he is squealing!” said
Sandy to Pony Billy. “I do not like to take the responsibility of
removing him without advice,” said the cautious pony, “suppose it
should prove to be measles?” Sandy had an inspiration, “Could we not
consult the veterinary retriever?” “Would he come, think you? You and
your friend, Eddy Tinker, bit him rather shabbily, two of you at once.”
“Perhaps he would come if _you_ asked him, Pony William. If you would
ask him nicely; and take my apologies with this large bone.” “Where did
you find that large bone, Alexander?” “In the ashpit, I assure you,
William, it smells.” “It does,” said Pony Billy; “I’m tired of trotting
on the roads; but I suppose it must be done. The sooner we get away to
the moors the better for all of us.”
“Jenny Ferret says Xarifa has rubbed her nose with gnawing the wires
of her cage; and Tuppenny’s hair is all tangled again for want of
being brushed. But it is not safe to let them out, with all these
strange dogs and cats; and Charles is not to be trusted for pecking.
Look at the poultry crowding round the caravan! Mrs. Hodgson has been
calling ‘chuck! chuck!’ all the afternoon, but the hens won’t go home
to lay. And the worst of it is they are all clamouring to see the
Pigmy Elephant.” “Tell them he has caught a cold in his trunk.” “That
would be too near the truth; they must not guess that Paddy Pig is the
elephant.”
Pony Billy thought for a moment. “Say the elephant has gone to
Blackpool.” “Now that’s a good idea! And if Charles asks me any more
impertinent questions, I’ll pull his tail feathers out.”
Pony Billy looked serious; “Such a proceeding would be a poor return
for the hospitality of Codlin Croft. Give them some sort of a show,
Sandy, while I am away. Consult Jenny Ferret.”
So Pony Billy trotted away once more; and Sandy and Jenny Ferret
determined to give the best performance that could be arranged under
the circumstances. Iky Shepster flew round with invitations gratis;
and there was quite a “full house” in the orchard. There were ducks,
pigs, poultry, turkeys, two farm dogs, and the cat, (which was a great
disappointment for the mice who had counted upon coming). And there
were also four calves, a cow, a pet lamb, and a number of sparrows.
“It would have meant a good bit of corn for us if they had all paid for
tickets,” said Sandy, regretfully, “but then the sparrows would not
have come; and I have doubts about Charles. He would never have taken
tickets for all those hens.”
Sandy was inspecting the audience through a hole in an old curtain
which was hung on the line between two clothes-props. Behind the
curtain was a small platform (in fact, a box wrong-side up); and
behind the platform were the steps of the caravan. So the stage was
conveniently situated in front of the caravan door. Iky Shepster
directed the performance from the roof above.
“Are you all seated? (Pull the curtain, Sandy.) Cow! pigs, poultry!
and gentlemen—” (murmurs and churtlings from Charles) “dogs, cat,
poultry, and gentlemen, I beg to explain that a concatenation of
unforeseen circumstances has caused this performance to be curtailed
gratis” (hear, hear, chirped the sparrows) “because Mr. Pony William
isn’t here, and Mr. Patrick Pig is unwell, and the Pigmy Elephant has
gone to Blackpool, wherefore—” “Cluck, cur, cluck, cuck-cluck! when
do you expect him back?” interrupted Charles. “—has gone to Blackpool
for a month, wherefore the rest of us will present a dramatic sketch
in six scenes accompanied by recitation. I should also say the Live
Polecats and Weasels are poorly but the Fat Dormouse of Salisbury will
be exhibited in a cage on account of that cat; likewise the Sultan—”
“Cluck, cur, cluck, cluck, cluck! my hens would prefer not to see the
polecats.” “You ain’t going to see them. Act I, Scene I,” said Iky
Shepster.
The door of the caravan opened and Jenny Ferret came down the steps on
to the stage. She did always dress like an old woman, but this time she
was dressed more so; she wore a white-frilled mutch cap and spectacles.
She carried a plate and was followed by Sandy. Iky Shepster up above
recited—
“Old Mother Hubbard she went to the cupboard,
To get her poor doggie a bone,
When she got there—the cupboard was bare,
And so the poor doggie had none!”
Jenny Ferret looked inside an up-ended, perfectly empty biscuit
canister (which was the only piece of furniture on the stage); in dumb
show she condoled with Sandy, who was begging pathetically. Then they
both bundled up the steps out of sight into the caravan. “Cluck, cur,
cluck, cluck, cluck! I’ve heard that before,” said Charles. “Did not he
act it natural?” said one farm-dog to the other. “Not a single crumb!
Fye! what bad housekeeping!” cackled the hens. “Scene II,” said Iky
Shepster.
“She went to the barber’s to buy him a wig,
When she came back he was dancing a jig!”
For this scene Sandy came on first by himself; he danced a lively “pas
seul,” spinning round and pirouetting. Jenny Ferret came out on the
steps with a wisp of gray horse-hair in her hand to represent the wig;
she stood in an attitude of admiration watching Sandy. Then she retired
into the caravan; and after a few more twirls, Sandy fell flop upon the
stage with all his legs in the air. “What’s the matter with him? is he
ill?” asked the ducks. “Cuck, cur, cluck—” began Charles. “Scene III,”
said Iky Shepster, hastily,
“She went to the baker’s to buy him some bread,
When she came back the poor dog was dead!”
Jenny Ferret wrung her hands over the prostrate Sandy. The cow appeared
deeply shocked. “Scene IV,” said Iky Shepster, after Jenny Ferret had
gone back into the caravan, carrying the unwanted loaf wrapped in
newspaper.
“She went to the joiner’s to buy him a coffin,
When she came back the poor dog was laughing!”
“Cuck, cur, cluck! I’ve heard the whole of this before,” said Charles.
“She went to the butcher’s to buy him some tripe,
When she came back, he was smoking a pipe!”
“Cuck, cur, cluck! that, I have certainly heard,” said Charles. Sandy
was becoming so angry that he could scarcely hold the pipe in his
mouth, or restrain himself from jumping off the stage at Charles.
“Scene VI,” said Iky Shepster severely, to the audience, who, however,
were all listening with respectful attention, excepting Charles. “Scene
VI, which _none_ of you can have heard before, because I only invented
it this minute (play up, Sandy!).”
“She went to the grocer’s to buy him some cheese,
When she came back the poor dog did sneeze!”
Sandy relieved his indignation by letting off a terrific “K’tishoo!”
“Scene VII and last,” said Iky Shepster.
“The dame made a curtsey, the dog made a bow,
The dame said, ‘Your servant’; the dog said ‘Bow-wow!’”
“Cluck, cluck, cluck! very good, very good!” said Charles the cock;
while the birds clapped their wings, and the dogs barked applause.
“Now, Charles, get on the platform yourself and give us something.”
“Certainly, with pleasure,” said Charles. Up he flew and commenced—
“This is the cock that crowed in the morn,
That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tattered and torn.
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog that worried the cat,
That killed the rat that ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.”
“Well done, Charles! A tale that was told in the city of Ur, of the
Chaldees; and none the less interesting, although we _have_ heard it
before!”
The entertainment concluded with a few conjuring tricks performed by
Iky Shepster, who was an adept at causing things to disappear. Xarifa’s
scissors were still missing, and the teaspoons were a short count.
Jenny Ferret was indignant; she reproached the bird continually. “If
you scold me any more I shall fly away without giving notice,” said
Iky Shepster, sulkily. “That is a loss we could put up with!” grumbled
Jenny Ferret; “it is my belief you are feathering your nest with
teaspoons. And what for are you picking off red currant blossoms? You
and that hen starling? Is it a wedding?”
Iky Shepster laughed and chittered and flew to the top of the chimney
stack. He fluttered his wings and whistled to the setting sun, and to
a very pretty speckled starling, perched on the next chimney pot. The
ducks waddled home from the orchard. The hens became tired of waiting
for the Pigmy Elephant and came home to roost. The camp was left in
peace. There were white violets under the orchard hedge, they smelled
very sweet in the evening.
“Jenny Ferret—please—please let me out! I want to brush Tuppenny’s
hair; I want to come out, Jenny Ferret!” said Xarifa, scrubbing her
nose between the wires of her cage, and tugging at the bars with little
pink hands.
“I cannot let you come out, Xarifa. The farm cat is sitting on the
pig-stye roof; it sits there all day long, watching us.” “Is that why
the mice could not come?” “Yes, it is. The sparrows said so. Four mice
had come from Hill Top Farm on purpose to see the circus; and five
others came from Buckle Yeat and the Currier. They are in the granary
now, hiding behind a corn-bin.” Xarifa gnawed the bars with vexation.
“I did want to see those Hill Top mice again, Jenny Ferret; Cobweb and
Dusty and Pippin and Smut. Is there no way of asking them to tea?” “You
would not like the cat to catch them, Xarifa.” A tear trickled down
Xarifa’s nose.
Jenny Ferret was a good-natured old thing. She said Xarifa and Tuppenny
deserved a treat—that they did! and Sandy agreed with her. So he
consulted Tappie-tourie, the speckled hen. Tappie-tourie talked to
the sparrows who roost in the ivy on the walls of the big barn. And
the sparrows twittered through the granary window, and talked to
the mice, behind the corn-bin. They told the mice that it would be
quite—quite—safe, on Sandy’s word of honour, to tie themselves up in
a meal bag, which Sandy would carry to the caravan.
In the meantime Jenny Ferret had made preparations for a mouse party;
cake, tea, bread and butter, and jam and raisins for a tea party; and
comfits, and currants, lemonade, biscuits, and toasted cheese for a
dance supper party to follow. She brewed the tea beforehand, because
the teapot would be too heavy for the dormouse; so she covered it up
with a tea-cosey. Then she unfastened Xarifa’s cage and Tuppenny’s
hamper, and the string of the meal-bag; bolted the windows of the
caravan, and came out; she locked the door on the outside, and gave the
key to Sandy. Sandy had business elsewhere; and Jenny Ferret was quite
content to spend the night curled up in a rug on top of the caravan
steps, listening to the merriment within.
And a merry night it was! One of the mice had brought a little fiddle
with him, and another had a penny whistle, and all of them were
singers and dancers. They came tumbling out of the bag in a crowd, all
dusty-white with meal. No wonder Sandy had found the sack rather heavy!
There were four visitor mice from Hill Top Farm, and five from Buckle
Yeat and the Currier; and there were no less than nine from Codlin
Croft.
While they tidyed and dusted themselves, Xarifa brushed Tuppenny’s
hair. When they were all snod and sleek, she peeped under the
tea-cosey, “The tea is brewed, we will lift the lid and ladle it out!
I will use my best doll’s tea service. Please, Pippin and Dusty, sing
us a catch, while Tuppenny and I set the table. First we will have
songs and tea, and then a dance and a supper, and then more singing and
dancing, and you won’t go home till morning!”
Pippin clapped his little paws, “Oh, what fun! how good of old Jenny
Ferret, to cheat the pig-stye cat!” And he and Dusty sang with shrill
treble voices—
“Dingle, dingle, dowsie! Ding, dong, dell!
Doggie’s gone to Hawkshead, gone to buy a bell!
Tingle, ringle, ringle! Ding, dong, bell!
Laugh, little mousie! Pussy’s in the well!”
Then Cobweb sang, “Who put her? Little Tommy Thin!” and Pippin
repeated, “Who put her in? Who pulled her out?” (“Who put her in?”
chimed in Dusty.) “Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout!” sang Smut.
(“Who pulled her out?”) Then all the mice sang together—
“What a naughty boy was that,
For to drown our pussy cat;
Who never did him any harm,
And caught all the mice in Grand-da’s big barn!”
“But Pussy did not catch quite all of us!” laughed Pippin. He started
another glee—
“Dickory, dickory, dock! the mouse ran up the clock!”
(Each mouse took up the song a bar behind the last singer—Dickory,
dickory, dock!) The clock struck one—(The mouse ran up the clock) Down
the mouse run—(The clock struck one) Down the mouse run—dickory,
dickory, dock!
There was singing and laughing and dancing still going on in the
caravan when Sandy came back in the morning.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]