you a fiddle-string?" asked Mrs. Meadows, laughing a little.
"Oh, that was just a joke," replied Mr. Rabbit.
"Call it a joke, then," said Mrs. Meadows. "You know what the little
boy said when the man asked him his name. He said, says he, 'You may
call it anything, so you call me to dinner.'"
"He wasn't very polite," remarked Sweetest Susan.
"No, indeed," Mrs. Meadows answered; "but you know that little boys
can't always remember to be polite."
"I think we were at your house," suggested Mr. Rabbit, rubbing his
chin.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Meadows. "In the little house by the creek. The
yard sloped from the front door right to the bank."
"To be sure," exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, brightening up. "I remember the
house just as well as if I had seen it yesterday. There was a little
shelf on the left-hand side of the door as you came out, and there the
water-bucket sat."
"Yes," said Mrs. Meadows; "and there was just room enough up there by
the bucket for Brother Terrapin."
"That's so," Mr. Rabbit replied, laughing, "and when he used to go to
your house to see the girls they'd set the bucket on the table in the
house and lift Brother Terrapin to the shelf so he could see and be
seen. I remember it used to make him very mad when I'd tell him he
would be a mighty man if he wasn't so flat-footed."
"Oh, you used to talk worse than that," cried Mrs. Meadows, laughing
heartily at the remembrance of it. "You used to tell him he was the
only man you ever saw that sat down when he stood up. I declare!
Brother Terrapin's eyes used to get right red."
"Well," said Mr. Rabbit, after a pause; "I remember I went to your
house one day and I carried my fiddle. When I got there, who should I
see but old Brother Terrapin sitting up on the shelf. I expected to
find the girls by themselves, but there was Brother Terrapin. So I
began to joke him.
"'Howdy, Brother Terrapin?' says I. 'If you had a ladder handy you
could come downstairs and shake hands, couldn't you?'
"He began to get sullen and sulky at once. He wouldn't hardly make any
reply. But I didn't care for that. Says I: 'Cross your legs and look
comfortable, Brother Terrapin; don't be glum in company. I've got my
fiddle with me, and I'm going to make your bones ache if you don't
dance.'
"Then I whirled in," said Mr. Rabbit, "and played the liveliest
tunes I could think of,--'Billy in the Low Grounds,' ''Possum up
the Gum-Stump,' 'Chicken in the Bread-Tray,' and all those
hoppery-skippery, jiggery-dancery tunes that make your feet go
whether or no. But there Brother Terrapin sat, looking as
unconcerned as if the fiddle had been ten miles away. He didn't even
keep time to the music with his foot. More than that, he didn't even
wag his head from side to side."
"I always knew Brother Terrapin had no ear for music," remarked Mrs.
Meadows. "If that was a fault, he certainly had more than his share of
it."
"I ought not to talk about people behind their backs," Mr. Rabbit
continued, trying to shake a fly out of his ear, "but I must say that
Brother Terrapin was very dull about some things. Well, I played and
played, and the girls danced and seemed to enjoy it. I believe you
danced a round or two yourself?" Mr. Rabbit turned to Mrs. Meadows
inquiringly.
"I expect I shook my foot a little," said Mrs. Meadows with a sigh. "I
was none too good."
"They danced and danced until they were tired of dancing," Mr. Rabbit
resumed; "but there sat Brother Terrapin as quiet as if he were
asleep. Well, I was vexed--I don't mind saying so now--I was
certainly vexed. But I didn't let on. And between tunes I did my best
to worry Brother Terrapin.
[Illustration: MR. RABBIT FIDDLING FOR BROTHER TERRAPIN]
"'Ladies,' says I, 'don't make so much fuss. Let Brother Terrapin get
his nap out. You'll turn a chair over directly, and Brother Terrapin
will give a jump and fall off the shelf and break some of the
furniture in his house.' This made the girls laugh very much, for they
remembered the old saying that Brother Terrapin carries his house on
his back. 'Don't laugh so loud,' says I, 'Brother Terrapin has earned
his rest. He's been courting on the other side of the creek, and he
has no carriage to ride in when he goes back and forth. Sh-h!' says I,
'don't disturb him. When a person sits down when he stands up, and
lies down when he walks, some allowance must be made.'
"Brother Terrapin's eyes grew redder and redder, and the skin on the
back of his head began to work backward and forward. What might have
happened I don't know, but just as the girls were in the middle of a
dance one of my fiddle-strings broke, and it was the treble, too. I
wouldn't have minded it if it had been any of the other strings, but
when the treble broke I had to stop playing.
"Well, the girls were very much disappointed and so was I, for I had
come for a frolic. I searched in my pockets, but I had no other
string. I tried to play with three strings, but the tune wouldn't
come. The girls were so sorry they didn't know what to do.
"Just then an idea struck me. 'Ladies,' says I, 'it's a thousand
pities I didn't bring an extra treble, and I'm perfectly willing to go
home and fetch one, but if Brother Terrapin was a little more
accommodating the music could go right on. You could be dancing again
in a little or no time.'
"'Oh, is that so?' says the girls. 'Well, we know Brother Terrapin
will oblige us.'
"'I'm not so sure of that,' says I.
"'What do you want me to do?' says he. His voice sounded as if he had
the croup.
"'Ladies,' says I, 'you may believe it or not, but if Brother Terrapin
has a mind to he can lend me a treble string that will just fit my
fiddle.'
"'Brother Rabbit,' says he, 'you know I have no fiddle-string. What
would I be doing with one?'
"'Don't mind him, ladies. He knows just as well as I do that he has a
fiddle-string in his neck. I can take my pocket-knife and get it out
in half a minute,' says I.
"This made Brother Terrapin roll his eyes.
"'Be ashamed of yourself, Brother Terrapin,' says the girls. 'And we
were having so much fun, too.'
"'If my neck was as long and as tough as Brother Terrapin's, I'd take
one of the leaders out and make a fiddle-string of it, just to oblige
the ladies,' says I.
"The girls turned up their noses and tossed their heads. 'Don't pester
Brother Terrapin,' says they. 'We'll not ask him any more.'
"'Ladies,' says I, 'there is a way to get the fiddle-string without
asking for it. Will you please hand me a case-knife out of the
cupboard there?'
"I rose from my chair with a sort of a frown," continued Mr. Rabbit,
laughing heartily, "but before I could lift my hand Brother Terrapin
rolled from the shelf and went tumbling down the slope to the creek,
heels over head."
"Did it hurt him much?" asked Sweetest Susan, with a touch of
sympathy.
"It didn't stop his tongue," replied Mr. Rabbit. "He crawled out on
the other side of the creek and said very bad words. He even went so
far as to call me out of my name. But it is all over with now," said
Mr. Rabbit, with a sigh. "I bear no grudges. Let bygones be bygones."
"I never heard before that Brother Terrapin had a fiddle-string in his
neck," said Buster John, after he had thought the matter over a
little.
"In dem times," said Drusilla, as if to satisfy her own mind, "you
couldn't tell what nobody had skacely."
"Why, as to that," replied Mr. Rabbit, "the fiddle-string in his neck
was news to Brother Terrapin."
There was a pause here and the children seemed to be somewhat
listless.
"I'll tell you what I think," remarked Mrs. Meadows to Mr. Rabbit;
"these children here are lonesome, and they'll be getting homesick
long before the time comes for them to go. Oh, don't tell me!" she
cried, when the children would have protested. "I know how I'd feel if
I was away from home in a strange country and had nobody but queer
people to talk to. We are too old. Even Chickamy Crany Crow and
Tickle-My-Toes are too old, and Mr. Thimblefinger is too little."
[Illustration: BROTHER TERRAPIN TUMBLING INTO THE CREEK]
"Well, what are we going to do about it?" asked Mr. Rabbit, running
his thumb in the bowl of his pipe.
"I was just thinking," responded Mrs. Meadows. "Hadn't we better bring
out the Looking-Glass family?"
"Well," said Mr. Rabbit, "I leave that to you." To hide the smile that
gathered around his mouth Mr. Rabbit leaned his head over and
scratched his left ear lazily with his left foot.
"That's what I'll do," Mrs. Meadows declared decisively. "These
children want company they can appreciate, poor things!"
She went into the house, and presently came out again, bringing a
mirror about three feet wide and five feet high.
IX.
THE LOOKING-GLASS CHILDREN.
The frame of the mirror was of dark wood, curiously carved, and it was
set on pivots between two small but stout upright posts, made of the
same kind of wood. As Mrs. Meadows brought the looking-glass out, it
swung back and forth between these posts, and its polished surface
shone with great brilliancy. The children wondered how they were to
amuse themselves with this queer toy. Mrs. Meadows placed the
looking-glass a little way from them, but not facing them. The frame
was in profile, so that they could see neither the face nor the back
of the mirror.
"You come first," she said to Buster John.
He went forward, and Mrs. Meadows placed him in front of the
looking-glass. As he turned to face it, his reflection (as it seemed)
stepped from the mirror and stared at him. Buster John looked at Mrs.
Meadows for an explanation, but at that moment she beckoned to
Sweetest Susan. When Buster John moved, his image moved. Mrs.
Meadows pushed him gently aside to make room for Sweetest Susan, and
it seemed that some invisible hand pushed his reflection gently aside.
[Illustration: SWEETEST SUSAN MEETING HER REFLECTION]
Sweetest Susan stepped before the looking-glass, and her reflection
walked out to meet her. Drusilla now came forward, and her image
stepped forth, looking somewhat scared and showing the whites of its
eyes. Mrs. Meadows went to the looking-glass, gave it a sudden turn on
its pivots, and carried it into the house.
All this happened so rapidly that the children hardly had time to be
surprised, but now that the looking-glass had been carried away and
they were left with their reflections, their shadows, their images (or
whatever it was), they didn't know what to do, or say, or think. They
could only look at each other in dumb astonishment. Drusilla was the
first to break the silence. In her surprise she had moved quickly back
a few steps, and her image, which had come out of the looking-glass,
had as quickly moved forward and toward her a few steps.
"Don't come follerin' atter me!" she cried excitedly. "Kaze ef you
do, you'll sho' git hurted. I ain't done nothin' 't all ter you. I
ain't gwine ter pester you, an' I ain't gwine ter let you pester me. I
tell you dat now, so you'll know what ter 'pen' on."
"Don't move! Please don't move!" cried Sweetest Susan to Buster John.
"If you do I can't tell you apart. I won't know which is which. That
wouldn't be treating me right nor Mamma, either."
Naturally, the children were in a great predicament when Mrs. Meadows
came back. She saw the trouble at once, and began to laugh. It was
funny to see Buster John and Sweetest Susan and Drusilla standing
there staring first at the Looking-Glass children and then at
themselves, not daring to move for fear they would get mixed up with
their doubles. The Looking-Glass children stared likewise, first at
themselves and then at the others.
"What is the matter?" Mrs. Meadows asked. "Why don't you go and play
with one another and make friends? It isn't many folks that have the
chance you children have got."
"I don't feel like playing," said Sweetest Susan. "I'm afraid we'll
get mixed up so that nobody will know one from the other."
"Why, there's all the difference in the world," exclaimed Mrs.
Meadows, trying hard not to laugh. "The Looking-Glass children are all
left-handed. You have a flower on the left side of your hat, the other
Susan has a flower on the right side of hers. Your brother there has
buttons on the right side of his coat; the other John has buttons on
the left side. There is a flaw in the looking-glass, and Drusilla,
being a little taller than you two, was just tall enough for the end
of her nose to be even with the flaw. That's the reason the other
Drusilla's nose looks like it had been mashed with a hammer."
"Yes 'm, it do!" exclaimed Drusilla. She involuntarily took a step
forward to take a nearer view of the flawed nose, and of course the
other Drusilla took a step forward as if to show the flawed nose.
"Don't you dast ter come 'bout me!" exclaimed Drusilla. "Goodness
knows, I don't look dat away. Go on, now! Go 'ten' ter yo' own
business ef you got any."
"I don't want to play with you," said the other Drusilla. "You've got
smut on your face. I don't like to play with dirty-faced girls."
"My face cleaner'n yone dis blessed minnit," retorted Drusilla.
"And your hair is not combed," said the other Drusilla. "It is wrapped
with strings, and you couldn't comb it if you wanted to. I think it is
a shame."
"Look at yo' own head!" retorted Drusilla angrily. "It's mo' woolly
dan what mine is. 'T ain't never been kyarded much less combed. An'
who got any mo' strings roun' der hair dan you got on yone?"
"How could I help it?" the other Drusilla asked. "You came and looked
at me in the glass and I had to be just like you, smutty face and all.
I don't think it is right. I know I never looked like this before, and
I hope I never shall again."
"Tut, tut!" said Mrs. Meadows; "don't get to mooning around here. You
might look better, but you don't look so bad. It will all come right
on wash-day, as the woman said when she put her dress on wrong side
outwards. Here comes Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes. They'll
be glad to see you, no matter how you look."
And they were. They ran to the Looking-Glass children and greeted
them warmly. Tickle-My-Toes stared at the other Drusilla in surprise,
but he didn't laugh at her. "You look as if you had fallen down the
chimney," he said, "but that doesn't make any difference. So long as
you are here, we are satisfied."
"Oh, I don't mind it," said the other Drusilla.
"Now, then," remarked Mrs. Meadows, "you couldn't please us better
than to sing us a song. You haven't practiced together for a long
time."
The other children looked at one another in a shamefaced way, and
then, without a word of objection or explanation, they began to sing
as with one voice, the most plaintive song that ever was heard. It may
be called:--
THE LOOKING-GLASS SONG.
It's oh! and it's ah! It's alack! and alas!
Just imagine you lived in a big looking-glass!
Oh, what could you say and what could you do
If you lived all alone in the toe of a shoe?
You could hop, you could skip, you could jump, you could dance,
And you'd hear very little of "shouldn'ts" and "shan'ts."
You could stump your big toe, and it would never get hurt;
You could kick up the sand, you could play in the dirt.
But it's oh! and it's ah! It's alack! and alas!
Just imagine you lived in a big looking-glass!
Oh, what could you do, and what would you say
If you lived in the pantry all night and all day?
You could say it was jolly, and splendid, and nice;
You could eat all the jelly, and frighten the mice.
You could taste the preserves, you could nibble the cheese--
You could smell the red pepper, and sit down and sneeze.
But it's oh! and it's ah! It's alack! and alas!
Just imagine you lived in a big looking-glass!
Oh, what could you do if you lived under ground?
You could ride Mr. Mole and go galloping round;
You could hear the black cricket a-playing his fife,
For to quiet the baby and please his dear wife.
You could hear the green grasshopper frying his meat,
Near the nest of the June-Bug under the wheat.
You could get all the goobers and artichokes, too--
You could peep from the window the grub-worm went through.
But it's oh! and it's ah! It's alack! and alas!
Just imagine you lived in a big looking-glass!
"Oh, I think that is splendid," cried Sweetest Susan.
"Mr. Rabbit doesn't like it much," replied Mrs. Meadows, "but I tell
him it is pretty good for children that were raised in a
Looking-Glass."
"It will do very well," remarked Mr. Rabbit, "but you'll hear nicer
songs by the time you are as old as I am."
"Dem ar white chillun done mighty well," said Drusilla, "but I don't
like de way dat ar nigger gal hilt her head."
"Do they have to stay in the looking-glass?" asked Buster John. "If
they do I'm sorry for them."
"I ain't sorry fer dat black gal," said Drusilla spitefully. "She too
ugly ter suit me."
"Whose fault is it but yours?" cried Chickamy Crany Crow.
"Yes, whose fault is it?" cried Tickle-My-Toes.
"Come, come!" cries Mrs. Meadows. "We want no trouble here."
"We'll not trouble her," answered Tickle-My-Toes. "Old
Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones will do the troubling."
"Now you all heah dat!" exclaimed Drusilla, in some alarm. "I ain't
pesterin' nobody, an' I ain't doin' nothin' 't all. Ef I can't talk I
des ez well quit livin'. I'm gwine home, I am, an' ef I can't fin' de
way, den I'll know who'll have ter answer fer it."
"Well, if you go," said Mrs. Meadows, "you'll have company. The other
black girl will have to go too."
"How come dat?" exclaimed Drusilla.
"It would take me too long to tell you," replied Mrs. Meadows. "Why
does your shadow in a looking-glass make every motion that you make?
Because it's obliged to--that's all. That's just the reason the other
black girl would follow you."
"Don't mind Drusilla," said Buster John. "She just talks to hear
herself talk. Her mouth flies open before she knows it."
"Well, the poor things won't trouble you long," said Mrs. Meadows.
"They'll want to go back home presently."
"Do they have to stay in the looking-glass?" inquired Buster John,
repeating a question he had already asked.
"Well, they were born and raised there," replied Mrs. Meadows. "It is
their home, and, although they are glad to get out for a little while,
they wouldn't be very happy if they had to stay out."
[Illustration: THEY ALL PLUNGED INTO THE LOOKING-GLASS]
The children and the Looking-Glass children played together a little
while, or made believe to play, but they didn't seem to enjoy
themselves. Mrs. Meadows noticed this and asked Mr. Rabbit the reason.
"Simple enough, simple enough," Mr. Rabbit answered. "They are so much
alike in their looks and ways and so different in their raising that
they can't get on together. How would I feel if my double were to walk
out of the side of the house and sit here facing me and mimicking my
every motion? I wouldn't feel very comfortable, I can tell you."
"I reckon not," said Mrs. Meadows. Presently she called the children,
brought out the looking-glass and told them it was time to bid the
others good-by. At this the other children seemed to be very well
pleased. The other Buster John and the other Sweetest Susan shook
hands all round, and the other Drusilla made a curtsey to the company.
Then, with a run and a jump, they plunged into the big looking-glass
as you have seen youngsters plunge into a pond of water.
"Ho!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger, "they jumped in with a splash, but they
never made a ripple."
"They haven't room enough in there to turn around," said Sweetest
Susan.
"Why not?" inquired Mr. Thimblefinger. "To them the world is a
looking-glass, and a mighty little one at that. If you were to peep in
their glass now they'd peep back at you; but, as they look at it, you
are in a looking-glass and they are out of it. And I wouldn't be
surprised if they are a great deal sorrier for you than you are for
them."
"When are we to go home?" asked Sweetest Susan plaintively.
"Oho! you want to get back into your looking-glass!" cried Mr.
Thimblefinger merrily. "Well, you won't have long to wait. By rights,
you ought to stay here twelve hours, but the old Spring Lizard and I
have put our heads together, and we've fixed it so that you can get
back before sundown."
"Isn't it night at home now?" inquired Buster John.
"Why, they are hardly through washing the dinner dishes," replied Mrs.
Meadows.
"It is just half past two," said Mr. Thimblefinger, looking at his
watch.
"Well, it look so dark all dis time dat I done got hungry fer supper,"
remarked Drusilla.
X.
MR. RABBIT AS A RAIN-MAKER.
"I hope it won't rain," said Sweetest Susan, "for then the spring
would fill up so we couldn't get out, and we should get wet down
here."
"Oh, no," replied Mr. Thimblefinger, "the water is never wet down
here. It is a little damp, that's all."
"Well, that's enough, I'm sure," remarked Mr. Rabbit. "It's enough to
give me the wheezes when I first get up in the morning, and it's not
at all comfortable, I can tell you."
"There is one funny thing about springs," said Mrs. Meadows, "no
matter how much it rains, they never get any fuller. They may run a
little freer, but they never get any fuller. Speaking of rains," she
continued, turning to Mr. Rabbit and laughing, "don't you remember the
time you set yourself up as a rain-maker?"
Mr. Rabbit chuckled so that he bent nearly double.
"I don't remember that," sighed Mr. Thimblefinger. "You two have more
jokes between you than you can shake a stick at. That comes of me
being small and puny. Tell us about it, please."
Mr. Rabbit fingered his pipe--a way he had when he put on his
thinking-cap, as Mrs. Meadows expressed it--and presently said:--
"It's not such a joke after all, but I'll let you judge for yourself.
Once upon a time, when all of us lived next door, on the other side of
the spring, there was a tremendous drouth. I had been living a long
time, but never before had seen such a long dry spell. Everybody was
farming except myself, and even I had planted a small garden.
"Well, there was a big rain about planting-time, but after that came
the drouth, and the hot weather with it. One month, six weeks, two
months, ten weeks--and still no sign of rain. The cotton was all
shriveled up, and the corn looked as if it would catch a-fire, it was
so dry; even the cow-peas turned yellow. Everything was parched. The
creeks ran dry, and the rivers got so low the mills had to stop. I
remember that when Brother Bear tried to carry me across the ferry
his flatboat ran aground in the middle of the river, and the water was
so low we found we could wade out.
"The drouth got so bad that everybody was complaining--everybody
except me. Brother Wolf and Brother Bear would come and sit on my
front porch and do nothing but complain; but I said nothing. I simply
smoked my pipe and shook my head, and said nothing. They noticed this,
after so long a time, and one day, while they were sitting there
complaining and declaring that they were ruined, I went in to get a
drink of water. I came back gently and heard them asking each other
how it was that I didn't join in their complaints. When I came out,
Brother Wolf says, says he: 'Brother Rabbit, how are your craps?' I
remember he said 'craps.'
"'Well,' says I, 'my craps are middling good. They might be better,
and they might be worse, but I have no cause to grumble.'
"They looked at each other, and then Brother Bear asked if I had had
any rain at my house. 'None,' says I, 'to brag about--a drizzle here
and a drizzle there, but nothing to boast of.'
"They looked at each other in great surprise, and then Brother Wolf
spoke up. 'Brother Rabbit,' says he, 'how can you get a drizzle and
the rest of us not a drop?'
"'Well,' says I, 'some folks that know me call me the rain-maker. They
may be right. They may be wrong. I'm not going to squabble about it.
You can call me what you please. I shall not dispute with you.'
"Presently they went away, but it wasn't long before they came back,
bringing with them all the neighbors for miles around. They gathered
in the porch and in the yard and outside the gate, and begged me, if I
was a rain-maker, to make it rain there and then to save their crops.
They begged me and begged me, but I sat cross-legged and smoked my
pipe--this same pipe you see here. Brother Fox, who had done me many a
mean trick (though he was always well paid for it), got on his knees
and begged me to make it rain for them.
"Finally I told them that I'd make it rain for the whole settlement on
two conditions. The first condition was that every one was to pay
toll."
[Illustration: MR. RABBIT SAYING NOTHING]
"Toll is the pay the miller takes out at the mill," remarked Buster
John.