the miller takes his payment out of the meal. Well, I told them they'd
have to pay toll. They agreed to that, and then asked what else they'd
have to do, but I said we'd attend to one thing at a time. First let
the toll be paid.
"They went off, and in due time they came back. Some brought corn and
some brought meal; some brought wheat and some brought flour; some
brought milk and some brought butter; some brought honey in the clean,
and some brought honey in the comb; some brought one thing and some
brought another, but they all brought something.
"Then they gathered around and asked what else they had to do. 'Well,'
says I, 'you certainly act as if you wanted rain--all of you--there's
no disputing that. You have paid the toll according to agreement. You
have surely earned the rain, and now there's nothing for me to do but
to find out how much rain you want.'
"With that they all began to talk at once, especially Brother Bear,
who lived in the upland district, where the drouth had been the worst,
but I put an end to that at once.
"'Hold on there!' says I, 'just wait! Don't get into any dispute
around here. You are on my grounds and at my house. Let's have no
squabbling. I'm not feeling so mighty well, anyhow, and the least fuss
will be enough to upset me. But the world is wide. Just go on yonder
hill and fix up the whole matter to suit yourselves. Just come to some
agreement as to how much rain you want, and as soon as you agree send
me word, and then go home and hoist your parasols, for there'll surely
be a sprinkle.'
"Well," Mr. Rabbit continued, "this was such a sensible plan that they
couldn't help but agree to it, and presently they all went to the hill
and began to talk the matter over, while I went into the house.
"This was in the morning. Well, dinner-time came, but still no word
had come from the convention on the hill. I went out into the porch,
flung my red handkerchief over my face to keep the flies off, and took
my afternoon nap, but still no word came from the hill. Then I fell
to laughing, and laughed until I nearly choked myself."
"But what were you laughing at?" Buster John inquired, with a serious
air.
Mr. Rabbit paused, looked at the youngster solemnly, and said, "Well,
I'll tell you. I didn't laugh because anybody had hurt my feelings. I
just laughed at circumstances. I sat and waited until the afternoon
was half gone, and then slipped up the hill to see what was to be seen
and hear what was to be heard. Everything was very quiet up there.
Those who had gone up there to decide what sort of rain they wanted
were sitting; around under the pine-trees, looking very sour and
saying nothing. The ground was torn up a little in spots, and I
thought I could see scattered around little patches of hair and little
pieces of hide. I judged from that that the arguments they had used
were very serious. I watched them from behind the bushes a little
while, and then Brother Bear walked out into the open and declared
that any one who didn't want the rain to be a trash-mover was anything
but a nice fellow. At this Brother Coon, who lived in the low
grounds, remarked that anybody who wanted anything more than a drizzle
was not well raised at all.
"Then I soon found out what the trouble was. Brother Bear, living on
the uplands, wanted a big rain; Brother Coon, who lived in the low
grounds, wanted a little rain; Brother Fox wanted a tolerably heavy
shower; and Brother Mink just wanted a cloudy night to coax the frogs
out. Some wanted a freshet, some wanted a drizzle, and some wanted a
fog.
"They wouldn't agree because they couldn't agree," continued Brother
Rabbit, "and finally they slunk off to their homes one at a time. So I
didn't have to make any rain at all."
"But you couldn't have made it rain," said Sweetest Susan placidly.
"I didn't say I could," replied Mr. Rabbit. "I told them I would make
the rain if they would agree among themselves."
"But you took what they brought you?" suggested Sweetest Susan in a
tone that was intended for a rebuke.
[Illustration: BROTHER BEAR ARGUING THE RAIN QUESTION]
"Well," Mr. Rabbit answered, "you know what the old saying is--'Fools
have to pay for their folly.' They might as well have paid me as to
pay somebody else. That's the way I looked at it in those days. I
don't know how I'd look at it now, because I'm not so nimble footed as
I used to be, nor so full of mischief."
"If there had been many more such fools in your neighborhood,"
remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, "you could have set up a grocery-store."
There was a little pause, and then Mrs. Meadows, looking around,
exclaimed:--
"Just look yonder, will you?"
Chickamy Crany Crow had two sticks, and with these she was playing on
an imaginary fiddle. Tickle-My-Toes had the broom, and this, he
pretended, was a banjo.
The two queer-looking creatures wagged their heads from side to side
and patted the ground with their feet, just as though they were making
sure-enough music, and presently Tickle-My-Toes sang this song to a
very lively tune:--
OH, LULLYMALOO!
I'll up and I'll grin if you tickle my chin,
And I'll sneeze if you tickle my nose;
I'll up and I'll cry if you tickle my eye--
But I'll squeal if you tickle my toes!
Oh, grin with your chinnery in,
And sneeze with your nosery oze,
And cry with your wipery eye,
But please don't tickle my toes!
I'll grin and I'll sneeze, I'll cry and I'll squeal,
And scare you with _ouches!_ and _ohs!_
You may tickle my head, you may tickle my heel,
But please don't tickle my toes!
Oh, grin with your innery chin,
And sneeze with your ozery nose,
And cry with your wipery eye,
But please don't tickle my toes!
I'll grin, _tee-hee!_ and I'll cry, _boo-hoo!_
And I'll sneeze, _icky chow! icky-chose!_
And I'll squeal just as loud, _Oh, Lullymaloo!_
Whenever you tickle my toes!
Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla laughed so heartily at this
that Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes didn't wait to repeat the
chorus of the song, but ran away, pretending to be very much
frightened. This made the children laugh still more, and for the first
time they felt thoroughly at home in Mr. Thimblefinger's queer
country.
XI.
HOW BROTHER BEAR'S HAIR WAS COMBED.
While Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla were watching Chickamy
Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes run away, and laughing at them, suddenly
the sky in Mr. Thimblefinger's queer country grew brighter. The dark
shadow of the buttermilk-jug had disappeared, and there were wavering
lines of white light flashing across, as though the sun were trying to
shine through. Along with these flashing lines there were wavering
lines of shadow that rippled and danced about curiously. There seemed
to be some tremendous commotion going on. If some person with the
learning and wisdom of an astronomer had seen this wonderful display,
he would have been overcome with awe and fear. He would have concluded
that the sky was about to go to pieces, and ten to one he would have
left his unreflecting telescope swinging in the air, and crawled under
the bed.
But there was no astronomer in Mr. Thimblefinger's queer country, and
the children had seen too many strange sights to be very much alarmed.
Besides, Drusilla solved the mystery before they had time to gather
their fears together.
"Shuh!" she exclaimed; "'t ain't nothin' 't all. When dey tuck de jug
outin' de spring de water 'bleedge to be shuck up."
And it was true. The rippling and wavering in the sky of Mr.
Thimblefinger's queer country were caused by lifting the
buttermilk-jug from the spring. As soon as the commotion ceased, it
was seen that across the sky, from horizon to horizon, dark lines and
shadows extended. They were irregular, and branched out here and there
in every direction. Drusilla gazed at them for some moments without
venturing to explain them. Suddenly a shadow that seemed to have life
and motion made its appearance, and darted about among the dark lines.
Drusilla laughed.
"La! Hit's dat dead lim' ober de spring, an' dere's a jay-bird hoppin'
about in it right now. Ain't I done heah yo' pa say dat lim' 'll
hafter be cut off 'fo' it fall an' break somebody's head?"
"Well, well! She ain't so bad off up here as I thought she was," said
Mr. Thimblefinger, tapping his forehead significantly.
"Ain't I done tell you dat dey's mo' in my head dan what you kin comb
out?" exclaimed Drusilla indignantly.
"Speaking of combing and things of that sort," remarked Mr. Rabbit,
turning to Mrs. Meadows, "did I ever tell you how Brother Bear learned
to comb his hair?"
Mrs. Meadows reflected a moment, or pretended to reflect. "Now, I'm
not right certain about that. Maybe you have and maybe you haven't; I
don't remember. How did you teach Brother Bear to keep his hair
roached and parted? Mostly when I used to know him, he went about
looking mighty ragged and shabby."
Mr. Rabbit chuckled for several moments and then said: "Well, in my
courting-days, you know, I used to go around fixed up in style. Many
and many a time I've heard the girls whisper to one another and say,
'Oh, my! Ain't Mr. Rabbit looking spruce to-day?' There was one season
in particular that I was careful to primp up and look sassy. I put
bergamot oil on my hair, and kept it brushed so slick that a fly
would slip up and cripple himself if he lit on it.
"It so happened that my road took me by Brother Bear's house every
day--right by the front gate. Sometimes Mrs. Bear would be hanging out
clothes on the fence, sometimes she would be sweeping off the front
porch, and sometimes she would be working in the garden; but no matter
what she was doing I'd cough and catch her eye, and then I'd bow just
as polite as you please."
"What were you doing all that for?" asked Buster John.
"Well, I'll tell you," Mr. Rabbit replied. "I had a grudge against
Brother Bear, and I wanted to work a little scheme. Along at first I
just went on by the back of Brother Bear's house, and around through
the woods home, but in a few days I'd pass by the house and then get
over the fence and creep back to hear what Mrs. Bear had to say. One
morning I heard her talking. She was out in the yard fixing to do her
week's washing while Brother Bear was in the house dozing. I could
hear what Mrs. Bear said, but I was too far off to hear what answer
Brother Bear made.
[Illustration: MRS. BEAR HANGING OUT CLOTHES]
"Mrs. Bear says, says she: 'Honey, you ain't asleep, are you?
Brother Rabbit has just gone along by the gate dressed to kill.' A
grumbling sound came from the house. Mrs. Bear says, says she, 'I
wonder where he goes every day, with his hair combed so slick?'
Grumble in the house. 'You'd better wish you looked half as nice,'
says Mrs. Bear. Grumble in the house. 'Well, I don't care if he is a
grand rascal, he looks nice and clean, and that's more than anybody
can say about you,' says Mrs. Bear. Growl in the house. Mrs. Bear
says, says she, 'Oh, you can rip and rear, but Brother Rabbit goes
about with his head combed, and he looks lots better that way than
them that go about with rat nests in their hair--lots better.'"
Here Brother Rabbit chuckled again. "I thought to myself, thinks I,
that I'd better be getting on toward home, and so I crept back up the
fence and went on my way.
"The next day as I was going along the road, who should I meet but old
Brother Bear himself. Well, here's a row, thinks I, but it didn't turn
out so. Brother Bear was just as polite to me as I had been to his old
woman.
"We passed the time of day and talked about the crops a little while,
but I could see that Brother Bear had something serious on his mind.
Finally, he shuffled around and sat down on a stump beside the
roadside.
"'Brother Rabbit,' he says, says he, 'how in the world do you manage
to keep your hair so slick and smooth all the time? My old woman sees
you passing by every day, and she's been worrying the life out of me
because I don't keep my hair combed that way. So I said to myself I'd
ask you the very next time I met you.'
"Brother Bear was looking pretty rough and tough, and so I says, says
I, 'You look as if she had been tousling you about it.'
"He hung his head at this, and shuffled around and changed his seat.
Says he: 'No, it's not so bad as all that, but I want to ask you plump
and plain, if it's a fair question, how you comb your hair so it will
stay nice?'
"I looked at him and shook my head. Says I, 'Brother Bear, I don't
comb my hair.'
"He was so much surprised that he opened his mouth, and his tongue
hung out on one side--a big, red tongue that had known the taste of
innocent blood."
"That's the truth!" exclaimed Mrs. Meadows.
Sweetest Susan shuddered.
"Says he, 'Brother Rabbit, if you don't comb your hair, how in the
wide world do you keep it so smooth?'"
"Says I, 'Easy enough. Every morning my old woman takes the axe and
chops my head off--'"
"Oh!" cried Sweetest Susan.
"'Takes the axe and chops off my head,'" Mr. Rabbit continued, as
solemn as a judge, "'and carries it out in the yard, where she can
have light to see and room to work, and then she combs it and combs it
until every kink comes straight and every hair is in its place. Then
she brings my head back, puts it where it belongs, and there it
is--all combed.'
"Brother Bear seemed to be very much astonished. Says he, 'Doesn't it
hurt, Brother Rabbit?'
"Says I, 'Hurt who? I'm no chicken.'
"Says he, 'Doesn't it bleed?'
"Says I, 'No more than enough to make my appetite good.'"
Mr. Rabbit paused and looked up at the ripples of light and shade that
were chasing each other across the sky in Mr. Thimblefinger's queer
country. Then he looked at the children.
"The upshot of it was," he continued, "that Brother Bear went home and
told Mrs. Bear how I had my head combed every day. Woman-like, she
wanted to try it at once; so Brother Bear laid his head on a log of
wood, and Mrs. Bear got the axe and raised it high in the air. Brother
Bear had just time to squall out, 'Cut it off easy, old woman!' when
the axe fell on his neck, and there he was!"
"Oh, did it kill him?" cried Sweetest Susan.
"That's what the neighbors said," replied Mr. Rabbit placidly.
Sweetest Susan didn't seem to be at all pleased. Seeing this, Mrs.
Meadows exclaimed:--
"To think of the poor little pigs Brother Bear killed and ate!"
"Yes," said Mr. Rabbit, "and the lambs!"
"Worse than that!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger. "Think of the little
children he devoured! Think of it!"
"I'm glad he had his head cut off," said Buster John heartily.
"Me too, honey," assented Drusilla.
XII.
A SINGING-MATCH.
After telling how Brother Bear learned to comb his hair, Mr. Rabbit
closed his eyes and seemed to be about to fall into a doze, as old
people have been known to do. During the pause that followed, Sweetest
Susan saw what appeared to be a bird of peculiar shape sailing around
in the sky of Mr. Thimblefinger's queer country.
It was long of body and seemed to have no wings, and yet it sailed
about overhead as majestically and easily as an eagle could have done.
"What sort of a bird is it?" inquired Sweetest Susan, pointing out the
object to Mrs. Meadows.
"Now, really, I don't know," was the reply. "They are so high in the
sky and I've seen them so often that I've never bothered my head about
them."
Mr. Thimblefinger climbed on the back of a chair, so as to get a
better view of the curious bird, but he shook his head and climbed
nimbly down again. The queer bird was too much for Mr. Thimblefinger.
Mr. Rabbit opened his eyes lazily and looked at it.
"If I'm not much mistaken--" he started to say, but Drusilla broke in
without any ceremony:--
"'T ain't nothin' 't all, but one er dem ar meller bugs what swims
roun' in de spring."
"Why, I expect it _is_ a mellow bug," said Mrs. Meadows, laughing. "I
used to catch them when I was a girl and put them in my handkerchief.
They smell just like a ripe apple."
"I thought it was a buzzard," said Buster John.
"No," remarked Mr. Rabbit, "I used to be well acquainted with Brother
Buzzard, and when he's in the air he's longer from side to side than
he is from end to end. I don't know when I've thought of Brother
Buzzard before. I never liked him much, but I used to see him sailing
around on sunshiny days, or sitting in the top of a dead pine drying
his wings after a heavy rain. He cut a very funny figure sitting up
there, with his wings spread out and drooping like a sick chicken.
[Illustration: LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER]
"I remember the time, too, when he had a singing-match with Brother
Crow, and I nearly laughed myself to death over it."
"Oh, tell us about it," cried Buster John.
"There's nothing in it when it is told," replied Mr. Rabbit. "There
are some things that are funny when you see them, but not funny at all
when you come to tell about them."
"We don't mind that," said Sweetest Susan.
"I don't know exactly how it came about," resumed Mr. Rabbit, after a
pause, "but as near as I can remember, Brother Buzzard and Brother
Crow met with each other early one morning in a big pine-tree. They
howdied, but there was a sort of coolness between them on account of
the fact that Brother Buzzard had been going about the neighborhood
making his brags and his boasts that he could outfly Brother Crow.
They hadn't been up in the tree very long before they began to
dispute. Brother Buzzard was not a very loud talker in those days,
whatever he may be now, but Brother Crow could squall louder than a
woman who has been married twenty-two years. And so there they had it,
quarreling and disputing and disturbing the peace."
"What were they quarreling about?" Buster John inquired.
"Well," replied Mr. Rabbit, "you know the road that leads to Brag is
the shortest route to Bluster. Brother Buzzard and Brother Crow were
quarreling because they had been bragging, and a little more and
they'd have had a regular pitched battle then and there.
"'Maybe you can outfly me, Brother Buzzard,' says Mr. Crow, 'but I'll
be bound you can't outsing me.'
"'I have never tried,' says Brother Buzzard, says he.
"'Well, suppose you try it now,' says Brother Crow. 'I'll go you a
fine suit of clothes, and a cocked hat to boot, that I can sit here
and sing longer than you can,' says he.
"'Oh, ho!' says Brother Buzzard, 'you may sing louder, but you can't
sing longer than I can,' says he.
"'Is it a go?' says Brother Crow.
"'It's a go,' says Brother Buzzard, says he.
"'It's no fair bet,' says Brother Crow, 'because you are a bigger man
than I am, and it stands to reason that you have got more wind in
your craw than I have, but I shall give you one trial if I split my
gizzard,' says he.
"Yes," remarked Mr. Rabbit, scratching his head thoughtfully, "those
were the very words he used--'if I split my gizzard,' says he. Well,
they shook hands to ratify the bet, and then Brother Crow, without
making any flourishes, raised the tune,--
"'Oh, Susy, my Susy, gangloo!
Oh, Milly, my Molly, langloo!'
"Then Brother Buzzard flung his head back and chimed in,--
"'Oh, Susy, my Susy, gangloo!
Oh, Milly, my Molly, langloo!'
and such another racket as they made I never heard before, and have
never heard since."
"Why, what kind of a song was it?" inquired Sweetest Susan. "I'm sure
I never heard such a song."
"Well," replied Mr. Rabbit, "you are young and I am old, but you know
just as much about that song as I do, and maybe more than I do, for
you haven't been pestered with it as long as I have. It is a worse
riddle to me than it was the day I heard it."
"What did they do then?" asked Buster John.
"Well," Mr. Rabbit replied, "they sat there and sang just as I told
you. Brother Buzzard would stop to catch his breath and then break
out,--
"'Oh, Susy, my Susy, gangloo!
Oh, Milly, my Molly, langloo!'
and then Brother Crow would squall out,--
"'Oh, Susy, my Susy, gangloo!
Oh, Milly, my Molly, langloo!'
"They sang on until they began to get hungry, and as Brother Buzzard
seemed to be the biggest and fattest of the two, everybody thought he
would hold out the longest. But Brother Crow was plucky, and he sang
right along in spite of the emptiness in his craw. He didn't squall as
loud as he did at first, but every time Brother Buzzard sang, Brother
Crow would sing, too. By and by, they both began to get very weak.
"At last, as luck would have it, Brother Crow saw his wife flying
over, and he sang out as loud as he could:--
[Illustration: THE SINGING MATCH]
"'Oh, Susy!--Go tell my children--my Susy,--to bring my
dinner--gangloo!--and tell them--oh, Milly, my Molly,--to bring it
quickly--langloo!'
"It wasn't very long after that before all Brother Crow's family
connections came flying to help him, and as soon as they found out how
matters stood they brought him more victuals than he knew what to do
with. Brother Buzzard held out as long as he could, but he was obliged
to give up, and since that time there has been mighty little singing
in the Buzzard family.
"But that isn't all," remarked Mr. Rabbit, as solemnly as if he were
pointing a moral. "Since that time Brother Crow, who was dressed in
white, has been wearing the black suit that he won from Brother
Buzzard."
"Speaking of singing birds," said Mr. Thimblefinger, turning to Mrs.
Meadows, "what is that song I used to hear you humming about a little
bird?"
"Oh, it's just a nonsense song," replied Mrs. Meadows. "It has no
beginning and no ending."
But the children said they wanted to hear it, anyhow, and so Mrs.
Meadows sang about--
THE LITTLE BIRD.
There was once a little Bird so full of Song
That he sang in the Rose-Bush the whole Night long.
And "Oh," said the Redbird to the Jay,
"Don't you wish you could sit and sing that way?"
"Mercy, no!" said the Jay; "for he sings too late;
I sing well enough for to please my Mate."
There was once a little Bird so full of Song
That he sang in the Rose-Bush the whole Night long.
Then "Oh," said the Redbird to the Crow,
"Don't you wish you could sit and sing just so?"
"Do hush," said the Crow, "or I'll start for to weep,
Be--caw--caw--cause he's a-losing of his sleep."
There was once a little Bird so full of Song
That he sang in the Rose-Bush the whole Night long.
And "Oh," said the Redbird to the Wren,
"Don't you wish you could sing so now and then?"
"Not me," said the Wren as she shook her Head;
"I think his Mamma ought to put him to Bed."
But the Singing Bird was so full of Glee
That he sang all night in the Rose-Bush Tree.
XIII.
THE STRAWBERRY-GIRL.
"Isn't it almost time for us to start home?" said Sweetest Susan,
turning to Mr. Thimblefinger.
"Why, you've got all the afternoon before you," replied Mr.
Thimblefinger. "Besides it will be downhill all the way. I was just
going to tell you a story, but if you really want to go I'll put off
the telling of it until some of your grandchildren tumble in the
spring when the wet water has run out and the dry water has taken its
place."
"Tell the story, please," said Buster John.
"It's about a girl," remarked Mr. Thimblefinger. "She was called the
Strawberry-Girl. My mother knew the girl well, and I've heard her tell
the story many a time. But if you want to go home--"
"Oh, please tell the story," cried Sweetest Susan.
"Well," said Mr. Thimblefinger; "once there was an old woman who
lived in the woods. She lived all alone, and people said she was a
witch. She was so old that the skin on her forehead had deep wrinkles
in it, and these wrinkles caused everybody to think that the old woman
was frowning all the time. People called her Granny Grim-Eye.
"Whenever Granny Grim-Eye got hungry she went to a strawberry-patch in
the field near where she lived, and gathered a basket of strawberries.
One day when she went after strawberries she found a beautiful little
girl asleep in the patch.
"'Hity-tity!' said Granny Grim-Eye, 'what are you doing here? Where
did you come from, and where are you going?'
"The little girl awoke and stared at Granny Grim-Eye. She was tied to
a blackberry-bush by a silver chain so fine that the links of it could
hardly be seen with the naked eye. 'Who are you?' asked Granny
Grim-Eye.
"'Nothing nor nobody,' replied the little girl, and that was all the
answer Granny Grim-Eye could get from the child.
[Illustration: GRANNY GRIM-EYE FINDS A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE GIRL ASLEEP]
"'Well,' said Granny Grim-Eye, 'this is my strawberry-patch, and
everything I find in it belongs to me. I'll take you home and see what
I can make out of you.'