Spry. ‘The baker and his wife have been trying to supply the army that
is camped here, but their oven is too small. They have worked until they
can work no longer, and now they have gone to bed to rest.’
“‘Good!’ cried the King of the Clinkers. ‘Shut the door, so they can’t
hear us! I’ll show them a thing or two about baking bread.’
“Then he walked close to the hot oven, tapped on it with a little poker
that he carried in his belt, and called out: ‘Wake up! Get out! Come on!
Hurry up! We’ve no time to lose! Show yourselves! Stir about! Be
lively!’
“With that, hundreds of little men swarmed out of the ash heap behind
the oven, some of them sneezing and some rubbing their eyes, but all
jumping about with motions as quick as those of a flea when he jumps.”
“Oh, please don’t talk about fleas,” pleaded Mr. Rabbit, shuddering and
scratching himself behind the ear. “It makes the cold chills run up my
back. I never hear ’em named but I think I can feel ’em crawling on me.”
“Anyhow, that’s the way the little men jumped about,” said
Tickle-My-Toes, resuming his story. “They swarmed in and out of the
oven, hot as it was; they swarmed in and out of the flour barrels; they
swarmed in and out of the trough where the dough was kneaded; and they
swarmed in and out of the woodshed.
“The King of the Clinkers stood sometimes on the edge of the oven,
sometimes on the edge of the flour barrels, sometimes on the edge of the
trough, sometimes on the woodpile, and sometimes at the door of the
furnace. And wherever he stood he waved his tiny poker and told the
others what to do.
“Some of the little men carried wood to the furnace, some carried flour
and water to the trough, some carried dough to the oven, and some
brought out the hot and smoking bread. Sparkle Spry watched all this
with so much surprise that he didn’t know what to say or do. He saw the
loaves of bread rise up in rows as high as the ceiling, and he sat and
watched it as dumb as an oyster. He had seen bread baked, but he had
never seen such baking as this.
“Finally the eye of the King of the Clinkers fell on Sparkle Spry.
‘Don’t sit there doing nothing,’ he cried. ‘Go fetch wood and pile it
here by the furnace door. You can do that!’
“Sparkle Spry did as he was bid, but though he brought the wood as fast
as he could, he found that he couldn’t bring it fast enough. Pretty soon
the King of the Clinkers called out to him:
“‘You can rest now. The flour is all gone, and we have hardly begun.’
“‘There’s plenty in the storehouse,’ said Sparkle Spry.
“‘How many barrels?’ asked the King of the Clinkers.
“‘Two hundred,’ Sparkle Spry answered.
“The King of the Clinkers wrung his hands in despair. ‘Hardly a
mouthful—hardly a mouthful! It will all be gone before the chickens crow
for day. But run fetch the key. Two hundred barrels will keep us busy
while they last.’
“Sparkle Spry brought the key of the storehouse door, and the little men
swarmed in and rolled the barrels out in a jiffy. Only one accident
happened. In taking the flour out of one of the barrels, after they had
rolled it near the dough trough, one of the little men fell in and would
have been drowned but for Sparkle Spry, who felt around in the loose
flour and lifted him out.”
“Drowned!” cried Sweetest Susan.
“Of course,” answered Tickle-My-Toes. “Why not? I ought to have said
‘smothered,’ but now that I’ve said ‘drowned’ I’ll stick to it.”
“Better stick to the story,” remarked Mr. Rabbit solemnly,—“Better stick
to the story.”
“Now, I think he’s doing very well,” said Mrs. Meadows in an encouraging
tone.
“Well,” said Tickle-My-Toes, “the little men worked away until they had
baked the two hundred barrels of flour into nice brown loaves of bread.
This made five hundred barrels they had used, and that was all the baker
had on hand. The fifteen hundred pounds of flour made twenty hundred and
odd fat loaves, and these the King of the Clinkers had carried into the
storehouse.
“When all this was done, and nicely done, the King of the Clinkers went
to the door of the room where the baker and his wife were sleeping. They
were snoring as peacefully as two good people ever did. Then he went to
the street door and listened.
“‘Get home—get home!’ he cried to the little men. ‘I hear wagons
rumbling on the pavement; they will be here presently for bread.’
“The little men scampered this way and that, behind the oven and into
the ash heap, and, in a few seconds, all had disappeared.
“‘Now,’ said the King of the Clinkers, ‘I want to tell you that I’ve had
a splendid time, and I’m very much obliged to you for it. I have enjoyed
myself, and I want to make some returns for it. Pretty soon the bread
wagons will be at the door clamoring for bread. You will wake the baker
and his wife. When they find all their flour made into nice bread they
will be very much surprised. They will ask you who did it. You must tell
them the truth. They will not believe it, but they’ll be very proud of
you. They will be willing to give you anything you want. Tell them you
want a wooden horse. They will have it built for you. It must have a
window on each side and good strong hinges in the legs. Good-by! I hear
the wagons at the door.’
“The King of the Clinkers waved his hand and disappeared behind the
oven. The wagons rattled near the door, the teamsters cracking their
whips and calling for bread for the hungry army. Sparkle Spry ran to the
baker and shook him, and ran to the baker’s wife and shook her. They
were soon awake, but when the baker learned that the wagons had come for
bread, he threw up both hands in despair.
“‘I’m ruined!’ he cried. ‘I ought to have been baking and here I’ve been
sleeping! And the army marches away to-day, leaving me with all my stock
of flour on hand. Oh, why didn’t the boy wake me?’
“‘Come,’ said his wife; ‘we’ll sell what we’ve got, and not cry over the
rest.’
“They went into the storehouse, and there they saw a sight such as they
had never seen before. The room was so full of steaming bread that they
could hardly squeeze in at the door. From floor to ceiling it was
stacked and packed. They sold and sold until every loaf was gone, and
then, instead of the bread, the baker and his wife had a sack full of
silver money.
“The baker went in to count it, but his wife took it away from him. ‘Not
now,’ she said; ‘not until we have thanked this boy.’
“‘You are right!’ cried the baker. ‘It’s the most wonderful thing I ever
heard of. How did you manage it?’
“‘Some little men helped me,’ answered Sparkle Spry.
“The woman seized his hands and kissed his fingers. ‘These are the
little men,’ she exclaimed.
“‘There’s one thing I’m sorry for,’ said Sparkle Spry.
“‘What is that?’ asked the baker.
“‘Why, we had to burn so much wood.’
“‘Don’t mention it—don’t mention it,’ protested the baker.
“‘Now,’ said the baker’s wife, embracing Sparkle Spry again, ‘you
deserve something for making us rich. What shall it be?’
“The baker frowned a little at this, but his brow cleared when Sparkle
Spry replied that he wanted a wooden horse built.
“‘You shall have it,’ said the baker’s wife.
“‘Yes, indeed,’ assented the baker. ‘As fine a one as you want.’”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XII.
THE TERRIBLE HORSE.
When Tickle-My-Toes had told about how pleased the baker and his wife
were with Sparkle Spry, he paused and looked at Chickamy Crany Crow, as
if he expected that she would beckon him away. But, instead of that, she
said:—
“Why, that isn’t all.”
“Well, it’s enough, I hope,” replied Tickle-My-Toes.
“No,” said Mrs. Meadows, “it’s not enough, if there’s any more. Why, so
far it’s the best of all the stories. It’s new to me. I had an idea that
I had heard all the stories, but this one is a pole over my persimmon,
as we used to say in the country next door.”
“I don’t like to tell stories,” protested Tickle-My-Toes, puckering his
face in a comical way. “It’s too confining.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit. “It’s time you were settling down.
What will you look like a year or two from now, if you keep on cutting
up your capers?”
Tickle-My-Toes caught hold of the corner of Chickamy Crany Crow’s apron,
and, thus fortified, resumed his story:—
“Well, the baker and his wife promised Sparkle Spry they would have him
a big wooden horse made, and they were as good as their word. They sent
right off that very day for a carpenter and joiner, and when he came,
Sparkle Spry showed the man what he wanted. He said the horse must be as
much like a real horse as could be made out of wood, and three times as
big.
“The man asked the baker’s wife what the brat wanted with such a machine
as that, and this made the good woman mad.
“‘He’s no brat, I can tell you that!’ she exclaimed, ‘and if he wants a
play horse as big as a whale and the same shape, he shall have it. Now
if you want to make his play horse, get to work and make it. If not,
I’ll get somebody else to make it.’
“But the man declared he meant no harm, and said he was glad to get the
work. So he got the lumber, and in a few days, being a very clever
workman, he had finished the wooden horse. He made it just as Sparkle
Spry wanted him to. He put big hinges at the joints of the legs, cut a
window in each side of the body, made the ears and the nostrils hollow,
and fixed pieces of glass for the eyes.
“The carpenter seemed to enjoy his work, too, for every time he went off
a little distance to see how his work looked, he laughed as hard as he
could. When he was nearly done he asked Sparkle Spry if he wanted the
roof shingled.
“‘Why, no,’ replied the boy. ‘There’s no roof there. Besides, horses
don’t have shingles on them.’
“He’ll look pretty rough,” remarked the man.
“‘Yes,’ said Sparkle Spry, ‘but after you get through with him he is to
be polished off.’
“‘That’s so,’ the carpenter assented, ‘but this horse has a good many
things about him that other horses haven’t got.’
“So, when the carpenter was through with the horse, a leather finisher
was sent for, and he covered the horse with hides of cows tanned with
the hair on, and fixed a cow’s tail where the horse’s tail should have
been.
“The baker grumbled a little at this extra expense, and said he was
afraid Sparkle Spry had strained his head the night he baked so much
bread. But the baker’s wife said she would like to have a whole house
full of crazy children, if Sparkle Spry was crazy.
“When the wooden horse was finished, Sparkle Spry waited until the baker
and his wife had gone to bed, and then he tapped on the oven and
whistled. Presently the King of the Clinkers peeped out to see what the
matter was. He came from behind the oven cautiously, until he found that
Sparkle Spry was alone, and then he came forth boldly.
“‘The horse is ready,’ said Sparkle Spry.
“‘Ready!’ exclaimed the King of the Clinkers. ‘Well, I think it is high
time. My workmen could have built it in a night; and here I have been
waiting and waiting for I don’t know how long.’
“‘I hope you’ll like it,’ Sparkle Spry suggested.
“‘Like it!’ cried the King of the Clinkers. ‘Why, of course I’ll like
it. I haven’t enjoyed a ride in so long that I’m not likely to quarrel
with the horse that carries me.’
“‘But this is a wooden horse,’ remarked Sparkle Spry.
“‘I should hope so; yes, indeed!’ grunted the King of the Clinkers. ‘I
have been riding wooden horses as long as I can remember. They may be a
little clumsy, but they suit me.’
“‘But this horse has no rockers,’ persisted Sparkle Spry. ‘It is as
solid as a house.’
“‘Much you know about wooden horses,’ said the King of the Clinkers.
‘Wait; I’ll call my torchbearers.’
“He tapped on the oven with his tiny poker, and immediately a company of
little men filed out from behind it. As they passed the furnace door
they lit their torches at a live coal, and marched out to the wooden
horse, followed by the King of the Clinkers and Sparkle Spry.
“The latter had reason to be very much astonished at what he saw then
and afterwards. The torchbearers led the way to the left foreleg of the
wooden horse, opened a door, and filed up a spiral stairway, the King of
the Clinkers following after. Sparkle Spry climbed up by means of a
stepladder that the carpenter had used. When he crawled through the
window in the side of the wooden horse, he saw that a great
transformation had taken place, and the sight of it almost took his
breath away.
“A furnace with a small bake oven had been fitted up, and there was also
a supply of flour, coal, and wood. The flue from the furnace ran in the
inside of the horse’s neck, finding a vent for the smoke at the ears. On
all sides were to be seen the tools and furniture of a bakery, and there
were places where the little men might stow themselves away when they
were not on duty, and there was a special apartment for the King of the
Clinkers.
“In a little while the whole interior of the horse swarmed with the
followers of the King of the Clinkers, who stood counting them as they
came in.
“‘All here,’ he said, waving his little poker. ‘Now get to bed and rest
yourselves.’
“They complied so promptly that they seemed to disappear as if by magic.
The torchbearers had thrown their torches in the furnace, and as wood
had already been placed there, a fire was soon kindled.
“‘Now,’ said the King of the Clinkers, closing the draught, ‘we’ll let
it warm up a little and see if the carpenter has done his work well.’
“Thereupon he pulled a cord that seemed to be tied to a bell, and, in a
little while, Sparkle Spry felt that the horse was in motion. He hardly
knew what to make of it. He went to the window and peeped out, and the
lights in the houses seemed to be all going to the rear. Occasionally a
creaking sound was heard, and sometimes he could feel a jar or jolt in
the horse’s frame.
“‘Are we flying?’ he asked, turning to the King of the Clinkers.
“‘Flying! Nothing of the sort. Don’t you feel a jolt when the horse
lifts up a foot and puts it down again? I’m mighty glad it is a pacing
horse. If it was a trotting horse it would shake us all to pieces.’
“‘Where are we going?’ inquired Sparkle Spry.
“‘Following the army—following the army,’ replied the King of the
Clinkers. ‘There’s going to be a big battle not far from here, and we
may take a hand in it. The king of the country is a fat old rascal, and
isn’t very well thought of by the rest of the kings, who are his
cousins; but I live here, and he has never bothered me. Consequently, I
don’t mind helping him out in a pinch.’
“‘How far do you have to go?’ asked Sparkle Spry, who had no great
relish for war if it was as hard as he had heard it was.
“‘Oh, a good many miles,’ replied the King of the Clinkers, ‘and we are
not getting on at all. There’s not enough mutton suet on the knee hinges
to suit me.’
“So saying, he struck the bell twice, and instantly Sparkle Spry could
feel that the wooden horse was going faster.
“‘Does the horse go by the road or through the fields?’ asked Sparkle
Spry.
“‘Oh, we take short cuts when necessary,’ answered the King of the
Clinkers. ‘We have no time to go round by the road. I hope you are not
scared.’
“‘No, not scared,’ replied Sparkle Spry somewhat doubtfully; ‘but it
makes me feel queer to be traveling through the country in a wooden
horse.’
“Nothing more was said for some time, and Sparkle Spry must have dropped
off to sleep, for suddenly he was aroused by the voice of the King of
the Clinkers, who called out:—
“‘Here we are! Get up! Stir about!’
“Sparkle Spry jumped to his feet and looked from the window. Day was
just dawning, and on the plain before him he saw hundreds of twinkling
lights, as if a shower of small stars had fallen to the ground during
the night. Being somewhat dazed by his experiences, he asked what they
were.
“‘Camp-fires,’ replied the King of the Clinkers. ‘The army that we are
going to attack is camped further away, but if you will lift your eyes a
little, you will see their camp-fires.’
“‘Do we attack them by ourselves?’ Sparkle Spry asked.
“‘Of course!’ the King of the Clinkers answered. ‘I never did like too
much company; besides, I want you to get the credit of it.’
“‘Now, I’d rather be certain of a whole skin than to have any credit,’
protested Sparkle Spry.
“But the King of the Clinkers paid no attention to his protests. He gave
his orders to his little men, and strutted about with an air of
importance that Sparkle Spry would have thought comical if he had not
been thinking of the battle.
“Daylight came on and drowned out the camp-fires, leaving only thin
columns of blue smoke to mark them. The wooden horse moved nearer and
nearer to the army directly in front of them, and finally came close to
the headquarters of the commanding general, who sent out a soldier to
inquire the meaning of the apparition. Finally the general came himself,
accompanied by his staff, and to him Sparkle Spry repeated what the King
of the Clinkers had told him to say. The general pulled his mustache and
knitted his brows mightily, and finally he said:—
“‘I’m obliged to you for coming. You’ll have to do the best you can. I
never have commanded a wooden horse, and if I were to tell you what to
do, I might get you into trouble. I’ll just send word along the line
that the wooden horse is on our side, and you’ll have to do the best you
can.’
“As he said, so he did. The army soon knew that a big wooden horse had
come to help it, and when the queer-looking machine moved to the front,
the soldiers got out of the way as fast as they could, and some of them
forgot to carry their arms with them. But order was soon restored, and
presently it was seen that the opposing army was marching forward to
begin the battle.
“The King of the Clinkers waited until the line was formed, and then he
sounded the little bell. The horse started off. The bell rang twice, and
the horse went faster. Sparkle Spry, looking from the window, could see
that he was going at a tremendous rate. The horse went close to the
opposing army, and then turned and went down the line to the left.
Turning, it came up the line, this time very close. Turning again, it
came back, and the soldiers in the front line were compelled to scamper
out of the way. While this was going on, the other army came up, but by
the time it arrived on the battle-ground there was nothing to fight.
[Illustration:
THE WOODEN HORSE HAD STAMPEDED THE ENEMY’S ARMY
]
“The wooden horse had stampeded the enemy’s army, and the soldiers had
all run away, leaving their arms, their tents, and their bread wagons to
be captured.
“The commanding general of the victorious army thanked Sparkle Spry very
heartily. ‘I’ll mention your name in my report to the king,’ he said.
‘But I hardly know what to say about the affair. You wouldn’t call this
a battle, would you?’
“‘No,’ replied Sparkle Spry, ‘I saw no signs of a battle where I went
along.’
“‘It is very curious,’ said the general. ‘I don’t know what we are
coming to. A great victory, but nobody killed and no prisoners taken.’
“Then he went off to write his report, and some time afterward the king
sent for Sparkle Spry, and gave him lands and houses and money, and made
him change his every-day name for a high-sounding one. And the baker and
his wife came to live near him, and the King of the Clinkers used to
come at night with all his little men, and they had a very good time
after all, in spite of the high-sounding name.”
With this, Tickle-My-Toes turned and ran away as hard as he could,
whereupon Mr. Rabbit opened his eyes and asked in the most solemn way:—
“Is there a wooden horse after him? I wish you’d look.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XIII.
HOW BROTHER LION LOST HIS WOOL.
Mr. Rabbit shaded his eyes with his hand, and pretended to believe that
there might be a wooden horse trying to catch Tickle-My-Toes after all.
But Mrs. Meadows said that there was no danger of anything like that.
She explained that Tickle-My-Toes was running away because he didn’t
want to hear what was said about his story.
“I think he’s right,” remarked Mr. Rabbit. “It was the queerest tale I
ever heard in all my life. You might sit and listen to tales from now
until—well—until the first Tuesday before the last Saturday in the year
seven hundred thousand, seven hundred and seventy-seven, and you’d never
hear another tale like it.”
“I don’t see why,” suggested Mrs. Meadows.
“Well,” replied Mr. Rabbit, chewing his tobacco very slowly, “there are
more reasons than I have hairs in my head, but I’ll only give you three.
In the first place, this Sparkle Spry doesn’t marry the king’s daughter.
In the second place, he doesn’t live happily forever after; and in the
third place”—Mr. Rabbit paused and scratched his head—“I declare, I’ve
forgotten the third reason.”
“If it’s no better than the other two, it doesn’t amount to much,” said
Mrs. Meadows. “There’s no reason why he shouldn’t have married the
king’s daughter, if the king had a daughter, and if he didn’t live
happily it was his own fault. Stories are not expected to tell
everything.”
“Now, I’m glad of that,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, “truly glad. I’ve had a
story on my mind for many years, and I’ve kept it to myself because I
had an idea that in telling a story you had to tell everything.”
“Well, you were very much mistaken,” said Mrs. Meadows with emphasis.
“So it seems—so it seems,” remarked Mr. Rabbit.
“What was the story?” asked Buster John.
“I called it a story,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “but that is too big a name
for it. I reckon you have heard of the time when Brother Lion had hair
all over him as long and as thick as the mane he now has?”
But the children shook their heads. They had never heard of that, and
even Mrs. Meadows said it was news to her.
“Now, that is very queer,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, filling his pipe slowly
and deliberately. “Very queer, indeed. Time and again I’ve had it on the
tip of my tongue to mention this matter, but I always came to the
conclusion that everybody knew all about it. Of course it doesn’t seem
reasonable that Brother Lion went about covered from head to foot, and
to the tip of his tail, with long, woolly hair; but, on the other hand,
when he was first seen without his long, woolly hair, he was the
laughing-stock of the whole district. I know mighty well he was the most
miserable looking creature I ever saw.
“It was curious, too, how it happened,” Mr. Rabbit continued. “We were
all living in a much colder climate than that in the country next door.
Six months in the year there was ice in the river and snow on the
ground, and them that didn’t lay up something to eat when the weather
was open had a pretty tough time of it the rest of the year. Brother
Lion’s long woolly hair belonged to the climate. But for that, he would
have frozen to death, for he was a great hunter, and he had to be out in
all sorts of weather.
“One season we had a tremendous spell of cold weather, the coldest I had
ever felt. I happened to be out one day, browsing around, when I saw
blue smoke rising a little distance off, so I says to myself, says I,
I’ll go within smelling distance of the fire and thaw myself out. I went
towards the smoke, and I soon saw that Mr. Man, who lived not far off,
had been killing hogs.
“Now, the funny thing about that hog-killing business,” continued Mr.
Rabbit, leaning back in his chair and smacking his lips together, as old
people will do sometimes, “was that, after the hogs were killed, Mr. Man
had to get their hair off. I don’t know how people do now, but that was
what Mr. Man did then. He had to get the hair off—but how? Well, he
piled up wood, and in between the logs he placed rocks and stones. Then
he dug a hole in the ground and half buried a hogshead, the open end
tilted up a little higher than the other end. This hogshead he filled
with as much water as it would hold in that position. Then he set fire
to the pile of wood. As it burned, of course the rocks would become
heated. These Mr. Man would take in a shovel and throw in the hogshead
of water. The hot rocks would heat the water, and in this way the hogs
were scalded so the hair on their hides could be scraped off.
“Well, the day I’m telling you about, Mr. Man had been killing hogs and
scalding the hair off. When I got there the pile of wood had burned
away, and Mr. Man had just taken his hogs home in his wagon. The weather
was very cold, and as I stood there warming myself I heard Brother Lion
roaring a little way off. He had scented the fresh meat, and I knew he
would head right for the place where the hogs had been killed.