had stopped to light my pipe and left my own kin dangling between the
Moon and the World! I knew in reason it would never do, and so I rattled
away almost as fast as the oldest Rabbit jumped. It was a long story
quickly told of a long journey quickly made.”
Mr. Rabbit seemed to be in better humor than ever. He leaned back, and
patted the ground softly with one foot.
“Speaking of journeys,” he said, after awhile, “makes me think about how
Brother Bear started out in the world. But what am I doing?” he cried.
“I don’t want to do all the talking. I don’t have any chance to sleep
unless somebody else is telling a story.”
“Now, please tell us the story,” pleaded Sweetest Susan.
“I’ll have to,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “since I’ve got it started. Well,
one time when Brother Bear was young, the time came for him to scratch
around and scuffle for himself. He had already learned how to grabble
for sweet potatoes, how to tote an armful of roasting ears, and how to
shut his eyes and rob a bee-tree, and so his daddy thought it was about
time for him to go off and earn his own living. Brother Bear said he was
more than willing, and when he came to tell his folks good-by, his daddy
gave him seven pieces of honey-in-the-comb, saying:—
“‘This is all I have to give you, but it’s enough. Whoever eats this
honey with you will have to wrestle with you seven years or give you
everything he owns.’
“So Brother Bear put his seven pieces of honey-in-the-comb in a bag,
slung the bag over his back, and went shuffling down the big road. He
traveled all that day, and camped out in the woods at night. The next
morning, just as he was about to eat breakfast, he heard a rustling in
the bushes, and presently Brother Tiger came slipping and sliding along,
hunting for his breakfast. Brother Bear howdied, and Brother Tiger said
he was only tolerable—not as peart as he might be, and yet pearter than
he had been. Then Brother Tiger sat and watched Brother Bear take put a
piece of his honey-in-the-comb, and the sight made his mouth water.
Brother Bear noticed this, and he says, says he:—
“‘I wish you mighty well, Brother Tiger, and I’d like to ask you to have
some of my breakfast, for I have more than a plenty for two. But the
trouble is, that whoever eats any of this honey-in-the-comb will have to
wrestle with me seven years or give me all his belongings.’
“‘Don’t let that bother you,’ says Brother Tiger, says he. ‘I’m a pretty
good wrestler myself, and I don’t mind trying my hand with you after
I’ve tasted your honey-in-the-comb.’
“But Brother Bear hemmed and hawed, and acted so that Brother Tiger
thought he was either afraid to wrestle or mighty stingy with his
honey-in-the-comb. He thought so, and he said so, and this put Brother
Bear on his mettle. So he says, says he:—
“‘Well, Brother Tiger, come and get a piece of my honey-in-the-comb. I’m
more than glad to give it to you, and sorry, too, because, as sure as
you eat it, you’ll be put under a spell, and you’ll be obliged to
wrestle with me seven long years or give me all your belongings.’
“Brother Tiger grinned from ear to ear. Says he, ‘If I don’t have to
wrestle before I get the honey-in-the-comb, it will be all right. Just
let me get my fill of that, and I’ll wrestle with you seven times seven
years. I’ll promise to make you tired of wrestling.’
“‘So be it,’ says Brother Bear. ‘Come and get the honey-in-the-comb, and
take all you want, for I won’t need any after I’ve wrestled with you a
time or two,’ says he.
“Brother Tiger went up and tasted the honey-in-the-comb, and it was so
good that he smacked his lips and asked for more. Brother Bear gave him
some. After both had eat as much as they wanted, Brother Tiger took a
notion to go home, but something held him back. The spell was working.
But finally he pulled himself together, and said he believed he’d go
home and see his old woman.
“But Brother Bear chuckled to himself. Says he, ‘Now that you’ve gobbled
up my honey-in-the-comb, you don’t want to wrestle. You can’t help
yourself. When I say wrestle, you’ll have to wrestle. You can go home
now, but to-morrow, bright and early, I’ll knock at your door, and
you’ll have to come out and wrestle.’
“Says Brother Tiger, says he, ‘I’ll be more than glad to accommodate
you. Just knock at the door any hour after daybreak, and you’ll find me
on hand.’
“Says Brother Bear, ‘I’ll do so, I’ll do so. Just remember your spoken
word, Brother Tiger!’
“Brother Tiger started home, but before he had gone very far he began to
feel mighty queer. He had a buzzing noise in his head and a creepy,
crawly feeling on his hide. He began to get scared. Once he thought the
honey had poisoned him, but he wasn’t sick. He never felt better in his
life. He wanted to jump and run, and I believe the tale does say that he
capered around a time or two. But every time he’d start home he’d have
that buzzing sound in his head and that creepy, crawly feeling in his
hide.
“So, by and by, he thought he would turn back and see what Brother Bear
thought about it. No sooner said than done. He went back at a hand
gallop, and found Brother Bear curled up at the foot of a tree fast
asleep. The honey had made him feel so good that he concluded to enjoy
himself by taking another nap. But he got up brisk enough when he heard
Brother Tiger calling him, and by the time he had rubbed his eyes once
or twice, and gaped and stretched himself, he was as wide awake as ever.
“Says he, ‘I knew you’d come back, Brother Tiger, and so I just waited
for you; and while I was waiting I ups and drops off to sleep. But
anyhow and anyway, here you are, and there’s no harm done.’
“Says Brother Tiger, says he, ‘I just came back to ask you about the
queer feeling I have.’
“Says Brother Bear, ‘That’s easy enough. You just wanted to wrestle, and
so you had to come back. I have the feeling most all the time when I’m
not sleeping or eating. It’s a sort of zooning sound in the ears, and a
sort of ticklish feeling on the hide. Well, there isn’t anything the
matter at all. You just want to wrestle, and as the feeling is new to
you, you didn’t know what it was.’
“Says Brother Tiger, ‘I believe you are right, Brother Bear; I believe
that’s the whole trouble.’
“‘Well,’ says Brother Bear, ‘I’ll try you one round, just to loosen up
my hide and put me in traveling trim. I’ll not wrestle with you very
hard, because you are not used to it, and it’s too soon to get down to
business with you. I told you about it when you wanted to eat the honey,
but you would eat it, and now you’ll have to wrestle with me, off and
on, first and last, for seven long years; and if you don’t, you’ll have
to give me your house and all your belongings.’
“So they took off their coats and made ready to wrestle. ‘As you are not
used to these capers,’ says Brother Bear, ‘I’ll give you all-under holt,
and promise not to use the in-turn, the ham-twist, or the knee-lock.’
“Now, Brother Tiger didn’t know whether Brother Bear was talking Latin
or Chinese, but he said nothing: he just stood up and grabbed Brother
Bear around the waist, or where the waist ought to be.
“‘When you are ready,’ says Brother Bear, ‘just give the word.’
“‘Well,’ says Brother Tiger, ‘I reckon I’m as ready now as I ever will
be.’
“With that Brother Bear hugged Brother Tiger pretty tight, whirled
around with him a time or two, fell on him, and then cuffed him, first
on one ear and then on the other. It was all done so quick that Brother
Tiger didn’t have time to say don’t. He got up and felt of his ribs to
see if they were still whole, and then he rubbed the side of his head
where Brother Bear had cuffed him. It had already begun to swell. His
breeches were badly ripped, and he was sore all over.
[Illustration:
HE RUBBED THE SIDE OF HIS HEAD
]
“Says he, ‘And so this is what you call wrestling—this is what I was
itching for, is it?’
“‘Oh, no!’ says Brother Bear. ‘It wouldn’t do to call that wrestling.
That was only playing. I was just showing you the first few capers: you
can’t wrestle until you learn how. I’ll drop by your house to-morrow
morning, bright and early, and give you another whirl.’
“Brother Tiger looked mighty solemn, but he didn’t say anything. He
ambled off home as well as he could in his condition, and got his old
woman to mend his breeches. She wanted to know who he had been fighting
with, but he told her he had just been playing with Brother Bear. She
laughed, and said that when he had played that way a few more times
there wouldn’t be enough of him left, neither breeches, body, nor bones,
to sew up in a bag.
“Well, the next morning, bright and early, Brother Bear rapped at
Brother Tiger’s door, and told him to come out and take some exercise
before breakfast. Brother Tiger didn’t like this invitation at all. He
said he wanted to sleep a little longer; but Brother Bear sent in word
that the night was made for sleeping, while the day was made for work
and play. Now, it so happened that the honey which Brother Tiger had ate
had put a spell on him, and when Brother Bear asked him out to wrestle
he had to come. He pulled on his clothes with no good heart, for he was
still very sore, and came limping out, trying to put a good face on the
affair. Brother Bear laughed, and told Brother Tiger howdy, but Brother
Tiger didn’t make much of a reply.
“So Brother Bear says, says he, ‘I hope you are not begrudging your
bargain, Brother Tiger, but you made it yourself, and at no invitation
of mine. I had the seven pieces of honey-in-the-comb, and you had the
bad taste in the mouth. I told you how it would be, but you would have
the honey, and now you’ll have to stand to your bargain: you can’t help
yourself now. I told you the plain truth about it, but you wouldn’t
believe it. You’ll find out the truth before you get the taste of that
honey out of your mouth.’
“Then they made a few passes at each other; but Brother Bear finally
grabbed Brother Tiger around his striped waist, squeezed the breath out
of him, dashed him on the ground, cuffed his ears, and then stood there
on his hind legs, waiting to see what Brother Tiger was going to do. But
Brother Tiger didn’t want any more wrestling for that day. He went into
the house and washed his face and hands, and sat down and licked his
bruises the best he could.
“But the next morning he had to come out and wrestle again, and this
happened until he was so weak he could hardly walk. His hide was split,
his ears were swollen, and every stripe on his long body was crossed by
a scar. Wrestling was fine fun for Brother Bear, who was used to it, but
it was no fun for Brother Tiger, who didn’t know how. Every time he
wrestled he got new bruises, and his head swelled until he could hardly
get in the door of his house without backing his ears.
“Finally, one day he told Brother Bear candidly that he would rather
give up his house and lot than to be tossed around and cuffed at that
rate. Brother Bear said that he would rather wrestle and have a jolly
time than to take Brother Tiger’s house; but Brother Tiger wouldn’t hear
to that. He said he couldn’t stay in that part of the country and hear
the talk of the neighbors. They would pester him mighty near to death on
the week days, and fairly kill him out on Sunday, when they had nothing
to do but sit around and gossip.
“So Brother Tiger moved out, and Brother Bear moved in; and it has come
to pass that Brother Tiger won’t stay in the same country with Brother
Bear for fear that he will have to do some more wrestling.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XIX.
THE SHOEMAKER WHO MADE BUT ONE SHOE.
“Now, I’ll tell you honestly,” said Little Mr. Thimblefinger, popping
out from under Mr. Rabbit’s big armchair, “I don’t like such stories.
They give me the all-overs. I expect maybe it’s because they are true.”
“No doubt that’s the trouble with them,” remarked Mr. Rabbit in a tone
unusually solemn. “You don’t think that at my time of life my tongue is
nimble enough for me to sit here and make up stories to suit the hour
and the company? By the bye,” he continued, turning around so as to
catch Little Mr. Thimblefinger’s eye, “what stories were you talking
about?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I was fast asleep, for the most part, but
I distinctly remember something about Moons and Monkeys. When I heard
that, I just went off to sleep in spite of myself.”
“There’s no accounting for tastes,” said Mr. Rabbit. “There are some
tales that put me to sleep, and I have no complaint to make when anybody
begins to doze over them that I tell.”
“Oh, you tell ’em well enough,” Little Mr. Thimblefinger declared. “If
anything, you make them better than they ought to be. You lift your ears
at the right place, and pat your foot when the time comes. I don’t know
what more could be asked in telling a story.”
“So far so good,” remarked Mrs. Meadows, who had thus far said nothing.
“Suppose you whirl in and tell us the kind of tale that you really
admire.”
“That’s easier said than done,” replied Little Mr. Thimblefinger,
fidgeting about a little. “You have to take the tales as they come.
Sometimes one will pop into your head in spite of yourself. You remember
it just because you didn’t like it when you first heard it.”
“Tell us one, anyway, just to pass away the time,” said Sweetest Susan.
“If I tell you one,” Little Mr. Thimblefinger replied, “I’ll not promise
it will be one that I like. That would be promising too much. But the
talk about the Moon, that I heard before I dozed off just now, reminded
me of a tale I heard when I was a good deal smaller than I am now.
“Once upon a time there was a man who had two sons. They were twins, but
they were just as different from each other as they could possibly be.
One was dark, and the other was light complected. One was slim, and the
other was fat. One was good, and the other was what people call bad. He
was lazy, and full of fun and mischief. They grew up that way until they
were nineteen or twenty years old. The good boy would work hard every
day, or pretend to work hard, and then he’d go back home and tell his
mother and father that his brother hadn’t done a stroke of work. Of
course, this made the old people feel very queer. The mother felt
sorrowful, and the father felt angry. This went on, until finally, one
day, the father became so angry that he concluded to take his bad son
into some foreign country, and bind him out to some person who could
make him work and cure him of his mischievousness. In those days people
sometimes bound out their children to learn trades and good manners and
things of that sort.”
“I wish dey’d do it now,” exclaimed Drusilla. “Kaze den I wouldn’t
hafter be playin’ nuss, an’ be gwine in all kind er quare places whar
you dunner when ner whar you kin git out.”
“Stuff!” cried Buster John. “Why don’t you be quiet and listen to the
story?”
“It go long too slow fer ter suit me,” said Drusilla in a grumbling
tone.
“Well,” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, turning to Buster John, “you’ve come
mighty close to telling a part of the tale I had in my mind.”
“I don’t see how,” replied Buster John with some surprise.
“You said ‘stuff!’” responded Mr. Thimblefinger, “and that’s a part of
my story. If you listen, you’ll soon find out. As I was saying, people
in old times bound out their sons to some good man, who taught them a
good trade or something of that kind. Well, this man that I was telling
you about took his bad son off to a foreign country, and tried to find
some one to bind him out to. They traveled many days and nights. They
went over mountains and passed through valleys. They crossed plains, and
they went through the wild woods.
“Now, the man who was taking his son into a foreign country was getting
old, and the farther they walked, the more tired he grew. At last, one
day, when they were going through the big woods, he sat down to rest
near a tall poplar-tree, and, turning to his son, said angrily:—
“‘Stuff! you are not worth all this trouble. But for you I’d be at home
now, enjoying myself and smoking my pipe.’
“The son, who was used to these outbreaks, made no reply, but stretched
himself out on the dead leaves that littered the ground. He had hardly
done so when there was a tremendous noise in the woods, and then both
father and son saw rushing toward them an old man with a long beard,
followed by a small army of fierce-looking dwarfs armed with clubs and
knives and pikes. They rushed up and surrounded the father and son.
“‘Which of you called my name and abused me?’ cried the old man with the
long beard.
“‘Not I,’ said the bad son.
“‘Not I,’ said the father. ‘I am sure I never saw you or heard of you
before.’
“This made the old man more furious than ever. He fairly trembled with
rage. ‘Didn’t I hear one of you say, “Stuff! but for you I’d be at home
now enjoying myself, and smoking my pipe?”’
“‘I did say something like that,’ replied the father in great
astonishment.
“‘How dare you?’ cried the old man, beside himself with rage. ‘How did I
ever harm you? Seize him!’ he said to his army of dwarfs. ‘Seize him,
and bind him hard and fast! I’ll show him whether he can come into my
kingdom and abuse me!’
“The father was speechless with astonishment, and made no attempt to
prevent the dwarfs from seizing and binding him. They had him tied hard
and fast before he could say a word, even if he had had a word to say.
But by this time the son had risen to his feet.
“‘Wait!’ he cried, ‘let’s see what the trouble is! Who are you?’ he
inquired, turning to the old man with the long beard.
“‘My name is Stuff,’ he replied, ‘and I am king of this country which
you are passing through. I’m not going to allow any one to abuse me in
my own kingdom. You may go free, but mind you go straight back the way
you came.’
“The son thought the matter over a little while, and then turned on his
heel and went back the way he had come, and, as he walked, he whistled
all the lively tunes he could think of. For a time he was glad that his
father was no longer with him to quarrel and complain; but finally he
grew lonely, and then he began to think how his father had raised him up
from a little child. The more he thought about this, the sorrier he was
that he had given his father any trouble. He sat down on a log by the
side of the road and thought it all over, and presently he began to cry.
[Illustration:
A QUEER-LOOKING LITTLE MAN CAME JOGGING ALONG THE ROAD
]
“While he was sitting there with his head between his hands, crying over
the fate of his father, a queer-looking little man came jogging along
the road. He had bushy hair and a beard that grew all over his face,
except right around his eyes and lips and the tip-end of his nose. His
beard was not long, but it was very thick, and it stood out around his
face like the spokes in a buggy-wheel. He seemed to be in a big hurry,
but when he saw the young man sitting on the log crying, he stopped, and
stared at him.
“‘Tut, tut!’ he cried. ‘What’s all this? Who has hurt your feelings?’
“If the young man had not been so sorrowful, he would have been
surprised to see the queer-looking little man standing by him. But, as
it was, he didn’t seem to be surprised at all. He just looked at the
stranger with red eyes.
“‘My name is Mum,’ said the stranger, ‘and I’m the Man in the Moon. Tell
me your troubles. Maybe I can help you. I’m in a great hurry, because
the Moon must change day after to-morrow, and I must be there to lend a
hand; but I’ll not allow my hurry to prevent me from hearing your
troubles and helping you if I can.’
“So then and there the young man told his story, and the Man in the Moon
sighed heavily when he heard it.
“‘I see how it is,’ he said. ‘You are young and thoughtless, and your
father is old and crabbed. You never thought of what you owed him, and
he never made any allowances for your youth. He’s in no danger. I know
old Stuff well. I’ve watched him many a night when he thought nobody had
an eye on him, and he’s a pretty tough and cunning customer. You must
have help if you get your father out of trouble.’
“‘What am I to do?’ asked the young man.
“‘Well,’ replied the Man in the Moon, ‘in the first place you will have
to go home. Say nothing about the trouble your father is in. Just tell
your mother that he has lost the sole of his shoe, and has sent you for
the awl that is in the big red cupboard, a piece of leather, a handful
of pegs, and a piece of wax.’
“‘What then?’ the young man inquired.
“‘Bring them here,’ said the Man in the Moon. ‘By the time you get back,
I will have another holiday. We’ll put our heads together and see what
can be done.’
“The young man made no delay. He was so anxious about his father that he
started for home at once. It was a long journey, but he lost no time on
the way. He was in rags and tatters when he reached home, but that made
no difference to him. He took no time to eat, or to sleep, or to rest,
but went to his mother at once, and told her that his father had lost
the sole of his shoe, and had sent for the awl that lay in the big red
cupboard, a strong piece of leather, a handful of shoe-pegs, and a cake
of shoemaker’s wax.
“His mother asked him a great many questions, as women will, but all the
answer the son would make was that his father had lost the sole of his
shoe, and had sent for the awl that lay in the big red cupboard, a
strong piece of leather, a handful of shoe-pegs, and a cake of
shoemaker’s wax. Of course, the mother was very much worried. She
finally came to the conclusion that some great calamity had befallen her
husband, and she went about crying and wringing her hands, and declaring
that they were all ruined; that her husband was dead; and that more than
likely he had been murdered by this bad, bad son of hers, who had no
other story to tell except to ask for the awl that lay in the big red
cupboard, a strong piece of leather, a handful of shoe-pegs, and a cake
of shoemaker’s wax.
“Now, the good son heard all this, but he said nothing. He just folded
his hands and fetched a sigh or two, and seemed to be sorry for
everything in general. But while the mother was going about wringing her
hands and weeping, and the good son was heaving and fetching his sighs,
the other son went to the big red cupboard. There on a shelf he saw the
awl sticking in a cake of shoemaker’s wax. Near it was a strong piece of
leather, and close by was a handful of shoe-pegs. He took these, changed
his ragged coat, and started back on his journey.
“Now, although the good son did nothing but sigh and look sorry, he had
deep ideas of his own. The reason he was called the good son was because
he was so cunning. He thought to himself that now would be a good time
to do a fine stroke of business. He knew that his brother had something
more on his mind than the awl, the leather, the pegs, and the
shoemaker’s wax, and he wanted to find out about it. So he ran after his
brother to ask him what the real trouble was. He caught up with him a
little way beyond the limits of the village, but no satisfaction could
he get. Then he began to abuse his brother and to accuse him of all
sorts of things.
“But the son, who was trying to get his father out of trouble, paid no
attention to this. He went forward on his journey, turning his head
neither to the right nor to the left. The good brother (as he was
called) followed along after the best he could, being determined to see
the end of the business. But somehow it happened that, on the second
day, the brother who was going to meet the Man in the Moon was so tired
and worn out that he was compelled to crawl under a haystack and go to
sleep. In this way the good brother passed him on the road and went
forward on his journey, never doubting that the other was just ahead of
him. Finally, one day, the good brother grew tired and sat down on a log
to rest. He sat there so long that the brother he thought he was
following came up. He was very much surprised to see his nice and good
brother sitting on a log and nodding in that country. So he woke him up
and asked him what the trouble was.
“‘Stuff!’ cried the other, ‘you know you have made way with our father!’
“At once there was a roaring noise in the woods and a rustling sound in
the underbrush, and out came an old man with a long beard, followed by
an army of dwarfs.
“‘How dare you abuse me in my own kingdom?’ he cried to the good
brother. ‘How did I ever harm you?’
“The brother, who had seen this game played before, tried to explain,
but King Stuff would listen to no explanation. He commanded his armed
dwarfs to seize and bind the good brother, and they soon carried him out
of sight in spite of his cries.