BILLY IS CAPTURED BY TOMATO.
Billy had floated a long, long time through the sweet, soft air: indeed
he was gently settling down to earth again, when he discovered that the
jolly old red faced sun was rolling off to his bed in the far west.
"Well," said he to himself, "if Father Sun is going to turn in for the
night, and I see him putting on his white cloud night cap, I expect
it's about time for me to do the same."
"Bow-wow," came a faint bark from under his coat.
"Why, it's Barker," said Billy, reaching in and patting a warm little
head. "I'd almost forgotten you, old doggie, and I thank you for
reminding me of the Singing Tree."
In a twinkling Billy was on the ground and digging a hole in the soft
earth.
"I hate to pinch your tail, old fellow," said Billy, "but it's really
necessary you know," and holding Barker's nose over the hole he gave
his tail a gentle tweak.
"Bow-wow-wow."
Quickly Billy shovelled in the earth, and lo and behold, quicker than I
can tell you about it, there stood the Singing Tree, bowing and smiling.
Just as Billy was going to wish the tree a polite good evening, he saw
Barker scampering after a little beam of sunlight that had crept in
through the branches of the tree. "Barker, come here," called Billy,
but he was too late.
"Snap--gulp," and Barker had swallowed the sunlight.
"I hope it won't make you sick, doggie," said Billy, looking at him
anxiously.
But Barker wrinkled his nose at him in such a happy dog smile and
wagged his stubby little tail so contentedly that Billy decided he was
used to the diet and turned to the Singing Tree.
"Good evening," said Billy, "I hope you are well."
"Mi?-so-so," sang the tree, "pause and rest at my bass."
"Excuse me, sir, but what is your name?" said Billy; "you see I'd like
to know how to address you."
"C. Octavious Minor," sang the tree. "But it's time you slept. I'll
look sharp for accidental intruders and pitch into them with my staff
if they bother us; good night."
Then he began to sing softly:
"When the clucking cows have gone to roost
And the milk hens all are fed,
When the sheep have sung their young to wake
And the bats have gone to bed,
When the sun has risen in the west
And the golden moon has sunk,
When the gentle watch dog's wound and set
And the day owl's in his bunk,
It's time for wakeful boys to sleep
Despite the hooting lark,
For yesterday will soon be here
And work begins with dark."
And when the tree got to this point in his song he stopped. For Billy
was sound asleep with Barker snuggled up in his arms, while from his
half-opened lips came a contented snore.
Billy was awakened in the morning by the singing tree tickling him
gently on the nose with one of its branches.
"Up--up," it sang.
Barker thinking it was calling "up pup" jumped up, and ran madly around
the tree for his morning's exercise. And then suddenly there was no
tree. Barker didn't notice this at first, and circled around where the
tree had been three times more before he discovered that it was gone.
Have you ever seen a dog look surprised and hurt and just a little bit
ashamed? Well, that's the way Barker looked when Billy picked him up
and stowed him away again in his jacket.
"Well, I must be off," said Billy to himself.
"Don't hurry," said a voice at his elbow.
Billy was so startled that he stepped back, caught his foot in a vine,
and rolled over and over on the ground. There, where a minute before
had been nothing at all, stood a great red Tomato leaning on its vine.
"It's--it's a fine morning, sir," said Billy.
"A vine morning you mean," said the Tomato sourly.
"I beg your pardon?" said Billy, because he hadn't quite understood the
Tomato.
"Granted for just this once. But don't do it again."
"What?"
"Anything--great tin cans! how I hate boys."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Billy.
"No, you're not," grumbled the Tomato; "you say you are, but you're
not; boys are never sorry."
"Why don't you like boys, sir? I'm sure"--and then he stopped. He was
on the point of saying "boys like tomatoes" when he remembered that
this might sound a little personal and thought better of it.
The Tomato did not notice this, however, and said, wiping a dew tear
from his eye, "A boy threw my favourite sister at a cat last week and I
have never been able to abide boys since; and, come to think of it, you
look like that boy."
"Oh! no, sir, it wasn't I," said Billy, frightened. "I--I've only just
come."
"Well, maybe not; goodness knows, though, you're ugly enough. Where
are you going?"
[Illustration: "_Come, now, don't give me any of your tomato
sauce._"--Page 39.]
"I'm taking a message to Bogie Man, sir; and--and I really must go at
once. Good bye."
"Oh! ho! so you're the boy Bumbus warned me about last night. I guess
you'll have to stay here," said the Tomato threateningly.
This made Billy angry. "I guess not," he said, and gave a great jump
into the air.
"Not so fast, Mr. Rubber Ball, not so fast," said the Tomato in Billy's
ear. And though Billy was many, many feet away from the ground,
Tomato's vines had grown right up to him, while one of his tendrils had
wound itself about his feet.
Not only that but hundreds of other tomatoes, not quite so large as the
first one it is true, but large enough to frighten Billy, were shaking
their heads at him threateningly.
But Billy plucked up his courage and said in a voice that was a wee bit
shaky, "Come, now, don't give me any of your tomato sauce; if you're
not careful I'll squash you."
"Even then I'd be some pumpkins," shouted the Tomato, nearly bursting
with rage, "and as everybody knows a well red tomato is not a greeny,
I certainly should be able to catsup with a small boy."
"You ought to go on the stage," said Billy, trying to smile; "you
really are very funny."
This seemed to mollify the Tomato. "Some of my family have gone on as
soupers. What would you suggest for me, comedy or tragedy?"
"Comedy, by all means," answered Billy, settling himself more
comfortably on a large leaf, because, of course, having stopped moving,
he would have fallen had he had nothing to support him.
"I can recite," said the Tomato. "Don't you want to hear me?"
"I'd be delighted, only, you know, I'm late, and--"
"You will be the late lamented if you don't sit tight, my boy," said
the Tomato, sourly. "Listen."
TOMATO'S RECITATION.
"There lived a wicked Wenket once,
Who kept a castle keep,
And when he wasn't wide awake
You'd find him fast asleep.
He ate his food with knife and fork,
And I am loath to state,
He wore a shoe upon each foot,
A hat upon his pate.
Of course it's hard to give belief
So sinful one could be;
But oft he wore a collar too,
Betwixt just you and me.
And think of this--I blush with shame
To tell this awful truth--
He wore a coat and vest and pants--
How horribly uncouth!!!
But wickedness _will_ get its due,
As sure as corn is corn.
He went to bed one stormy night
And got up in the morn.
Now little boys and little girls,
This tale a moral bears:
Don't strike the baby with an axe
Or throw the cat down stairs."
"Good," said Billy, "it really must be very funny indeed when it is
well done," and pop he had jumped on Tomato's head, given a quick
spring, and had sailed off before Tomato realized what he was up to.
"I'm glad Tomato recited; he was so out of breath when he finished that
he couldn't grow after me," said Billy to himself when he saw that he
was safe from pursuit.
"I wonder what Honey Girl is doing today." And I fear that he was still
thinking so hard about Honey Girl that he forgot to notice when he next
dropped to the ground. Anyway, he was standing deep in thought when
something tapped him on the shoulder.
"Salute!" said a stern voice. Looking up Billy saw that he was
surrounded by hundreds of grim-faced soldiers, dressed in uniforms
of the very deepest indigo, and all wearing blue glasses. And such a
thin, sad, hollow-cheeked, hollow-eyed officer as had tapped him on the
shoulder! Billy could tell he was an officer because of the gun metal
sword he carried and the epaulettes of crepe that he wore.
"Salute," said the officer again in a deep, sepulcheral tone.
"Yes, sir," said Billy, cracking his heels together and putting his
hand up to his cap as he had seen soldiers do.
"That's not the proper salute. Take out your handkerchief and wipe your
right eye," said the officer. "That's the proper salute for the Blues."
Billy did as he was told with a sinking heart. Everything seemed so
changed by the Regiment of Blues. The sun had gone under a cloud,
the wind whistled dismally, a frog croaked in a nearby pond, and all
together Billy came near to wanting to use his handkerchief in earnest.
"So you think you are going to see Bogie Man."
"Yes, sir, I am."
"You're not, as sure as my name is Colonel Solemncholly."
"Excuse me, but I am," said Billy staunchly.
"I knew it, I knew it," said the Colonel, sadly. "He is too fat to give
up easily--goodness, how I hate fat people--they laugh."
"Don't you ever laugh, sir?"
"I'd be court martialed if I did."
"But aren't you Commander?" asked Billy.
[Illustration: _Private Tear._]
"Yes, of the Blues, but you know we're the away-from-home guard of
Bogie Man, and he is our real Commander."
"Oh! I see. Then you can tell me how to get to Never Was."
"Indeed not. We were sent out to stop you, and that reminds
me--Corporal Punishment and Private Tear, seize this boy."
"Snap," went the whip in Corporal Punishment's hand, "Crack," it struck
Private Tear on the shoulder, and snuffing and wiping his eyes, Private
Tear stepped out of the ranks.
"Seize him and throw him in the Dumps," cried Colonel Solemncholly.
As the Colonel spoke the drums gave a long dismal roll and the band
struck up a funeral march.
Corporal Punishment's whip was circling in the air preparatory to
coming down on Billy's head, and Private Tear was getting ready to put
his handkerchief over his eyes when Billy laughed. It wasn't because he
felt like laughing at all, but because Barker in snuggling closer to
him had tickled him in the ribs.
"Look out, he's armed!" cried Colonel Solemncholly, Corporal Punishment
and Private Tear in one breath.
This gave Billy an idea, and he burst out into a loud laugh.
"Throw a wet blanket over him," commanded the Colonel. "Regiment, carry
arms!"
At that the soldiers drew out their pocket-handkerchiefs, held them to
their eyes, reversed their guns, and advanced boldly on Billy, while
the band played the tune the old cow died on.
Billy continued to force his laugh, trying hard to think of some way
out of his difficulty. He didn't like the idea of the wet blanket, and
he couldn't jump or run because Corporal Punishment's whip was wound
around his neck.
"Double quick!" cried the Colonel. "Catch him before the sun comes out."
Barker stirred uneasily in Billy's pocket.
"Saved!" cried Billy. "It's worth trying." And quickly taking Barker
out of his pocket, he held him by his hind legs and gently thumped his
little stomach.
"Plump," and out fell the bar of sunlight he had swallowed the
night before. When it struck the ground it burst into a million
dancing, sparkling bits of golden sunshine, and presto! the Blues had
disappeared, lock, stock and barrel.
And there stood Billy, in a glow of sunlight on the beautiful green
grass, listening to the sweet notes of forest birds in the trees nearby.
"Now I know how to get rid of the Blues," sang Billy to himself, as he
leapt into the air, "a good hearty laugh and a bit of sunshine will
always disperse them."