they each hoped to hear something about the other that would offset the
fun Jocko was making of them, so they kept still.
“Where did the elephant get his trunk? That is what I should most like
to hear about,” said Tito.
“Well, that is a long story,” said Jocko. “It seems that it really was
only a nose to begin with, and not much of a nose at that, so I have
heard it said, but because he was so big he thought he was the boss
of the jungle, where he lived, and he went about poking his nose into
every place he could find to see what was going on. They used to call
him Old Nosey, I have been told, and he had such big ears that what he
did not see he heard, so every one disliked him, but it took Old Man
Crocodile to cure him of his bad habit.”
“What did he do to Mr. Elephant?” asked Tito, excitedly.
“I’ll tell you,” said Jocko. “One day Mr. Elephant was walking by the
water when he saw something queer-looking sticking out of the water.
“Mr. Elephant had to know what it was, so he poked it with his nose,
and, zip! it had him right by the nose, and held him, too.
“My, how he did yell, I was told, but Old Man Crocodile would not let
go. He held right on tight.
“Mr. Elephant pulled and cried, ‘Let go!’ and the harder he pulled the
harder Old Man Crocodile pulled, until Mr. Elephant had that nose you
see on him now called a trunk.
“By and by Old Man Crocodile had to catch his breath, and he let go,
and down sat Mr. Elephant on the ground with a bang.
“Old Man Crocodile began to cry and say how sorry he was that he had
grabbled Mr. Elephant--that he had no idea he was hurting a friend. He
thought it was a hunter, and would Mr. Elephant please forgive him this
once!--he would never do it again.”
“Is there where Old Man Crocodile got his tears?” asked Tito.
“That is how he began to cry,” said Jocko.
“Ho, ho, ho!” they both laughed, and then a terrible roar and
trumpeting and all sorts of cries went up from the animals, for Mr.
Elephant could not keep quiet when he heard what Jocko said about his
trunk.
When Mr. Elephant began to trumpet Mr. Lion began to roar, and Jocko
and Tito fled to the back of their cage and huddled together, trembling
with fright.
“They can’t get us,” said Jocko. “Let them talk and scream. I guess we
woke them up talking and laughing.”
The other animals made such a noise that the keepers came running to
see what had happened, but, of course, they did not understand a thing
they told them about the awful stories Jocko had told about them, and
so all they could do was to give them a drink of water or a biscuit,
hoping they would be quiet.
Far into the morning the animals scolded and told Jocko what they
thought of him, but Tito and Jocko fell asleep in spite of the noise
and Tito laughed in his dreams about the funny things Jocko had told
him.
[Illustration]
WHY RABBITS HAVE SHORT TAILS
Bunny Rabbit was sitting in his yard one day, thinking very hard, when
his grandfather came along.
“Why are you so quiet and sober, grandson?” he inquired.
“I am wondering, grandfather,” said Bunny, “why we have such long ears
and so short a tail. I should think it would be much better if it were
just the other way about.”
“Of course; of course,” said Grandfather Rabbit, bobbing his ears back
and forth. “We all think we could have made a better rabbit if we had
been consulted. But let me tell you why your tail is short and your
ears are long, and then you will learn you are better off now than was
your great-grandfather’s great-grandfather, who had a long tail and
short ears.”
It did not take Bunny Rabbit long to find a nice soft seat for his
grandfather and to sit close and very still, with his ears sticking up
to listen, for he dearly loved the stories his grandfather told.
“Once upon a time,” began Grandfather Rabbit, just as all grandfathers
begin a story--“a long, long time ago there lived in some woods a
rabbit. He had a long tail and short ears, just as all the rabbits in
those days had.
“One day he ran over the hill to the garden where Mr. Man lived. He
should have been very careful, but he wasn’t, and when he was crawling
under the rail fence around the garden didn’t Mr. Dog see him and begin
to bark and chase Short Ears, as he was called.
“Short Ears was a good runner, and it was lucky he was or there would
be an end to this story right here. Through the garden he ran under
cover of the vegetable leaves, and when he got out he was a good bit
ahead of Mr. Dog.
“Over the field they ran, and under the stone wall went Short Ears and
over it went Mr. Dog. Down the road they ran lickety split, and into
his house ran Short Ears just as Mr. Dog came into the yard.
“Short Ears had no time to lose, I can tell you. He slammed the door,
and what do you suppose happened?”
Bunny Rabbit was so interested in his grandfather’s story he only
started; he did not answer at all. So his grandfather went on.
“Why, Short Ears slammed that door right on his long tail, and there he
was held fast, with his tail hanging outside.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried Bunny Rabbit, feeling of his stubby little tail, to
be sure it was safe behind him.
“What did poor Short Ears do then?” he asked.
“He could not do a thing, for there was Mr. Dog right in the yard and
running straight for the door,” said Grandfather Rabbit.
Bunny Rabbit sat closer to his grandfather and his ears grew longer as
he listened.
“Yes,” said Grandfather Rabbit, “Short Ears was in a bad fix, as you
can see. He could not open the door to get his tail out, because Mr.
Dog would come in and catch him.
“He did not have long to think about it, for the very next thing he
knew Mr. Dog grabbed at his tail and off it came right up to the door.
And off he ran. For, you see, he thought he had Short Ears on the end
of the tail, and he did not stop to look. He just ran.
“When his tail broke off, over went Short Ears on the floor, for that
set him free. ‘Oh dear! Oh dear! What shall I do?’ he cried, when he
jumped up and looked in the mirror and saw that his long tail was gone
and all that remained was a little stubby tail, just like yours.
“First he ran to the medicine-closet and got some salve and a soft
piece of cloth. But he found he could not reach the end of his tail--it
was too short.
“His first thought was to run over to his cousin Rabbit’s house, not
far-off, but when he started toward the door he remembered Mr. Dog.
“Short Ears leaned his head to the crack in the door and listened hard.
His ears were short, you remember, but not so short but that he heard
Mr. Dog barking.
“Nearer and nearer came the bark. Short Ears locked the door and ran to
the windows and fastened them and drew the shades, and then he ran into
the closet and closed the door.
“Away back he crept under his Sunday clothes, where he was sure no one
would find him, and there he sat and listened and listened and listened.
“Mr. Dog barked and jumped about outside the house, for he was very
much upset when he found that he did not have Short Ears on the end of
the tail he carried off.
“But it was no use. He could not get into Short Ears’s house, and at
last he gave it up and ran off home, barking all the way.
“Short Ears listened, and though Mr. Dog’s tones grew fainter and
fainter, Short Ears was surprised to find he could hear the barking,
though it was a long way off.
“After it was dark he came out of the closet and crept into his bed
without even thinking of the end of his tail, he was so tired and worn
out listening.
“And now what do you think had happened to him, and what do you think
he saw when he looked in the mirror in the morning to brush his hair?”
Bunny Rabbit shook his head. “I don’t know, grandfather,” he said.
“What had happened to Short Ears?”
“His ears had grown long, he had listened so hard to the barking of
Mr. Dog,” said Grandfather Rabbit. “And from that day all the Rabbit
family have had short tails and long ears, which is just as it should
be, for we can hear Mr. Dog a long way off, and we do not have the
bother of looking after a long tail when we run to cover. So don’t wish
to have yours changed again, for you see now that you are better off
than poor Short Ears was, don’t you?”
Bunny Rabbit said he did, and that he should never wish for a long tail
and short ears again. And he didn’t.
[Illustration]
THE HUNTER’S FRIEND, JOHNNIE BEAR
In a hut on the side of a mountain lived an old hunter all alone. He
had only one room, which was very scantily furnished, and he cooked his
meals in a fireplace. In the fireplace was a big hook where he hung his
kettle, and he cooked his meat by holding it between two sticks over
the coals.
You need not pity this old man, for he would rather eat his food cooked
in this way than in any other. He had a bunk built in the room about
half-way up the wall, where he had to climb a ladder to reach it, and
when he went to bed he covered himself with a big bearskin. Beside the
bunk a gun hung on the wall where he could quickly reach it if it were
needed. Across the door at night he fastened a big bar, for he did not
intend that any one should enter while he was asleep.
The old hunter had set a trap by his door, and one morning he found a
baby bear caught in it by the left hind paw. He very carefully opened
the trap and took the little fellow out. Then he took Johnnie Bear, as
he named him, into his cabin and very carefully washed the poor cut
foot and bound it up with some healing salve.
Johnnie Bear seemed to know that the hunter was helping him, and he
did not bite or try to get away. He made a funny little noise like a
baby when it is hurt. Then the hunter warmed some milk and put it in a
bottle, which he gave to the bear. Johnnie Bear took the bottle in both
his paws and held it to his mouth and drank the milk very greedily.
Then the hunter fixed a bed for him and put a log on the fire to keep
the place warm while he went for a hunting trip.
Johnnie Bear slept all day, and when the hunter returned at night he
tried to run to meet him, but his poor foot hurt him so he had to lie
down again. Several weeks passed before Johnnie Bear’s foot became
quite well, and he always limped, because the trap had cut so deep.
The little fellow became very fond of the hunter and would run to meet
him at night, and when the hunter brought in his game Johnnie Bear
would poke it over with his nose and paw, as though to tell the hunter
that he had done well.
One day he did not run to meet the hunter, and when night came he did
not come to his supper. The old hunter began looking around the cabin
and he found the footprints of two bears. One was Johnnie Bear’s, which
he could tell by the light mark which the lame foot made, and the other
was of a big bear, which had enticed Johnnie back into the woods. The
hunter felt very lonely and looked for Johnnie every day for a long
time, but after a year had gone by he gave up all hope of ever seeing
Johnnie again.
A long time after this the hunter was going through a part of the wood
that was filled with bushes and vines and in some way his foot became
entangled and he fell, breaking his arm. His gun fell some distance
from him, and as he went to pick it up he saw a big mother bear with
two cubs coming toward him. She was growling and showing her teeth and
the hunter felt that he had little chance for escape from a fight, and
with his right arm broken he wondered how the fight might come out.
He braced himself against a tree and waited for the bear to come up.
He held his gun in his left hand, intending to use it to beat her off
as long as possible. Just then another bear came in sight and the poor
hunter gave up all hope. But all at once the first bear stopped and
looked at the other bear, then suddenly walked toward him. Both stood
and looked at the hunter, who did not move. Suddenly the second bear
growled strangely and the first bear walked away with the two cubs.
Then the second bear came nearer, and as he walked the hunter saw that
he limped. It was Johnnie Bear, and in some unknown tongue he had sent
the other bear away and saved the hunter’s life. He did not come any
nearer the hunter, but only looked at him, as though to say, “You saved
my life once, now I have paid my debt to you.” Then he limped away in
the direction the other bears had gone. Perhaps the mother bear was
Johnnie’s wife and the cubs were their children.
Who can tell?
[Illustration]
PLAID TROUSERS
Mr. Tim Coon had a pair of red-and-green plaid trousers and that was
what made everybody in the woods envious.
But there was one who not only was envious--he was very jealous of his
rights--and that one was Mr. Fox.
For Mr. Fox thought, and so did every one else in the woods, that he
was the very smartest and nattiest fellow around until Tim Coon came
along with those red-and-green plaid trousers.
Mr. Fox at first did not bother much about the trousers, for he felt
sure that in a short time he could persuade Tim Coon to part with them,
but here he was mistaken, as time proved.
Mr. Fox had called on Tim every day. He had carried the fattest hen or
duck, and even two fat chickens, and each time he hinted that he might
part with each or any of them if he were offered the right thing.
But Tim Coon was well supplied with the season’s good things to eat and
would not offer anything worth having.
And that was the reason that Mr. Fox sat on his steps one morning in
deep thought while he smoked his old corncob pipe.
While he was thinking his eyes happened to alight upon a piece of paper
on which there was some printing, and then he saw the word WOOL in big
letters.
“Wool?” thought Mr. Fox; “that is what those red-and-green trousers
are; all wool, Tim Coon says.”
Mr. Fox got up from the steps and picked up the paper. He began to
read, and as he read his eyes grew big. The more he read the bigger
they grew, and at last he became so interested he dropped his pipe from
his mouth without noticing it.
Mr. Fox read all the printing. Then he crumpled up the paper and threw
it into the bushes.
“If he only would get them soiled,” he said, “the rest would be easy;
he would be sure to ask my advice.
“I know what I will do,” he said, starting for his barn. “I’ll paint
the seat of my rocking-chair; he loves to sit in that.”
Pretty soon Mr. Fox had his rocking-chair painted a nice shiny black,
and then he sat down to watch for Tim Coon, who always passed by about
that time. He did not have to wait long before Tim came along, wearing
the plaid trousers. “Come in, Tim, and have a smoke,” said Mr. Fox, in
his most polite manner.
Mr. Fox went to the closet to get a pipe for Tim, and, just as he
expected, down sat Tim Coon in the rocking-chair right on the wet paint.
“Oh dear, oh dear, how sorry I am!” said Mr. Fox, hurrying to Tim.
“Get up quick, Tim! I just painted that chair. I hope you have not got
it on your plaid trousers.”
Mr. Fox’s eyes twinkled as he got behind poor Tim to look at the seat
of his trousers, but that, of course, Tim Coon did not see, and when
Mr. Fox told him there was a big black spot, but that he felt sure he
could tell him just how to get it out, Tim thought he was a very kind
fellow.
“Don’t you bother at all, Tim. I read the other day just how to wash
woolen garments. It said it was sure and safe, so I will help you, for
I really feel to blame; I ought to have remembered that rocker was
freshly painted.
“First, I must get you some white soap, and as I have none in the house
I shall have to run over to Mr. Man’s and get some; he has everything
in his house.”
Tim Coon thought Mr. Fox was the very kindest fellow he knew, and he
ran right home to take off the trousers and wait for Mr. Fox to return.
“Oh, you might put on a kettle of water,” called Mr. Fox as Tim was
hurrying away, “and have it boiling; it must boil hard.”
Mr. Fox had a harder time than he expected getting the soap from Mr.
Man’s, for Mr. Dog had gone to sleep right in the doorway of the barn,
and that was where Mr. Fox wanted to go.
He had seen a piece of white soap on a box in the barn one day, where
Mr. Man had been washing his best harness, and he hoped very much he
would find it there now.
After a while Mr. Dog awoke and went away and Mr. Fox crept in. He was
lucky enough to find the soap, and off he ran for Tim Coon’s house just
as the sun was going down.
“I risked a good deal, Tim, to get this soap,” he said. “I do not like
to go over the hill in the daytime--too risky.
“Now we must put the trousers in a pail,” explained Mr. Fox, “and then
very slowly pour the water on them. Are you sure the water is boiling
hard?”
Tim said he was, and so Mr. Fox told him to bring it along, and as Tim
poured it in the pail Mr. Fox shaved up the soap and dropped it in.
“Now get me a stick,” he said, “so I can stir it and make a good suds,
and now I will leave you, for I am sure you can do the rest, and I must
get home, as it is getting dark.
“All you have to do is to let them soak overnight and take them out in
the morning and hang them in the sun, and if that recipe for washing
woolen is good for anything your trousers will be as good as new.”
Off ran Mr. Fox for home, chuckling to himself all the way. “Yes, they
will be as good as new,” he said, “but not for you to wear, my friend
Tim. They may fit a very young coon, but not a full-grown-up coon like
you. Oh no.”
Poor Tim Coon viewed his trousers as they hung on the line the next day
with a sinking heart, for the black stain of the paint was of course
still to be seen, but later when they were dry and he tried to put them
on it was not a feeling of sadness which came over him. It was anger.
Tim looked at himself in the looking-glass and saw that his handsome
plaid trousers were no longer fit for him to wear. They were well up to
his knees, and so snugly did they fit him he could not bend, let alone
walk.
It took some time to get out of them, but when he did he took them over
to Mr. Fox’s house and showed him the remains of what had once been his
plaid trousers.
“It did not work right. That is all I can say,” said Mr. Fox, trying
hard to look sad. “You never can tell about those recipes you read in
papers and magazines until you have tried them.”
“I wish some one else had tried it first,” said Tim, with a sigh, as he
looked at his trousers.
“I might have worn a long-tailed coat and covered up the paint spot,
but there is nothing I can do with these short legs.”
“You could wear a skirt or put some lace on the bottom of the legs,”
suggested Mr. Fox.
“Are you sure the water had to boil?” asked Tim.
“Sure as I am that the sun will shine!” replied Mr. Fox. “Are you sure,
Tim, those trousers are all wool?”
“I thought they were,” said Tim.
“I know they are,” said Mr. Fox, looking after Tim down the path.
Of course the plaid trousers were of no use to any one, but Mr. Fox was
satisfied so long as he did not have to see Tim Coon wearing them.
[Illustration]
THE THREE RUNAWAYS
Mr. Dog sat in front of his house, looking very sad; Mr. Tom Cat came
along with his head hanging down, very sad, too.
“Hello, Tommie!” said Mr. Dog. “You look as sad as I feel. What is the
matter?”
“Matter enough, Mr. Dog,” said Mr. Tom Cat. “I have just been driven
out of the house with a broom by cook, who says I am of no use; that I
am too fat and too well fed to catch the mice.
“Mr. Dog, I have caught all the mice in that house for years, and just
because I slept one night--that was last night--that cook forgets
all about all the good work I have done in the past and puts me out,
and with a broom, too. Oh, it is too terrible, and I have not had my
breakfast, either.”
“Tommie, dear fellow,” said Mr. Dog, “you certainly have a hard time
of it, but let me tell you what has happened to me after all my years
of service to the master. Last night a fox got into the hen-house, and
just because I did not keep awake all night and catch him the master
took me up to the hen-house and put my nose right down on the floor
where that fox had walked, and then he boxed my ears. Think of it,
Thomas, he boxed my ears before all the hens and chickens and said I
was getting old and good for nothing, and I have not had a bite to eat
this morning. I wonder what this place is coming to when such good
fellows as we are get such treatment. That is what I would like to
know, Thomas Cat.”
Mr. Tom Cat licked his mouth and stretched himself before he answered:
“I think, Mr. Dog, we better give the master and cook a chance to think
over what they have done to us and perhaps they may remember all the
good things we have done all these years and think that one little
mistake was not so bad, after all. I am for running away, I am. What do
you say?”
“Now I never thought of that, Thomas,” said Mr. Dog, standing up and
looking very serious. “I believe that is a good plan, Thomas. I do,
indeed; but where shall we run?”
“Oh, we can walk; you know we don’t have to run at all, only they call
it running away if you go off where people can’t find you,” said Mr.
Tom Cat. “I know a place we can go. Come with me.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Mr. Dog. “Lead the way, Thomas.”
Just as they were passing the barn-yard they saw Mr. Rooster scrooged
under the fence.
“Hello, Mr. Rooster!” said Mr. Dog. “What has happened to you that you
look so unhappy this morning?”
“Why wouldn’t I look unhappy?” replied Mr. Rooster. “Here I have been
on this farm and looking after all those silly hens these long years,
and this morning the master said he wished the fox had got me last night
instead of the hen he carried off. I tell you it is hard luck, after
all I have done for the master.”
“Come with us,” said Mr. Tom Cat. “We are running away; the cook chased
me out this morning because I happened to sleep all night and didn’t
catch the mice, and Mr. Dog was blamed because the fox got into your
house last night. We are not appreciated around here, that is plain.
Will you come along?”
“I had never thought of running away,” said Mr. Rooster, getting out
from under the fence and flapping the dust from his wings, “but I think
I like the idea of running away. I will go along with you. Perhaps the
master and those foolish hens of mine will begin to think what a fine
fellow I am and wish I had not gone. Where are you going?”
“Oh, to a place I know where no one will find us,” said Mr. Tom Cat,
running ahead.
Mr. Dog and Mr. Rooster followed Mr. Tom Cat, and soon they were in the
woods where the bushes grew thick and the trees shut out the sun.
“Here we are,” said Mr. Tom Cat; “now no one will find us and we can
rest in ease.”
“I have not had my breakfast,” said Mr. Rooster, scratching the ground.
“Neither have we,” said Mr. Tom Cat, “but I have heard somewhere that
you should not think of your troubles and they will not bother you,
so suppose we each tell a story to take up the time and also take our
minds off the thought that we have not had our breakfast. You begin,
Mr. Dog, because you are such a good story-teller and have had so many
adventures.”
Mr. Dog looked very wise and scratched his head as if he was thinking
very hard.
“Did I ever tell you about how I treed a coon?” he asked.
Mr. Rooster and Mr. Tom Cat said they never had heard it, but they
should like to hear about it very much indeed.
MR. DOG’S STORY
Mr. Dog cleared his throat and then he said: “I have always had the
reputation of being a good hunter, especially when coons were in
season, but this story which I am about to tell will show that I had
the hardest time a dog ever had getting a coon.
“One moonlight night the master came out of the house and whistled to
me; he had his gun over his shoulder and I knew pretty well what was
going to happen; we were going coon-hunting.
“So I wagged my tail and gave two or three sharp barks because I knew I
could not bark again until I had something to bark about.
“Oh, it was a beautiful night, and just as we got out in the road a
little way from the barn I saw something moving. I wasn’t sure at first
whether it was a fox or a coon, both of them being equally fond of
visiting the poultry-yard; but I kept very still and pretty soon I saw
him right in the full moonlight. It was as fat a coon as I ever saw,
and he didn’t see me and I made a run for him.
“Well, you may have seen a coon run, my friends, but believe me when I
tell you that you never saw one run as this one did. He gave a bound
and away he went, and I went after him, and Mr. Man followed, for I was
barking now, for there was reason for it.
“Well, that coon got to the tree first, and up he went, for I saw him,
and I can tell you I was some tickled, for I knew that the master would
be pleased enough when he saw the size of that coon.
“After he got into the tree I stood under it and looked up and barked
with all my might, and Mr. Man was coming a-running as fast as he could
in the distance.
“But while I saw that coon go up the tree as plainly as I ever saw
anything, I couldn’t see hide nor hair of him when I looked up.
“Mr. Man came up to me after a while and said, ‘Where is he, Rover?’
“I kept looking up in the tree and barking to keep up my courage,
though I could see nothing but tree.
“‘You are fooled, old fellow,’ said the master; ‘he got away from you.
Go after him, old boy.’