One midsummer eve, Gollop the gnome went into his little house, shut the
door, and began to sing. He began to sing softly at first, as if he had
a baby in a cradle; but after a while his song grew louder, and louder,
and louder still.
“Stop that noise, Gollop,” shouted the other gnomes, standing outside in
the lane.
“I can’t!” answered Gollop, and he went on singing more lustily than
ever. (The worst of it was, his voice was cracked.)
Then the other gnomes began to frown and to grumble and to stop their
ears. They banged on Gollop’s door, and shouted out, “Stop that noise,
Gollop!”
“I’ve tried, but I can’t,” replied Gollop, and he drew a long breath and
began on his eighteenth song. Oh, such a noise he made! Then all the
lady gnomes went into their houses and shut the doors and went to bed
and refused to get up.
But Gollop went on singing. All through the night he sang, and every
moment the sound of it grew louder. When morning came all the other
gnomes had headache. All of them had ear-ache, and all of them were as
vexed as they could be. They went to milk the cows, but the cows would
give no milk. They went to collect the eggs, but the hens had laid none.
Then the gnomes grew most annoyed with Gollop. They banged on his door
with their fists and they said, “Oh, Gollop, for goodness’ sake stop
that noise. The cows have gone dry and the hens have laid no eggs, and
our wives have gone under the bedclothes and refused to get up. And all
through you. Stop that noise at once!”
But Gollop answered, “Oh, friends, I am very sorry, but I simply can’t
stop singing. I have got singing fever.”
Then all the gnomes looked very startled and very worried in their
minds, and one of them said, “Oh, Gollop, if you really have got singing
fever I suppose you must sing. But you need not do it here, right in the
middle of the village. Get up. Put on your hat and go right away. Go
miles away, where we cannot hear you.”
“It might be catching!” said the other gnomes, looking fearfully at one
another.
Gollop the gnome opened his door and strode out, singing all the time.
Up the village street he went, and across the open moor, and away
through the woodlands—and away—and away. The sound of his singing grew
softer and softer, and at last faded altogether.
Then the wives got up, and the cows began to moo. The hens each laid an
egg, and all the village was at peace.
Gollop the gnome went singing on his way, and by evening he was twenty
miles away from home, right on the top of a pine-covered hill. A little
man lived here, in a house made of pine-trees, and when he heard Gollop
coming he called out, “Stop that noise!”
“I can’t!” said Gollop.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve got singing fever.”
“Dear me, that is very serious,” said the little man. “Have you tried a
cure?”
[Illustration:
“Stop that noise,
Gollop!”
]
“I didn’t know there was a cure,” said Gollop (singing all the time).
“Oh yes, there is a cure. You simply have to do some fiddling. Then all
the fever goes out of your voice into the fiddle.”
“I haven’t got a fiddle,” said Gollop.
“Never mind. I will lend you mine. But be sure you don’t lose it,” said
the little man, and he went into his house and fetched a little fiddle
and a little bow.
“There! That will cure your singing fever,” he said.
Gollop put out his hand and took the fiddle, and immediately he touched
it his singing stopped.
“Keep it for three days,” said the little man, “and be sure you don’t
lose it.”
“Oh, thank you!” cried Gollop, and he kissed the little man on both
cheeks. Then he turned and ran down the hill. Very quickly he hurried
through the woodland and back across the moor, and he ran into the
village just as the gnomes were saying “Good-night.”
“Hallo, Gollop! Are you cured?” they said. And when he told them that he
was cured they all shook hands with him, and patted him on the back and
called him “mate.”
But no sooner had Gollop gone into his house and closed the door than a
weird noise was heard—a thin, screamy kind of noise, with a grunt here
and there, and then a screech, and then a long, long wail.
“Stop treading on the dog, Gollop!” shouted the gnomes.
“I’m not treading on the dog,” replied Gollop.
“Stop teasing the cat!”
“I’m not teasing the cat.”
“Well, whatever you are doing, stop it! Stop it at once!”
“I can’t!” cried poor Gollop. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. I do believe
I’ve got fiddle fever!”
Then all the other gnomes grew most annoyed with poor Gollop, They
banged on his door with their fists, and they said:
“Oh, Gollop, stop that noise at once! It is worse than singing fever. It
is making all the pigs lie on their backs with their feet in the air.
Open this door at once!”
So Gollop opened the door. Then one gnome said, “If he has no fiddle he
can’t have fiddle fever. Take his fiddle away!” So they took his fiddle
away from him. One gnome gave it to another. “Pass it on,” he said. That
gnome gave it to another. “Pass it on,” he said. And the fiddle was
passed on and on and on, all the way round the world.
“There! That’s soon settled! That has cured you of fiddle fever,” said
the gnomes, feeling very satisfied with themselves.
“Yes,” replied Gollop sadly. “Yes, that is true, BUT—but—I do believe
the singing fever is coming back again.”
Then he began to sing once more, and the noise of it was like the
shaking of pebbles in a can.
“Quick! Give him back his fiddle,” cried the gnomes. But the fiddle was
gone.
And Gollop went on singing.
Then all the gnomes began to get into a state, and they said, “Oh,
Gollop, if you’ve got singing fever we suppose you must sing. But please
don’t do it here. Our wives will go under the bedclothes and refuse to
get up. The cows will go dry, and the hens will not lay, and all the
pigs will lie on their backs with their feet up in the air. So please go
away. Go miles away, where we cannot hear you.”
So Gollop the gnome came out, singing all the time. Along the village
street he went, all in the glistening starlight. He crossed the open
moor, and went through the shadowy woodlands, away and away. The sound
of his singing grew softer and softer, and at last faded altogether.
Through the dark night Gollop travelled, singing all the way, and at
dawn he came to the hill where the pines grew.
The little old man was just getting up. He put his head out of the
window and shouted, “Stop that noise!”
“I can’t! I’ve got singing fever!” said Gollop.
“What? Again? I thought I cured you! What have you done with my fiddle?”
“It has gone round the world!”
[Illustration: Whimsical illustration of an old man in blue hat
whistling musical notes, causing a small pig to lie on its back, while a
gnome-like figure flees.]
“How very tiresome!” said the little old man. “It might be weeks before
it gets back to me again. As for you, I will lend you my flute. I can’t
let you go about the world making that noise. I will lend you my flute,
but be sure you don’t lose it.”
“Will it cure my singing fever?” asked Gollop the gnome.
“Yes, to be sure! But be sure you don’t lose it.” Then the little old
man drew in his head from the window, and in a few moments he came out
at the door, bringing a tortoise-shell flute, with silver stops to it.
Gollop put out his hand and took the flute, and immediately he touched
it his singing stopped.
Then Gollop turned and ran down the hill. Quickly he sped through the
woodlands and across the moor, and ran into the village just as the
gnomes were going off to work.
“Hallo, Gollop! Are you cured?” they said. And when he said “Yes” they
all shook hands with him once more, and patted him on the back and
called him “pal.”
But no sooner had Gollop got into his house and closed the door, than an
eerie, wailing sound was heard. Then there came a sound like a choke,
and then a long, long squeal.
“Stop hurting the pig, Gollop!” cried the gnomes.
“I’m not touching the pig.”
“Stop teasing the parrot!”
“I’m not touching the parrot.”
“Well, whatever you are doing, stop it at once!”
“I can’t!” cried poor Gollop. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. I do believe
I’ve got flute fever!”
Then all the gnomes grew most dreadfully annoyed with Gollop. They
knocked on his door with their sticks, and they said:
[Illustration:
Gollop turned and ran down the hill.
]
“Oh, Gollop, stop that noise at once! It is worse than singing fever. It
is worse than fiddle fever. It is making the goat stand on his hind legs
like a circus pony. Open this door at once!”
So Gollop opened the door. Then one gnome said, “If he has no flute he
cannot have flute fever. Take his flute away.” So they took his flute
away from him. One gnome gave it to another. “Pass it on,” he said. That
gnome gave it to another. “Pass it on,” he said. And the flute was
passed on and on and on, all the way round the world.
“There! That’s settled! That has soon cured you of flute fever,” said
the gnomes, feeling very proud and satisfied with themselves.
“Yes,” replied Gollop sadly. “Yes, dear friends, that is true.
But—but—I’m afraid the singing fever is coming back again.”
Then he began to sing.
“Give him back his flute,” cried the gnomes, tearing at their hair. But
the flute was gone.
Then the gnomes began to get into a fluster, and they said, “Oh, Gollop,
if you really have got singing fever we suppose you must sing. But pray
don’t do it here. Our wives will go to bed, and the hens will refuse to
lay, and all the cows in the meadows will go dry. So please go away. Go
a long way away. Go miles away, where we can’t hear you.”
“It’s all very fine! I’m getting tired,” said Gollop. But he went away
all the same, singing as he went. The sun was shining as he passed
through the village. Cocks were crowing in the farmyards and larks were
singing in the sky. On through the awakening woodland Gollop travelled,
and at last he reached the little house on the hill-top once more.
The little old man was sitting on a gate, swinging idly to and fro.
“Stop that noise!” he cried.
“I can’t! I’ve got singing fever!” replied Gollop.
“What? Again? I thought I cured you! What have you done with my flute?”
“It has gone round the world.”
“How very tiresome! It might be weeks before it gets back to me again.
As for you, I will lend you my musical box. I can’t let you go about the
world making that terrible noise. I will lend you my musical box. But be
sure you don’t lose it.”
Then the little old man felt in his coat pocket, and took out a small,
round musical box, with a picture on the top of it and a handle in the
middle.
“Take it, and be sure you don’t lose it,” he said. So Gollop took the
musical box into his hand, and immediately he touched it the singing
stopped.
“Oh, thank you,” said Gollop, and he turned and ran down the hill. All
through the sunny afternoon he trudged homewards, and he reached the
village just as the gnomes were coming back from work.
“Hallo, Gollop! Are you cured?” they said, and when he answered “Yes”
they patted him on the back and shook hands with him and called him
“chum.”
But no sooner had Gollop got into his house and closed the door, than a
faint, tinkly, fairy-like sound came floating through the window. It was
like silver bells shaking in the wind. It was like the laughter of
fairies. It was sweeter than choir boys singing in the little gnome
choir.
“Have you got a fairy in there?” asked the gnomes.
“No, dear friends. But I’m afraid I’ve got musical-box fever!” said
Gollop.
Then the gnomes looked at one another with big, slow smiles, and
delightful twinklings of merry eyes.
“If you’ve got musical-box fever,” they said, “we all think you had
better keep it.”
And he did.
[Illustration: Whimsical illustration of gnomes, mice, and a chick
surrounding an old man with a pot, above a tiny child walking a beetle
on a leash near 'THE END'.]