UNCLE WIGGILY AND TOM-TOM
UNCLE WIGGILY LONGEARS, the nice rabbit gentleman, was going along
through the woods one day, wondering what sort of an adventure he would
have, when he met Mother Goose, who, as I have told you before, had
come, with her large family of funny folk, to live in the forest near
the hollow-stump bungalow of the bunny uncle.
“How do you do, Mother Goose?” asked Mr. Longears, as he made a polite
bow, taking off his tall silk hat.
“I am very well, thank you,” she said. “You look well yourself. I wonder
if you have seen him anywhere, as you have been walking along?”
“Seen whom?” asked Uncle Wiggily. “If you mean the butcher, the baker,
and the candlestick maker, I have. I met them the other day——”
“No, thank you, I don’t mean them,” said Mother Goose. “They have come
safely home again with their rub-a-dub-dub-tubs, and they are happily
living together once more. No, it’s another of my friends who is lost.
You may have seen him. He is——”
But just then Old Mother Hubbard came to the door of her house, after
having given her dog a bone, and she called across the woodland path:
“Oh, Mother Goose! Little Tommie Tucker is crying for his supper. What
shall I give him, white bread and butter?”
“Wait a minute. I’ll be right there,” answered Mother Goose. “I want to
put a little molasses on Tommie’s bread. You walk on,” she said to Uncle
Wiggily. “I’ll come back to you in a minute and tell you who is lost.”
But Mother Goose must have had to give Tommie Tucker a bigger supper
than usual, or else some of her other friends wanted something, for
Uncle Wiggily hopped on and on, and the nice old goose lady did not come
to speak to him.
“It’s funny,” said the bunny uncle, “but I wonder who it is that is
lost? I can’t very well look for him—or her—until I know. It may be
Little Bo Peep, or Jack Horner. Well, I’ll keep on, and I may meet with
the lost one, whoever he or she is; or I may have an adventure. Who
knows?”
Well, the bunny uncle had not gone on much farther before, all at once,
he heard some one running through the bushes, and the sound of loud
squeals.
“Ha! Something is happening,” said Uncle Wiggily. “Perhaps this is the
adventure I am expecting.”
Then, all of a sudden, through the bushes came running a boy with a
squealing pig under his arm.
“Squee! Squee! Squee!” cried the pig.
“Hold on! Stop! Wait a minute!” cried Uncle Wiggily. “Who are you?”
“I am Tom-Tom, the piper’s son,” was the answer.
“Oh, you’re from Mother Goose, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m running away from her now,” answered Tom-Tom. “You know
how it goes in the book:
“‘Tom-Tom, the piper’s son,
Took a pig and away he run.
The pig was eat, and Tom was beat,
And he went roaring down the street.’
“That’s how it is in the book,” went on Tom-Tom. “Only it isn’t exactly
right. I didn’t do any roaring, though I may when I get the beating.
It’s the pig who is doing the roaring.”
“It sounds more like squealing,” said Uncle Wiggily.
“Yes, you could call it that,” said Tom-Tom, as he looked at the pig
under his arm, which cried louder than before. I mean the pig squealed,
not Tom-Tom’s arm.
“But look here,” said Uncle Wiggily. “You should not have taken this
pig. That’s quite wrong you know, Tom-Tom. Besides, Mother Goose is
after you. I just met her, and she started to tell me about some of her
friends being lost. She asked me to help look for him—or her—but before
she could tell me who it was, she was called away. It must have been you
she meant.”
“It was,” said Tom-Tom. “I had to run after I took the pig, but the
funny part of it is I can’t find any street to run down, as the book
says I did. It’s all woods around here; no streets at all. I’d run with
the pig down the street, fast enough, if I could find one.”
“No, no! You mustn’t do that,” said Uncle Wiggily. “You only go down the
street after the pig was eat, or eaten, to be more correct. Besides, you
ought not to take the pig at all.”
“What shall I do?” asked Tom-Tom. “I have the pig now, you see. What
must I do with it?”
“I’ll take him with me,” said Uncle Wiggily. “I can lead him back home,
and then you must go tell Mother Goose you’re sorry, and I don’t believe
she’ll whip you or beat you.”
“All right,” said Tom-Tom, the piper’s son. “I’ll do as you say.”
He gave Uncle Wiggily the pig, which was a baby one, and the bunny
gentleman led it along by a string, while Tom-Tom hurried off to tell
Mother Goose he was sorry that he had been a little bad. And Mother
Goose forgave him, and did not whip him, so Tom-Tom did not have to go
roaring down the street after all.
“Well, what have you there, Uncle Wiggily?” asked Nurse Jane, when she
saw the bunny gentleman coming along leading a pig.
“This is the pig Tom-Tom had,” said Mr. Longears, and then, all at once,
before he could say anything more, the pig began to squeal with all his
might and so loudly that Nurse Jane could not hear the bunny uncle’s
voice.
“Mercy,” cried the muskrat lady. “What a noise!” and she put her paws
over her ears. “Take him away, Wiggy, do. That’s a dear! Take him away!”
“Squee! Squee! Squee!” yelled the baby pig. And then along came Mother
Hubbard’s dog.
“Ha! So here’s where you are, eh?” asked the dog. “Well, you come right
back to your pen!”
“I will, and right gladly,” squealed the pig, “and don’t let Tom-Tom
take me again. Thank you, Uncle Wiggily, for bringing me this far.”
Then the dog led the pig home by the ear, piggie squealing all the way,
but he stopped when Mother Goose gave him something to eat. And Tom-Tom
never took the pig again, so the little boy did not have to run roaring
down the street, I’m glad to say.
And, if the sugar spoon doesn’t whisper to the butter knife and have to
stay on the table after the rest of the dishes go to the sink to be
washed, I’ll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the crooked man.
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