When skies are blue above me;
I like to see it gathered
By those who really love me.
I like to think in winter
Of pleasant summer labors;
Oh, it's nice to have a garden
Especially for my neighbors.
Everybody said that was a nice poem and sounded just like Mr. Rabbit,
who was always so free-hearted--all except Mr. Crow, who tried to say it
was nice, and couldn't. Then Mr. Rabbit said they'd better go out now to
see the Hollow Tree garden, but Mr. Crow said really he couldn't stand
it yet, and they could see by his looks that he was feeling pretty sick,
and Mr. Turtle said it was too bad to think of taking Mr. Crow out in
the sun when he had worked so hard.
So then they all sat around and smoked and told stories, and whenever
they stopped Mr. Crow thought of something else to do and seemed to get
better toward night, and got a great deal better when it got dark, and
Mr. Jack Rabbit said all at once that now it was too late to see the
Hollow Tree garden, and that he was so sorry, for he knew he could have
learned something if he could just have one look at it, for nobody could
see those vegetables and that garden without learning a great deal.
[Illustration: JACK RABBIT CAPERED AND LAUGHED ALL THE WAY HOME]
Then he said he must go, and Mr. Turtle said he guessed _he_ must go
too, so they both set out for home, and when Jack Rabbit got out of
sight of the Hollow Tree and into a little open moonlight place, he just
laid down on the ground and rolled over and laughed and kicked his feet,
and sat up and rocked and looked at the moon and laughed; and he capered
and laughed all the way home at the good joke he had all to himself on
Mr. Crow.
For Mr. Rabbit had been lying awake in bed that morning when Mr. Crow
was in his garden, and he had seen Mr. Crow _all_ the time.
WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY
WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY
A STORY OF A VERY LONG TIME AGO
The Little Lady skips first on one foot and then on the other foot,
around and around, until pretty soon she tumbles backward into _twelve
flower-pots_.
That, of course, makes a great damage, and though the Little Lady
herself isn't hurt to speak of, she is frightened very much and has to
be comforted by everybody, including the Story Teller, who comes last,
and finishes up by telling about something that happened to Jack Rabbit
when _he_ was little.
Once upon a time, it begins, when Mr. Jack Rabbit was quite small, his
mother left him all alone one afternoon while she went across the Wide
Grass Lands to visit an old aunt of hers and take her some of the nice
blackberries she had been putting up that morning. Mrs. Rabbit had been
very busy all the forenoon, and little Jack had been watching her and
making believe he was putting up berries too.
And when Mrs. Rabbit got through she had cleaned her stove and polished
it as nice as could be; then she gave little Jack Rabbit his dinner,
with some of the berries that were left over, and afterward she washed
his face and hands and found his blocks for him to play with, besides a
new stick of red sealing-wax--the kind she used to seal her cans with;
for they did not have patent screw-top cans in those days, but always
sealed the covers on with red sealing-wax.
[Illustration: TOOK HER PARASOL AND HER RETICULE AND A CAN OF BERRIES,
AND STARTED]
Then Mrs. Rabbit told little Jack that he could play with his blocks,
and build houses, with the red stick for a chimney, and to be a good boy
until she came home. So little Jack Rabbit promised, and Mrs. Rabbit
kissed him twice and took her parasol and her reticule and a can of
berries, and started. Little Jack would have gone with her, only it was
too far.
Well, after she had left, little Jack played with his blocks and built
houses and set the stick of sealing-wax up for a brick chimney, and
by-and-by he played he was canning fruit, and he wished he could have a
little stove and little cans and a little stick of sealing-wax, so he
could really do it all just as she did.
Then little Jack Rabbit looked at the nice polished stove and wondered
how it would be to use that, and to build a little fire in it--just a
_little_ fire--which would make everything seem a good deal more real,
he thought, than his make-believe stove of blocks.
And pretty soon little Jack opened the stove door and looked in, and
when he stirred the ashes there were still a few live coals there, and
when he put in some shavings they blazed up, and when he put in some
pieces of old shingles and things they blazed up too, and when he put in
some of Mrs. Rabbit's nice dry wood the stove got _quite hot_!
Then little Jack Rabbit became somewhat frightened, for he had only
meant to make a very small fire, and he thought this might turn into a
big fire. Also, he remembered some things his mother had told him about
playing with fire and about _never going near a hot stove_. He thought
he'd better open the stove door a little to see if the fire was getting
too big, but he was afraid to touch it with his fingers for fear of
burning them. He had seen his mother use a stick or something to open
the stove door when it was hot, so he picked up the first thing that
came handy, which was the stick of sealing-wax. But when he touched it
to the hot door the red stick sputtered a little and left a bright red
spot on the stove door.
Then little Jack forgot all about putting up blackberries, admiring that
beautiful red spot on the shiny black stove, and thinking how nice it
would be to make some more like it, which he thought would improve the
looks of the stove a great deal.
[Illustration: AND HE MADE SOME STRIPES, TOO--MOSTLY ON TOP OF THE
STOVE]
So then he touched it again in another place and made another spot, and
in another place and made another spot, and in a lot of places and made
a lot of spots, and he made some stripes, too--mostly on top of the
stove, which was nice and smooth to mark on, though he made _some_ on
the pipe. You would hardly have known it was the same stove when he got
all through, and little Jack thought how beautiful it was and how
pleased his mother would be when she got home and _saw_ it. But then
right away he happened to think that perhaps she might not be so pleased
after all, and the more he thought about it the more sure he was that
she wouldn't like her nice red-striped and spotted stove as well as a
black one; and, besides, she had told him _never_ to play with fire.
[Illustration: LITTLE JACK KNEW PERFECTLY WELL THAT SHE WASN'T AT ALL
PLEASED]
And just at that moment Mrs. Rabbit herself stepped in the door! And
when she looked at her red-spotted and striped stove and then at little
Jack Rabbit, little Jack knew perfectly well without her saying a single
word that she wasn't _at all pleased_. So he began to cry very loud, and
started to run, and tripped over his blocks and fell against a little
stand-table that had Mrs. Rabbit's work-basket on it (for Mrs. Rabbit
always knit or sewed while she was cooking anything), and all the spools
and buttons and knitting-work went tumbling, with little Jack Rabbit
right among them, holloing, "Oh, I'm killed! I'm killed!"--just
sprawling there on the floor, afraid to get up, and expecting every
minute his mother would do something awful.
But Mrs. Rabbit just stood and looked at him over her spectacles and
then at her red-spotted and striped stove, and pretty soon she said:
"Well, this is a lovely mess to come home to!"
Which of course made little Jack take on a good deal worse and keep on
bawling out that he was killed, until Mrs. Rabbit told him that he was
making a good deal of noise for a _dead_ man, and that if he'd get up
and pick up all the things he'd upset maybe he'd come to life again.
Then little Jack Rabbit got up and ran to his mother and cried against
her best dress and got some tears on it, and Mrs. Rabbit sat down in her
rocker and looked at her stove and rocked him until he felt better. And
by-and-by she changed her dress and went to cleaning her stove while
little Jack picked up all the things--all the spools and buttons and
needles and knitting-work--every single thing.
[Illustration: PROMISED NEVER TO DISOBEY HIS MOTHER AGAIN]
And after supper, when he said his prayers and went to bed, he promised
never to disobey his mother again.
A HOLLOW TREE PICNIC
A HOLLOW TREE PICNIC
THE LITTLE LADY AND THE STORY TELLER, AND THEIR FRIENDS
Not far from the House of Low Ceilings, which stands on the borders of
the Big Deep Woods, there is a still smaller house, where, in
summertime, the Story Teller goes to make up things and write them down.
And one warm day he is writing away and not noticing what time it is
when he thinks he hears somebody step in the door. So then he looks
around, and he sees a little straw hat and a little round red face under
it, and then he sees a basket, and right away he knows it is the Little
Lady. And the Little Lady says:
"I've brought the picnic--did you know it?"
"Why, no!" the Story Teller says, looking surprised. "Is it time?"
"Yes, and I've got huckleberries and cream, and some hot biscuits."
"Good gracious! Let's see!"
So then the Story Teller looks, and, sure enough, there they are, and
more things, too; and pretty soon the Little Lady and he go down to a
very quiet place under some hemlock-trees by a big rock where there is a
clear brook and a spring close by, and they sit down, and the Little
Lady spreads the picnic all out--and there is ham too, and
bread-and-butter, and doughnuts and they are so hungry that they eat
everything, and both dip into one bowl when they get to huckleberries
and cream.
Then the Little Lady says:
"Now tell me about the Hollow Tree People; they have picnics, too."
"Sure enough, they do. And I think I'll have to tell you about their
very last picnic and what happened."
Well, once upon a time Mr. 'Possum said that he was getting tired of
sitting down to a table every meal in a close room with the smell of
cooking coming in, and if Mr. Crow would cook up a few things that would
taste good cold he'd pack the basket (that is, Mr. 'Possum would) and
Mr. 'Coon could carry it, and they'd go out somewhere and eat their
dinner in a nice place under the trees.
Mr. 'Coon said he knew a pleasant place to go, and Mr. Crow said he'd
cook one of Mr. Man's chickens, which Mr. 'Possum had brought home the
night before, though it would take time, he said, because it was pretty
old--Mr. 'Possum having picked it out in the dark in a hurry.
[Illustration: AND HE TASTED OF THAT A LITTLE, TOO]
So then they all flew around and put away things, and Mr. Crow got the
chicken on while Mr. 'Coon sliced the bread and Mr. 'Possum cut the
cake, which they had been saving for Sunday, and he picked out a pie
too, and a nice book to read which Mr. Crow had found lying in Mr. Man's
yard while the folks were at dinner. Then he packed the basket all neat
and nice, and ate a little piece of the cake when Mr. 'Coon had stepped
out to see how the chicken was coming along, and when the chicken was
ready he cut it all up nicely, and he tasted of that a little, too,
while Mr. Crow was getting on his best picnic things to go.
And pretty soon they all started out, and it was so bright and sunny
that Mr. 'Possum began to sing a little, and Mr. 'Coon told him not to
make a noise like that or they'd have company--Mr. Dog or Mr. Fox or
somebody--when there was only just enough chicken for themselves, which
made Mr. 'Possum stop right away. And before long they came to a very
quiet place under some thick hemlock-trees behind a stone wall and close
to a brook of clear water.
That was the place Mr. 'Coon had thought of, and they sat down there and
spread out all the things on some moss, and everything looked so nice
that Mr. 'Possum said they ought to come here every day and eat dinner
as long as the hot weather lasted. Then they were all so hungry that
they began on the chicken right away, and Mr. 'Possum said that maybe he
_might_ have picked out a tenderer one, but that he didn't think he
could have found a bigger one, or one that would have lasted longer, and
that, after all, size and lasting were what one needed for a picnic.
[Illustration: MR. POSSUM LEANED HIS BACK AGAINST A TREE AND READ
HIMSELF TO SLEEP]
So they ate first one thing and then another, and Mr. 'Coon asked if
they remembered the time Mr. Dog had come to one of their picnics before
they were friends with him, when he'd really been invited to stay away;
and they all laughed when they thought how Mr. Rabbit had excused
himself, and the others, too, one after another, until Mr. Dog had the
picnic mostly to himself. And by-and-by the Hollow Tree People lit their
pipes and smoked, and Mr. 'Possum leaned his back against a tree and
read himself to sleep, and dreamed, and had a kind of a nightmare about
that other picnic, and talked in his sleep about it, which made Mr.
'Coon think of something to do.
So then Mr. 'Coon got some long grass and made a strong band of it and
very carefully tied Mr. 'Possum to the tree, and just as Mr. 'Possum
began to have his dream again and was saying "Oh! Oh! here comes Mr.
Dog!" Mr. 'Coon gave three loud barks right in Mr. 'Possum's ear, and
Mr. Crow said "Wake up! Wake up, Mr. 'Possum! Here he comes!"
And Mr. 'Possum did wake up, and jumped and jerked at that band, and
holloed out as loud as he could:
"Oh, please let me go, Mr. Dog! Oh, please let me go, Mr. Dog!" for he
thought it was Mr. Dog that had him, and he forgot all about them being
friends.
But just then he happened to see Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon rolling on the
ground and laughing, and he looked down to see what had him and found he
was tied to a tree, and he knew that they had played a joke on him. That
made him pretty mad at first, and he said if he ever got loose he'd pay
them back for their smartness.
[Illustration: SO MR. 'POSSUM PROMISED, AND MR. 'COON UNTIED HIM]
Then Mr. 'Coon told him he most likely never would get loose if he
didn't promise not to do anything, so Mr. 'Possum promised, and Mr. Coon
untied him. Mr. 'Possum said he guessed the chicken must have been
pretty hard to digest, and he knew it was pretty salty, for he was dying
for a good cold drink.
Then Mr. 'Coon said he knew where there was a spring over beyond the
wall that had colder water than the brook, and he'd show them the way to
it. So they climbed over the wall and slipped through the bushes to the
spring, and all took a nice cold drink, and just as they raised their
heads from drinking they heard somebody say something. And they all kept
perfectly still and listened, and they heard it again, just beyond some
bushes.
[Illustration: "AND WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY SAW?"]
So then they crept softly in among the green leaves and branches and
looked through, and what do you think they saw?
The Story Teller turns to the Little Lady, who seems a good deal
excited.
"Why, why, what did they see?" she says. "Tell me, quick!"
"Why," the Story Teller goes on, "they saw the Little Lady and the Story
Teller having a picnic too, with all the nice things spread out by a
rock, under the hemlock-trees."
"Oh," gasps the Little Lady, "did they really see us? and are they there
now?"
"They might be," says the Story Teller. "The Hollow Tree People slip
around very softly. Anyway, they were there then, and it was the first
time they had ever seen the Little Lady and the Story Teller so close.
And they watched them until they were all through with their picnic and
had gathered up their things. Then the 'Coon and the 'Possum and Old
Black Crow slipped away again, and crept over the wall and gathered up
their own things and set out for home very happy."
The Little Lady grasps the Story Teller's hand.
"Let's go and see their picnic place!" she says. "They may be there
now."
So the Little Lady and the Story Teller go softly down to the spring
and get a drink; then they creep across to the mossy stone wall and peer
over, and there, sure enough, is a green mossy place in the shade, the
very place to spread a picnic; and the Little Lady jumps and says "Oh!"
for she sees something brown whisk into the bushes. Anyhow, she knows
the Hollow Tree People have been there, for there is a little piece of
paper on the moss which they must have used to wrap up something, and
she thinks they most likely heard her coming and are just gone.
So the Story Teller lifts her over the wall, and they sit down on the
green moss of the Hollow Tree picnic place, and she leans up against him
and listens to the singing of the brook, and the Story Teller sings
softly too, until by-and-by the Little Lady is asleep.
And it may be, as they sit there and drowse and dream, that the Hollow
Tree People creep up close and watch them.
Who knows?
[Illustration]
End of Project Gutenberg's The Hollow Tree Snowed-In, by Albert Bigelow Paine