THERE was once a rocking-horse, but he did not want to be a
rocking-horse. He wanted to be a trotter.
He went to a jockey and asked him if he would like to buy a trotter.
“Where is your trotter?” asked the jockey.
“Me’s him!” said the rocking-horse. That was all the grammar he knew.
“Oh!” said the jockey. “You are the trotter, eh?”
“Yes,” said the rocking-horse. “What will you give me for myself?”
“A bushel of shavings,” said the jockey.
The rocking-horse thought that was better than nothing, so he sold
himself. Then the jockey took him to another jockey who was blind, and
told him (the blind jockey) that this was the Sky-born Snorter of the
Sarsaparillas, and that he could trot two miles in a minute. So the
blind jockey bought him, and paid ten thousand dollars for him.
[Illustration: “‘Me’s him,’ said the rocking-horse.”]
There was a race the next day, and the blind jockey took the Sky-born
Snorter to the race-course, and started him with the other horses. The
other horses trotted away round the course, but the Sky-born Snorter
stayed just where he was, and rocked: and when the other horses came
round the turn, there he was waiting for them at the judge’s stand.
So he won the race; and the judge gave the prize, which was a white
buffalo, to the blind jockey.
The jockey put the Sky-born Snorter in the stable, and then went to get
his white buffalo; and while he was gone, the other jockeys came into
the stable to see the new horse.
“Why, he’s a rocking-horse!” said one of them.
“Hush!” said the Sky-born Snorter. “Yes, I am a rocking-horse, but
don’t tell my master. He doesn’t know it, and he paid ten thousand
dollars for me.”
“Whom did he pay it to?” asked the jockeys.
“To the other jockey, who bought me from myself,” replied the Snorter.
“Oh! and what did _he_ give for you?”
“A bushel of shavings,” said the Snorter.
“Ah!” said one of the jockeys. “A bushel of shavings, eh? Now, how
would you like to have those shavings turned into gold?”
“Very much indeed!” cried the Sky-born.
“Well,” said the jockey, “bring them here, and we will change them for
you.”
So the rocking-horse went and fetched the shavings, and the jockeys set
fire to them. The flames shot up, bright and yellow.
“See!” cried the jockeys. “The shavings are all turned into gold. Now
we will see what we can do for you.” And they took the Sky-born Snorter
and put him in the fire, and he turned into gold too, and was all
burned up. And the blind jockey drove the white buffalo all the rest of
his life, and never knew the difference.
Moral: Don’t be ambitious!
“OH, DEAR!”
CHIMBORAZO was a very unhappy boy. He pouted, and he sulked, and
he said, “Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!” He said it till
everybody was tired of hearing it.
“Chimborazo,” his mother would say, “please don’t say, ‘Oh, dear!’ any
more. It is very annoying. Say something else.”
“Oh, dear!” the boy would answer, “I can’t! I don’t know anything else
to say. Oh, dear! Oh, _dear_!! oh, DEAR!!!”
One day his mother could not bear it any longer, and she sent for his
fairy godmother, and told her all about it.
“Humph!” said the fairy godmother. “I will see to it. Send the boy to
me!”
So Chimborazo was sent for, and came, hanging his head as usual. When
he saw his fairy godmother, he said, “Oh, dear!” for he was rather
afraid of her.
“‘Oh, dear!’ it is!” said the godmother sharply; and she put on her
spectacles and looked at him. “Do you know what a bell-punch is?”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo. “No, ma’am, I don’t!”
“Well,” said the godmother, “I am going to give you one.”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “I don’t want one.”
“Probably not,” replied she, “but that doesn’t make much difference.
You have it now, in your jacket pocket.”
Chimborazo felt in his pocket, and took out a queer-looking instrument
of shining metal. “Oh, dear!” he said.
“‘Oh, dear!’ it is!” said the fairy godmother. “Now,” she continued,
“listen to me, Chimborazo! I am going to put you on an allowance
of ‘Oh, dears.’ This is a self-acting bell-punch, and it will ring
whenever you say ‘Oh, dear!’ How many times do you generally say it in
the course of the day?”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “I don’t know. Oh, _dear_!”
“_Ting! ting!_” the bell-punch rang twice sharply; and looking at it
in dismay, he saw two little round holes punched in a long slip of
pasteboard which was fastened to the instrument.
“Exactly!” said the fairy. “That is the way it works, and a very pretty
way, too. Now, my boy, I am going to make you a very liberal allowance.
You may say ‘Oh, dear!’ forty-five times a day. There’s liberality for
you!”
“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo, “I—”
“_Ting!_” said the bell-punch.
“You see!” observed the fairy. “Nothing could be prettier. You have now
had three of this day’s allowance. It is still some hours before noon,
so I advise you to be careful. If you exceed the allowance—” Here she
paused, and glowered through her spectacles in a very dreadful manner.
“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo. “What will happen then?”
“You will see!” said the fairy godmother, with a nod. “_Something_
will happen, you may be very sure of that. Good-by. Remember, only
forty-five!” And away she flew out of the window.
“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo, bursting into tears. “I don’t want it! I
won’t have it! Oh, _dear_! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, DEAR!!!”
“Ting! ting! ting-ting-ting-_ting_!” said the bell-punch; and now there
were ten round holes in the strip of pasteboard. Chimborazo was now
really frightened. He was silent for some time; and when his mother
called him to his lessons he tried very hard not to say the dangerous
words. But the habit was so strong that he said them unconsciously. By
dinner-time there were twenty-five holes in the cardboard strip; by
tea-time there were forty! Poor Chimborazo! he was afraid to open his
lips, for whenever he did the words would slip out in spite of him.
“Well, Chimbo,” said his father after tea, “I hear you have had a visit
from your fairy godmother. What did she say to you, eh?”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “she said—oh, dear! I’ve said it again!”
“She said, ‘Oh, dear! I’ve said it again!’” repeated his father. “What
do you mean by that?”
“Oh, dear! I didn’t mean that,” cried Chimborazo hastily; and again the
inexorable bell rang, and he knew that another hole was punched in the
fatal cardboard. He pressed his lips firmly together, and did not open
them again except to say “Good-night,” until he was safe in his own
room. Then he hastily drew the hated bell-punch from his pocket, and
counted the holes in the strip of cardboard; there were forty-three!
“Oh, _dear_!” cried the boy, forgetting himself again in his alarm,
“only two more! Oh, _dear_! oh, DEAR! I’ve done it again! oh—” “Ting!
ting!” went the bell-punch; and the cardboard was punched to the end.
“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo, now beside himself with terror. “Oh,
dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, _dear_!! what will become of me?”
A strange whirring noise was heard, then a loud clang; and the next
moment the bell-punch, as if it were alive, flew out of his hand, out
of the window, and was gone!
Chimborazo stood breathless with terror for a few minutes, momentarily
expecting that the roof would fall in on his head, or the floor blow up
under his feet, or some appalling catastrophe of some kind follow; but
nothing followed. Everything was quiet, and there seemed to be nothing
to do but go to bed; and so to bed he went, and slept, only to dream
that he was shot through the head with a bell-punch, and died saying,
“Oh, dear!”
The next morning, when Chimborazo came downstairs, his father said, “My
boy, I am going to drive over to your grandfather’s farm this morning;
would you like to go with me?”
A drive to the farm was one of the greatest pleasures Chimborazo had,
so he answered promptly, “Oh, _dear_!”
“Oh, very well!” said his father, looking much surprised. “You need
not go, my son, if you do not want to. I will take Robert instead.”
Poor Chimborazo! He had opened his lips to say, “Thank you, papa. I
should like to go _very_ much!” and, instead of these words, out had
popped, in his most doleful tone, the now hated “Oh, dear!” He sat
amazed; but was roused by his mother’s calling him to breakfast.
“Come, Chimbo,” she said. “Here are sausages and scrambled eggs: and
you are very fond of both of them. Which will you have?”
Chimborazo hastened to say, “Sausages, please, mamma,”—that is, he
hastened to _try_ to say it; but all his mother heard was, “Oh, _dear_!”
His father looked much displeased. “Give the boy some bread and water,
wife,” he said sternly. “If he cannot answer properly, he must be
taught. I have had enough of this ‘oh, dear!’ business.”
Poor Chimborazo! He saw plainly enough now what his punishment was to
be; and the thought of it made him tremble. He tried to ask for some
more bread, but only brought out his “Oh, _dear_!” in such a lamentable
tone that his father ordered him to leave the room. He went out into
the garden, and there he met John the gardener, carrying a basket of
rosy apples. Oh! how good they looked!
“I am bringing some of the finest apples up to the house, little
master,” said John. “Will you have one to put in your pocket?”
“Oh, _dear_!” was all the poor boy could say, though he wanted an
apple, oh, so much! And when John heard that he put the apple back in
his basket, muttering something about ungrateful monkeys.
Poor Chimborazo! I will not give the whole history of that miserable
day,—a miserable day it was from beginning to end. He fared no better
at dinner than at breakfast; for at the second “Oh, dear!” his father
sent him up to his room, “to stay there until he knew how to take what
was given him, and be thankful for it.” He knew well enough by this
time; but he could not tell his father so. He went to his room, and sat
looking out of the window, a hungry and miserable boy.
In the afternoon his cousin Will came up to see him. “Why, Chimbo!” he
cried. “Why do you sit moping here in the house, when all the boys are
out? Come and play marbles with me on the piazza. Ned and Harry are out
there waiting for you. Come on!”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo.
“What’s the matter?” asked Will. “Haven’t you any marbles? Never mind.
I’ll give you half of mine, if you like. Come!”
“Oh, DEAR!” said Chimborazo.
“Well,” said Will, “if that’s all you have to say when I offer you
marbles, I’ll keep them myself. I suppose you expected me to give you
all of them, did you? I never saw such a fellow!” and off he went in a
huff.
* * * * *
“Well, Chimborazo,” said the fairy godmother “what do you think of ‘Oh,
dear!’ now?”
Chimborazo looked at her beseechingly, but said nothing.
“Finding that forty-five times was not enough for you yesterday, I
thought I would let you have all you wanted to-day, you see,” said the
fairy wickedly.
[Illustration: “Touching his lips with her wand.”]
The boy still looked imploringly at her, but did not open his lips.
“Well, well,” she said at last, touching his lips with her wand, “I
think that is enough in the way of punishment, though I am sorry you
broke the bell-punch. Good-by! I don’t believe you will say ‘Oh, dear!’
any more.”
And he didn’t.