The Golden-Breasted Kootoo, and Other Stories
Date: 2015-08-21T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fairy tales; Fantasy fiction; Children's stories; Wit and humor; Juvenile

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Title: The Golden-Breasted Kootoo, and Other Stories

Author: Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards

Illustrator: Edmund H. Garrett

Release date: August 21, 2015 [eBook #49750]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN-BREASTED KOOTOO, AND OTHER STORIES ***

THE GOLDEN-BREASTED KOOTOO

THE GOLDEN-BREASTED KOOTOO

THE
GOLDEN-BREASTED
KOOTOO

BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
AUTHOR OF “CAPTAIN JANUARY,” “THE JOYOUS STORY
OF TOTO,” “TOTO’S MERRY WINTER,”
“IN MY NURSERY,” ETC.

BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

Copyright, 1885,
By Roberts Brothers

Copyright, 1899,
By Little, Brown, and Co.
————
All rights reserved

University Press:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.

CONTENTS

| Page
The Golden-Breasted Kootoo | 5
The Story of Hokey Pokey | 25
The Ambitious Rocking-Horse | 40
“Oh, Dear” | 44
The Traveller, the Cook, and the Little Old Man | 55

THE GOLDEN-BREASTED KOOTOO.

PART I.

ONCE upon a time—and a good time it was—there lived a king. I do not know exactly what his name was, or just where he lived; but it doesn’t matter at all: his kingdom was somewhere between Ashantee and Holland, and his name sounded a little like Samuel, and a little like Dolabella, and a good deal like Chimborazo, and yet it was not quite any of them. But, as I said before, it doesn’t matter. We will call him the King, and that will be all that is necessary, as there is no other king in the story.

This King was very fond of music; in fact, he was excessively fond of it. He kept four bands of music playing all day long. The first was a brass band, the second was a string band, the third was a rubber band, and the fourth was a man who played on the jews-harp. (Some people thought he ought not to be called a band, but he said he was all the jews-harp band there was, and that was very true.) The four bands played all day long on the four sides of the grand courtyard, and the King sat on a throne in the middle and transacted affairs of state. And when His Majesty went to bed at night, the grand chamberlain wound up a musical-box that was in his pillow, and another one in the top bureau-drawer, and they played “The Dog’s-meat Man” and “Pride of the Pirate’s Heart” till daylight did appear.

One day it occurred to the King that it would be an excellent plan for him to learn to sing. He wondered that he had never thought of it before. “You see,” he said, “it would amuse me very much to sing while I am out hunting. I cannot take the bands with me to the forest, for they would frighten away the wild beasts; and I miss my music very much on such occasions. Yes, decidedly, I will learn to sing.”

So he sent for the Chief Musician, and ordered him to teach him to sing. The Chief Musician was delighted, and said they would begin at once. So he sat down at the piano, and struck a note. “O King,” he said, “please sing this note.” And the King sang, in a loud, deep voice, The Chief Musician was enchanted. “Superb!” he cried. “Magnificent! Now, O King, please to sing this note!” and he struck another note: The King sang, in a loud, deep voice, The Chief Musician looked grave. “O King,” he said, “you did not quite understand me. We will try another note.” And he struck another: The King sang, in a loud, deep voice, The Chief Musician looked dejected. “I fear, O King,” he said, “that you can never learn to sing.” “What do you mean by that, Chief Musician?” asked the King. “It is your business to teach me to sing. Do you not know how to teach?” “No man knows better,” replied the Chief Musician. “But Your Majesty has no ear for music. You never can sing but one note.”

“‘Take this man and behead him!’ said the King.”

At these words the King grew purple in the face. He said nothing, for he was a man of few words; but he rang a large bell, and an executioner appeared. “Take this man and behead him!” said the King. “And send me the Second Musician!”

The Second Musician came, looking very grave, for he had heard the shrieks of his unhappy superior as he was dragged off to execution, and he had no desire to share his fate. He bowed low, and demanded His Majesty’s pleasure. “Teach me to sing!” said His Majesty. So the Second Musician sat down at the piano, and tried several notes, just as the Chief Musician had done, and with the same result. Whatever note was struck, the King still sang

Now the Second Musician was a quick-witted fellow, and he saw in a moment what the trouble had been with his predecessor, and saw, too, what great peril he was in himself. So he assumed a look of grave importance, and said solemnly, “O King, this is a very serious matter. I cannot conceal from you that there are great obstacles in the way of your learning to sing—” The King looked at the bell. “But,” said the Second Musician, “they can be overcome.” The King looked away again. “I beg,” said the Second Musician, “for twenty-four hours’ time for consideration. At the end of that time I shall have decided upon the best method of teaching; and I am bound to say this to Your Majesty, that IF you learn to sing—” “What?” said the King, looking at the bell again. “That WHEN you learn to sing,” said the Second Musician hastily,—“when you learn to sing, your singing will be like no other that has ever been heard.” This pleased the King, and he graciously accorded the desired delay.

Accordingly the Second Musician took his leave with great humility, and spent all that night and the following day plunged in the deepest thought. As soon as the twenty-four hours had elapsed he again appeared before the King, who was awaiting him impatiently, sitting on the music-stool. “Well?” said the King. “Quite well, O King, I thank you,” replied the Second Musician, “though somewhat fatigued by my labors.” “Pshaw!” said the King impatiently. “Have you found a way of teaching me to sing?” “I have, O King,” replied the Second Musician solemnly; “but it is not an easy way. Nevertheless it is the only one.” The King assured him that money was no object, and begged him to unfold his plan. “In order to learn to sing,” said the Second Musician, “you must eat a pie composed of all the singing-birds in the world. In this way only can the difficulty of your having no natural ear for music be overcome. If a single bird is omitted, or if you do not consume the whole pie, the charm will have no effect. I leave Your Majesty to judge of the difficulty of the undertaking.”

Difficulty? The King would not admit that there was such a word. He instantly summoned his Chief Huntsman, and ordered him to send other huntsmen to every country in the world, to bring back a specimen of every kind of singing-bird. Accordingly, as there were sixty countries in the world at that time, sixty huntsmen started off immediately, fully armed and equipped.

After they were gone, the King, who was very impatient, summoned his Wise Men, and bade them look in all the books, and find out how many kinds of singing-birds there were in the world. The Wise Men all put their spectacles on their noses, and their noses into their books, and after studying a long time, and adding up on their slates the number of birds described in each book, they found that there were in all nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine varieties of singing-birds.

They made their report to the King, and he was rather troubled by it; for he remembered that the Second Musician had said he must eat every morsel of the pie himself, or the charm would have no effect. It would be a very large pie, he thought, with nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine birds in it. “The only way,” he said to himself, “will be for me to eat as little as possible until the huntsmen come back, then I shall be very hungry. I have never been very hungry in my life, so there is no knowing how much I could eat if I were.” So the King ate nothing from one week’s end to another, except bread and dripping; and by the time the huntsmen returned he was so thin that it was really shocking.

At last, after a long time, the sixty huntsmen returned, laden down with huge bags, the contents of which they piled up in a great heap in the middle of the courtyard. A mountain of birds! Such a thing had never been seen before. The mountain was so high that everybody thought the full number of birds must be there; and the Chief Cook began to make his preparations, and sent to borrow the garden roller from John the gardener, as his own was not big enough to roll out such a quantity of paste.

The King and the Wise Men next proceeded to count the birds. But alas! what was their sorrow to find that the number fell short by one! They counted again and again; but it was of no use: there were only nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight birds in the pile.

The next thing was to find out what bird was missing. So the Wise Men sorted all the birds, and compared them with the pictures in the books, and studied so hard that they wore out three pairs of spectacles apiece; and at last they discovered that the missing bird was the “Golden-breasted Kootoo.” The chief Wise Man read aloud from the biggest book:—

“The Golden-breasted Kootoo, the most beautiful and the most melodious of singing birds, is found only in secluded parts of the Vale of Coringo. Its plumage is of a brilliant golden yellow, except on the back, where it is streaked with green. Its beak is—”

“There! there!” interrupted the King impatiently; “never mind about its beak. Tell the Lord Chamberlain to pack my best wig and a clean shirt, and send them after me by a courier; and, Chief Huntsman, follow me. We start this moment for the Vale of Coringo!”

And actually, if you will believe it, the King did start off in less than an hour from the counting of the birds. He rode on horseback, and was accompanied only by the Chief Huntsman and the jews-harp band, the courier being obliged to wait for the King’s best wig to be curled.

“He rode on horseback, and was accompanied only by the Chief Huntsman and the jews-harp band.”

The poor Band had a hard time of it; for he had a very frisky horse, and found it extremely difficult to manage the beast with one hand and hold the jews-harp with the other; but the King, with much ingenuity, fastened the head of the horse to the tail of his own steady cob, thereby enabling the musician to give all his attention to his instrument. The music was a trifle jerky at times; but what of that? It was music, and the King was satisfied.

They rode night and day, and at length arrived at the Vale of Coringo, and took lodgings at the principal hotel. The King was very weary, as he had been riding for a week without stopping. So he went to bed at once, and slept for two whole days.

On the morning of the third day he was roused from a wonderful dream (in which he was singing a duet with the Golden-breasted Kootoo, to a jews-harp accompaniment) by the sound of music. The King sat up in bed, and listened. It was a bird’s song that he heard, and it seemed to come from the vines outside his window. But what a song it was! And what a bird it must be that could utter such wondrous sounds! He listened, too enchanted to move, while the magical song swelled louder and clearer, filling the air with melody. At last he rose, and crept softly to the window. There, on a swinging vine, sat a beautiful bird, all golden yellow, with streaks of green on its back.

“Seizing his gun, he hastily descended the stairs.”

It was the Golden-breasted Kootoo! There could be no doubt about it, even if its marvellous song had not announced it as the sweetest singer of the whole world. Very quietly, but trembling with excitement, the King put on his slippers and his flowered dressing-gown, and seizing his gun, he hastily descended the stairs.

It was early dawn, and nobody was awake in the hotel except the Boots, who was blacking his namesakes in the back hall. He saw the King come down, and thought he had come to get his boots; but the monarch paid no attention to him, quietly unbolted the front door, and slipped out into the garden. Was he too late? Had the bird flown? No, the magic song still rose from the vines outside his chamber-window. But even now, as the King approached, a fluttering was heard, and the Golden-breasted Kootoo, spreading its wings, flew slowly away over the garden wall, and away towards the mountain which rose just behind the hotel. The King followed, clambering painfully over the high wall, and leaving fragments of his brocade dressing-gown on the sharp spikes which garnished it. Once over, he made all speed, and found that he could well keep the bird in sight, for it was flying very slowly. A provoking bird it was, to be sure! It would fly a little way, and then, alighting on a bush or hanging spray, would pour forth a flood of melody, as if inviting its pursuer to come nearer; but before the unhappy King could get within gunshot, it would flutter slowly onward, keeping just out of reach, and uttering a series of mocking notes, which seemed to laugh at his efforts. On and on flew the bird, up the steep mountain; on and on went the King in pursuit. It is all very well to fly up a mountain; but to crawl and climb up, with a heavy gun in one’s hand, and one’s dressing-gown catching on every sharp point of rock, and the tassel of one’s nightcap bobbing into one’s eyes, is a very different matter, I can tell you. But the King never thought of stopping for an instant; not he! He lost first one slipper, and then the other; the cord and tassels of his dressing-gown tripped him up, so that he fell and almost broke his nose; and finally his gun slipped from his hold and went crashing down over a precipice; but still the King climbed on and on, breathless but undaunted.

At length, at the very top of the mountain, as it seemed, the bird made a longer pause than usual. It lighted on a point of rock, and folding its wings, seemed really to wait for the King, singing, meanwhile, a song of the most inviting and encouraging description. Nearer and nearer crept the King, and still the bird did not move. He was within arm’s length, and was just stretching out his arm to seize the prize, when it fluttered off the rock. Frantic with excitement, the King made a desperate clutch after it, and—

PART II.

AT eight o’clock the landlady knocked at the King’s door. “Hot water, Your Majesty,” she said. “Shall I bring the can in? And the Band desires his respects, and would you wish him to play while you are a-dressing, being as you didn’t bring a music-box with you?”

Receiving no answer, after knocking several times, the good woman opened the door very cautiously, and peeped in, fully expecting to see the royal night-cap reposing calmly on the pillow. What was her amazement at finding the room empty; no sign of the King was to be seen, although his pink-silk knee-breeches lay on a chair, and his ermine mantle and his crown were hanging on a peg against the wall.

The landlady gave the alarm at once. The King had disappeared! He had been robbed, murdered; the assassins had chopped him up into little pieces and carried him away in a bundle-handkerchief! “Murder! police! fire!!!!”

In the midst of the wild confusion the voice of the Boots was heard. “Please, ’m, I see His Majesty go out at about five o’clock this morning.”

Again the chorus rose: he had run away; he had gone to surprise and slay the King of Coringo while he was taking his morning chocolate; he had gone to take a bath in the river, and was drowned! “Murder! police!”

The voice of the Boots was heard again. “And please, ’m, he’s a sittin’ out in the courtyard now; and please, ’m, I think he’s crazy!”

Out rushed everybody, pell-mell, into the courtyard. There, on the ground, sat the King, with his tattered dressing-gown wrapped majestically about him. An ecstatic smile illuminated his face, while he clasped in his arms a large bird with shining plumage.

“Bless me!” cried the poultry-woman. “If he hasn’t got my Shanghai rooster that I couldn’t catch last night!”

The King, hearing voices, looked round, and smiled graciously on the astonished crowd. “Good people,” he said, “success has crowned my efforts. I have found the Golden-breasted Kootoo! You shall all have ten pounds apiece, in honor of this joyful event, and the landlady shall be made a baroness in her own right!”

“But,” said the poultry-woman, “it is my Shang—”

“Be still, you idiot!” whispered the landlady, putting her hand over the woman’s mouth. “Do you want to lose your ten pounds and your head too? If the King has caught the Golden-breasted Kootoo, why, then it is the Golden-breasted Kootoo, as sure as I am a baroness!” and she added in a still lower tone, “There hasn’t been a Kootoo seen in the Vale for ten years; the birds have died out.”

Great were the rejoicings at the palace when the King returned in triumph, bringing with him the much-coveted prize, the Golden-breasted Kootoo. The bands played until they almost killed themselves; the cooks waved their ladles and set to work at once on the pie; the huntsmen sang hunting-songs. All was joy and rapture, except in the breast of one man; that man was the Second Musician, or, as we should now call him, the Chief Musician. He felt no thrill of joy at sight of the wondrous bird; on the contrary, he made his will, and prepared to leave the country at once; but when the pie was finished, and he saw its huge dimensions, he was comforted. “No man,” he said to himself, “can eat the whole of that pie and live!”

Alas! he was right. The unhappy King fell a victim to his musical ambition before he had half finished his pie, and died in a fit. His subjects ate the remainder of the mighty pasty, with mingled tears and smiles, as a memorial feast; and if the Golden-breasted Kootoo was a Shanghai rooster, nobody in the kingdom was ever the wiser for it.

THE STORY OF HOKEY POKEY.

HOKEY POKEY was the youngest of a large family of children. His elder brothers, as they grew up, all became either butchers or bakers or makers of candlesticks, for such was the custom of the family. But Hokey Pokey would be none of these things; so when he was grown to be a tall youth he went to his father and said, “Give me my fortune.”

“Will you be a butcher?” asked his father.

“No!” said Hokey Pokey.

“Will you be a baker?”

“No, again.”

“Will you make candlesticks?”

“Nor that either!”

“Then,” said his father, “this is the only fortune I can give you;” and with that he took up his cudgel and gave the youth a stout beating. “Now you cannot complain that I gave you nothing!” said he.

“That is true!” said Hokey Pokey. “But give me also the wooden mallet which lies on the shelf, and I will make my way through the world.”

His father gave him the mallet, glad to be so easily rid of him, and Hokey Pokey went out into the world to seek his fortune. He walked all day, and at nightfall he came to a small village. Feeling hungry, he went into a baker’s shop, intending to buy a loaf of bread for his supper. There was a great noise and confusion in the back part of the shop; and on going to see what was the matter, he found the baker on his knees beside a large box or chest, which he was trying with might and main to keep shut. But there was something inside the box which was trying just as hard to get out, and it screamed and kicked, and pushed the lid up as often as the baker shut it down.

“What have you there in the box?” asked Hokey Pokey.

“I have my wife,” replied the baker. “She is so frightfully ill-tempered that whenever I am going to bake bread I am obliged to shut her up in this box, lest she push me into the oven and bake me with the bread, as she has often threatened to do. But to-day she has broken the lock of the box, and I know not how to keep her down.”

“That is easily managed,” said Hokey Pokey. “Do you but tell her, when she asks who I am, that I am a giant with three heads, and all will be well.” So saying, he took his wooden mallet and dealt three tremendous blows on the box, saying in a loud voice,—

“Hickory Hox!

I sit by the box,

Waiting to give you a few of my knocks.”

“Husband, husband! whom have you there?” cried the wife in terror.

“Alas!” said the baker; “it is a frightful giant with three heads. He is sitting by the box, and if you open it so much as the width of your little finger, he will pull you out and beat you to powder.”

When the wife heard that she crouched down in the box, and said never a word, for she was afraid of her life.

The baker then took Hokey Pokey into the other part of the shop, thanked him warmly, and gave him a good supper and a bed. The next morning he gave him for a present the finest loaf of bread in his shop, which was shaped like a large round ball; and Hokey Pokey, after knocking once more on the lid of the box, continued his travels.

He had not gone far before he came to another village, and wishing to inquire his way he entered the first shop he came to, which proved to be that of a confectioner. The shop was full of the most beautiful sweetmeats imaginable, and everything was bright and gay; but the confectioner himself sat upon a bench, weeping bitterly.

“What ails you, friend?” asked Hokey Pokey; “and why do you weep, when you are surrounded by the most delightful things in the world?”

“Alas!” replied the confectioner. “That is just the cause of my trouble. The sweetmeats that I make are so good that their fame has spread far and wide, and the Rat King, hearing of them, has taken up his abode in my cellar. Every night he comes up and eats all the sweetmeats I have made the day before. There is no comfort in my life, and I am thinking of becoming a rope-maker and hanging myself with the first rope I make.”

“Why don’t you set a trap for him?” asked Hokey Pokey.

“I have set fifty-nine traps,” replied the confectioner, “but he is so strong that he breaks them all.”

“Poison him,” suggested Hokey Pokey.

“He dislikes poison,” said the confectioner, “and will not take it in any form.”

“In that case,” said Hokey Pokey, “leave him to me. Go away, and hide yourself for a few minutes, and all will be well.”

The confectioner retired behind a large screen, having first showed Hokey Pokey the hole of the Rat King, which was certainly a very large one. Hokey Pokey sat down by the hole, with his mallet in his hand, and said in a squeaking voice,—

“Ratly King! Kingly Rat!

Here your mate comes pit-a-pat.

Come and see; the way is free;

Hear my signal: one! two! three!”

“The confectioner thanked him warmly.”

And he scratched three times on the floor. Almost immediately the head of a rat popped up through the hole. He was a huge rat, quite as large as a cat; but his size was no help to him, for as soon as he appeared, Hokey Pokey dealt him such a blow with his mallet that he fell down dead without even a squeak. Then Hokey Pokey called the confectioner, who came out from behind the screen and thanked him warmly; he also bade him choose anything he liked in the shop, in payment for his services.

“Can you match this?” asked Hokey Pokey, showing his round ball of bread.

“That can I!” said the confectioner; and he brought out a most beautiful ball, twice as large as the loaf, composed of the finest sweetmeats in the world, red and yellow and white. Hokey Pokey took it with many thanks, and then went on his way.

The next day he came to a third village, in the streets of which the people were all running to and fro in the wildest confusion.

“What is the matter?” asked Hokey Pokey, as one man ran directly into his arms.

“Alas!” replied the man. “A wild bull has got into the principal china-shop, and is breaking all the beautiful dishes.”

“Why do you not drive him out?” asked Hokey Pokey.

“We are afraid to do that,” said the man; “but we are running up and down to express our emotion and sympathy, and that is something.”

“Show me the china-shop!” said Hokey Pokey.

So the man showed him the china-shop; and there, sure enough, was a furious bull, making most terrible havoc. He was dancing up and down on a Dresden dinner set, and butting at the Chinese mandarins, and switching down finger-bowls and tea-pots with his tail, bellowing meanwhile in the most outrageous manner. The floor was covered with broken crockery, and the whole scene was melancholy to behold.

Now when Hokey Pokey saw this, he said to the owner of the china-shop, who was tearing his hair in a frenzy of despair, “Stop tearing your hair, which is indeed a senseless occupation, and I will manage this matter for you. Bring me a red cotton umbrella, and all will yet be well.”

So the china-shop man brought him a red cotton umbrella, and Hokey Pokey began to open and shut it violently in front of the door. When the bull saw that, he stopped dancing on the Dresden dinner set and came charging out of the shop, straight towards the red umbrella. When he came near enough, Hokey Pokey dropped the umbrella, and raising his wooden mallet hit the bull such a blow on the muzzle that he fell down dead, and never bellowed again.

The people all flung up their hats, and cheered, and ran up and down all the more, to express their gratification. As for the china-shop man, he threw his arms round Hokey Pokey’s neck, called him his cherished preserver, and bade him choose anything that was left in his shop in payment for his services.

“Can you match these?” asked Hokey Pokey, holding up the loaf of bread and the ball of sweetmeats.

“That can I,” said the shop-man; and he brought out a huge ball of solid ivory, inlaid with gold and silver, and truly lovely to behold. It was very heavy, being twice as large as the ball of sweetmeats; but Hokey Pokey took it, and, after thanking the shop-man and receiving his thanks in return, he proceeded on his way.

After walking for several days, he came to a fair, large castle, in front of which sat a man on horseback. When the man saw Hokey Pokey, he called out,—

“Who are you, and what do you bring to the mighty Dragon, lord of this castle?”

“Hokey Pokey is my name,” replied the youth, “and strange things do I bring. But what does the mighty Dragon want, for example?”

“He wants something new to eat,” said the man on horseback. “He has eaten of everything that is known in the world, and pines for something new. He who brings him a new dish, never before tasted by him, shall have a thousand crowns and a new jacket; but he who fails, after three trials, shall have his jacket taken away from him, and his head cut off besides.”

“I bring strange food,” said Hokey Pokey. “Let me pass in, that I may serve the mighty Dragon.”

Then the man on horseback lowered his lance, and let him pass in, and in short space he came before the mighty Dragon. The Dragon sat on a silver throne, with a golden knife in one hand, and a golden fork in the other. Around him were many people, who offered him dishes of every description; but he would none of them, for he had tasted them all before; and he howled with hunger on his silver throne. Then came forward Hokey Pokey, and said boldly,—

“Here come I, Hokey Pokey, bringing strange food for the mighty Dragon.”

The Dragon howled again, and waving his knife and fork, bade Hokey Pokey give the food to the attendants, that they might serve him.

“Not so,” said Hokey Pokey. “I must serve you myself, most mighty Dragon, else you shall not taste of my food. Therefore put down your knife and fork, and open your mouth, and you shall see what you shall see.”

So the Dragon, after summoning the man-with-the-thousand-crowns and the man-with-the-new-jacket to one side of his throne, and the man-to-take-away-the-old-jacket and the executioner to the other, laid down his knife and fork and opened his mouth. Hokey Pokey stepped lightly forward, and dropped the round loaf down the great red throat. The Dragon shut his jaws together with a snap, and swallowed the loaf in two gulps.

“That is good,” he said; “but it is not new. I have eaten much bread, though never before in a round loaf. Have you anything more? Or shall the man take away your jacket?”

“I have this, an it please you,” said Hokey Pokey; and he dropped the ball of sweetmeats into the Dragon’s mouth.

When the Dragon tasted this, he rolled his eyes round and round, and was speechless with delight for some time. At length he said, “Worthy youth, this is very good; it is extremely good; it is better than anything I ever tasted. Nevertheless, it is not new; for I have tasted the same kind of thing before, only not nearly so good. And now, unless you are positively sure that you have something new for your third trial, you really might as well take off your jacket; and the executioner shall take off your head at the same time, as it is getting rather late. Executioner, do your—”

“Craving your pardon, most mighty Dragon,” said Hokey Pokey, “I will first make my third trial;” and with that he dropped the ivory ball into the Dragon’s mouth.

“Gug-wugg-gllll-grrr!” said the Dragon, for the ball had stuck fast, being too big for him to swallow.

Then Hokey Pokey lifted his mallet and struck one tremendous blow upon the ball, driving it far down the throat of the monster, and killing him most fatally dead. He rolled off the throne like a scaly log, and his crown fell off and rolled to Hokey Pokey’s feet. The youth picked it up and put it on his own head, and then called the people about him and addressed them.

“‘People,’ he said, ‘I am Hokey Pokey.’”

“People,” he said, “I am Hokey Pokey, and I have come from a far land to rule over you. Your Dragon have I slain, and now I am your king; and if you will always do exactly what I tell you to do, you will have no further trouble.”

So the people threw up their caps and cried, “Long live Hokey Pokey!” and they always did exactly as he told them, and had no further trouble.

And Hokey Pokey sent for his three brothers, and made them Chief Butcher, Chief Baker, and Chief Candlestick-maker of his kingdom. But to his father he sent a large cudgel made of pure gold, with these words engraved on it: “Now you cannot complain that I have given you nothing!”

THE AMBITIOUS ROCKING-HORSE.

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.

“‘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.

“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.

THE TRAVELLER, THE COOK, AND THE LITTLE OLD MAN.

ONCE upon a time there was a little old man who lived in a well. He was a very small little old man, and the well was very deep; and the only reason why he lived there was because he could not get out. Indeed, what better reason could he have?

He had long white hair, and a long red nose, and a long green coat; and this was all he had in the world, except a three-legged stool, a large iron kettle, and a cook. There was not room in the well for the cook; so she lived on the ground above, and cooked the little old man’s dinner and supper in the iron kettle, and lowered them down to him in the bucket; and the little old man sat on the three-legged stool, and ate whatever the cook sent down to him, with a cheerful heart, if it was good; and so things went on very pleasantly.

“The old man thought it was raining.”

But one day it happened that the cook could not find anything for the old man’s dinner. She looked high, and she looked low, but nothing could she find; so she was very unhappy; for she knew her master would be miserable if he had no dinner. She sat down by the well, and wept bitterly; and her tears fell into the well so fast that the little old man thought it was raining, and put up a red cotton umbrella, which he borrowed for the occasion. You may wonder where he borrowed it; but I cannot tell you, because I do not know.

Now, at that moment a traveller happened to pass by, and when he saw the cook sitting by the well and weeping, he stopped, and asked her what was the matter. The cook told him that she was weeping because she could not find anything to cook for her master’s dinner.

“And who is your master?” asked the traveller.

“He is a little old man,” replied the cook; “and he lives down in this well.”

“Why does he live there?” inquired the traveller.

“I do not know,” answered the cook; “I never asked him.”

“He must be a singular person,” said the traveller. “I should like to see him. What does he look like?”

But this the cook could not tell him; for she had never seen the little old man, having come to work for him after he had gone down to live in the well.

“Does he like to receive visitors?” asked the traveller.

“Don’t know,” said the cook. “He has never had any to receive since I have been here.”

“Humph!” said the other. “I think I will go down and pay my respects to him. Will you let me down in the bucket?”

“But suppose he should mistake you for his dinner, and eat you up?” the cook suggested.

“Pooh!” he replied. “No fear of that; I can take care of myself. And as for his dinner,” he added, “get him some radishes. There are plenty about here. I had nothing but radishes for my dinner, and very good they were, though rather biting. Let down the bucket, please! I am all right.”

“What are radishes?” the cook called after him as he went down.

“Long red things, stupid! with green leaves to them!” he shouted; and then, in a moment, he found himself at the bottom of the well.

The little old man was delighted to see him, and told him that he had lived down there forty years, and had never had a visitor before in all that time.

“Why do you live down here?” inquired the traveller.

“Because I cannot get out,” replied the little old man.

“But how did you get down here in the first place?”

“Really,” he said, “it is so long ago that I hardly remember. My impression is, however, that I came down in the bucket.”

“Then why, in the name of common-sense,” said the traveller, “don’t you go up in the bucket?”

The little old man sprang up from the three-legged stool, and flung his arms around the traveller’s neck. “My dear friend!” he cried rapturously. “My precious benefactor! Thank you a thousand times for those words! I assure you I never thought of it before! I will go up at once. You will excuse me?”

“Certainly,” said the traveller. “Go up first, and I will follow you.”

“‘’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good!’”

The little old man got into the bucket, and was drawn up to the top of the well. But, alas! when the cook saw his long red nose and his long green coat, she said to herself, “This must be a radish! how lucky I am!” and seizing the poor little old man, she popped him into the kettle without more ado. Then she let the bucket down for the traveller, calling to him to make haste, as she wanted to send down her master’s dinner.

Up came the traveller, and looking around, asked where her master was.

“Where should he be,” said the cook, “but at the bottom of the well, where you left him?”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed the traveller. “He has just come up in the bucket!”

“Oh!” cried the cook. “Oh! oh!! o-o-o-h!!! was that my master? Why, I thought he was a radish, and I have boiled him for his own dinner!”

“I hope he will have a good appetite!” said the traveller.

The cook was a good woman, and her grief was so excessive that she fell into the kettle and was boiled too.

Then the traveller, who had formerly been an ogre by profession, said, “’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good! My dinner was very insufficient;” and he ate both the little old man and the cook, and proceeded on his journey with a cheerful heart.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 56, “the” changed to “she” (she knew her master would)

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Table of Contents

- THE GOLDEN-BREASTED KOOTOO

- CONTENTS

- THE GOLDEN-BREASTED KOOTOO. PART I.

- PART II.

- THE STORY OF HOKEY POKEY.

- THE AMBITIOUS ROCKING-HORSE.

- “OH, DEAR!”

- THE TRAVELLER, THE COOK, AND THE LITTLE OLD MAN.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE