THE AMBITIOUS MOLE

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Giant Horse of Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard in Oz, and The Wish Express, etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 18, 1920.


Once upon a time there was an ambitious mole who wished to amount to something in the world. He felt sure that there was more to the earth than the dark underground tunnels that his family inhabited, although his father told him repeatedly that there was nothing above the ground worth looking at.

The moles are hard-working little people, and this particular family were employed in a mine and dug early and late for their living. One day as the little mole was at work in a lonely corner of the mine he met the old gnome who employed them and got into a conversation.

The old gnome was in a particularly good humor, having had mushroom pie for his dinner, and as there was no one about he condescended to be pleasant to the little mole boy. When Tommy—that was the mole’s name—asked him about the earth, he described, at great length, the forests and meadows, the trees and blue skies, the sun and the stars, and he even told him about people—which was funny, for gnomes do not usually believe in people.

Tommy could scarcely wait till evening that he might tell his family the wonderful story. But his father fell asleep in the middle of the recital and Mrs. Mole was so busy over her house accounts that she only nodded once in a while without even hearing. Tommy was discouraged, and all the next day he was turning over in his mind ways and means of seeing some of these things for himself.

One day instead of gong to work with is father he pretended to have an errand to do for the old gnome. He dug up and up and up till at last he could poke his head right out. He looked all around; then he was so disappointed that he flopped down on the ground and cried. Imagine!

“Everything’s just the same!” he wailed dismally.

“What’s the same?” A little fairy on her way to visit a sick bird family stopped beside him.

“The gnome said the trees were green and the sky was blue and everything is brown!” wailed the mole again. “Are you a person?”

“Not quite,” laughed the little creature softly, “I’m a fairy!”

“Well, you’re brown, too!” The mole sat up and viewed the little fairy dolefully.

“Why, I’m pink!” cried the fairy indignantly. Then all at once she began hopping around in an excited circle.

“I know what’s the matter! I know what’s the matter!” she laughed. “You wait here!”

Off like a flash she scurried, and just as the mole was about to go down into his hole again she returned with—what do you ’spose? A dear little pair of spectacles.

For, of course, dear heart, a mole is almost blind and everything does look brown to him—that’s why he thinks the whole world is like his dark, damp home underground.

Now these were magic specs and no sooner did Tommy look through them than he saw all the beautiful things of which the gnome had told him—the blue sky, the green trees and, best of all, the dainty little fairy. All day he ran hither and thither, admiring everything he saw, and when night came and the stars came out over the treetops he could not go to sleep at all!

“I will never live underground again!” he said delightedly. And he never did. In fact, he got a position as chief clerk in the fairy bank and lived happily the rest of his days. Isn’t it a pity that all moles cannot have fairy specs!

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 14, 1920.

 

Puzzle Corner

Why is pie like a cross old man?

Why could a pie never grow into a giant?

What great opera singer of the last generation was described by a small pie?

If you add an animal to pie what do you have?

How did pie get into the arithmetic?

What bird ends in pie?

And now to occupie your time supply the words to fill this rhyme:

The knight upon a ----- bald steed
And armed all cap-a- -----,
Forth from his donjon deep did ride
To do—to do or die!

The -----ioneers made pastry, dears
We’ve made it ever since.
What pie describes a foppish gait—
Ho! wait—’tis good old -----.

The answers to last week’s puzzles were rolling pin, and a clock is like a working man because it works with its hands and strikes. The answer to the last riddle is caddy.

A wave should have a foot because it has an under toe.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2017 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE MAN IN THE MOON

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Originally published in Mother Goose in Prose (1897).


The Man in the Moon came tumbling down,
And enquired the way to Norwich;
He went by the south and burned his mouth
With eating cold pease porridge!

WHAT! have you never heard the story of the Man in the Moon? Then I must surely tell it, for it is very amusing, and there is not a word of truth in it.

The Man in the Moon was rather lonesome, and often he peeked over the edge of the moon and looked down upon the earth and envied all the people who lived together, for he thought it must be vastly more pleasant to have companions to talk to than to be shut up in a big planet all by himself, where he had to whistle to keep himself company.

One day he looked down and saw an alderman sailing up through the air towards him. This alderman was being translated (instead of being transported, owing to a misprint in the law) and as he came near the Man in the Moon called to him and said,

"How is everything down on the earth?"

"Everything is lovely," replied the alderman, "and I wouldn't leave it if I was not obliged to."

"What's a good place to visit down there?" enquired the Man in the Moon.

"Oh, Norwich is a mighty fine place," returned the alderman, "and it's famous for its pease porridge;" and then he sailed out of sight and left the Man in the Moon to reflect upon what he had said.

The words of the alderman made him more anxious than ever to visit the earth, and so he walked thoughtfully home, and put a few lumps of ice in the stove to keep him warm, and sat down to think how he should manage the trip.

You see, everything went by contraries in the Moon, and when the Man wished to keep warm he knocked off a few chunks of ice and put them in his stove; and he cooled his drinking water by throwing red-hot coals of fire into the pitcher. Likewise, when he became chilly he took off his hat and coat, and even his shoes, and so became warm; and in the hot days of summer he put on his overcoat to cool off.

All of which seems very queer to you, no doubt; but it wasn't at all queer to the Man in the Moon, for he was accustomed to it.

Well, he sat by his ice-cool fire and thought about his journey to the earth, and finally he decided the only way he could get there was to slide down a moonbeam.

So he left the house and locked the door and put the key in his pocket, for he was uncertain how long he should be gone; and then he went to the edge of the moon and began to search for a good strong moonbeam.

At last he found one that seemed rather substantial and reached right down to a pleasant-looking spot on the earth; and so he swung himself over the edge of the moon, and put both arms tight around the moonbeam and started to slide down. But he found it rather slippery, and in spite of all his efforts to hold on he found himself going faster and faster, so that just before he reached the earth he lost his hold and came tumbling down head over heels and fell plump into a river.

The cool water nearly scalded him before he could swim out, but fortunately he was near the bank and he quickly scrambled upon the land and sat down to catch his breath.

By that time it was morning, and as the sun rose its hot rays cooled him off somewhat, so that he began looking about curiously at all the strange sights and wondering where on earth he was.

By and by a farmer came along the road by the river with a team of horses drawing a load of hay, and the horses looked so odd to the Man in the Moon that at first he was greatly frightened, never before having seen horses except from his home in the moon, from whence they looked a good deal smaller. But he plucked up courage and said to the farmer,

"Can you tell me the way to Norwich, sir?"

"Norwich?" repeated the farmer musingly; "I don't know exactly where it be, sir, but it's somewhere away to the south."

"Thank you," said the Man in the Moon.—But stop! I must not call him the Man in the Moon any longer, for of course he was now out of the moon; so I'll simply call him the Man, and you'll know by that which man I mean.

Well, the Man in the—I mean the Man (but I nearly forgot what I have just said)—the Man turned to the south and began walking briskly along the road, for he had made up his mind to do as the alderman had advised and travel to Norwich, that he might eat some of the famous pease porridge that was made there. And finally, after a long and tiresome journey, he reached the town and stopped at one of the first houses he came to, for by this time he was very hungry indeed.

A good-looking woman answered his knock at the door, and he asked politely,

"Is this the town of Norwich, madam?"

"Surely this is the town of Norwich," returned the woman.

"I came here to see if I could get some pease porridge," continued the Man, "for I hear you make the nicest porridge in the world in this town."

"That we do, sir," answered the woman, "and if you'll step inside I'll give you a bowl, for I have plenty in the house that is newly made."

So he thanked her and entered the house, and she asked,

"Will you have it hot or cold, sir?"

"Oh, cold, by all means," replied the Man, "for I detest anything hot to eat."

She soon brought him a bowl of cold pease porridge, and the Man was so hungry that he took a big spoonful at once.

But no sooner had he put it into his mouth than he uttered a great yell, and began dancing frantically about the room, for of course the porridge that was cold to earth folk was hot to him, and the big spoonful of cold pease porridge had burned his mouth to a blister!

"What's the matter?" asked the woman.

"Matter!" screamed the Man; "why, your porridge is so hot it has burned me."

"Fiddlesticks!" she replied, "the porridge is quite cold."

"Try it yourself!" he cried. So she tried it and found it very cold and pleasant. But the Man was so astonished to see her eat the porridge that had blistered his own mouth that he became frightened and ran out of the house and down the street as fast as he could go.

The policeman on the first corner saw him running, and promptly arrested him, and he was marched off to the magistrate for trial.

"What is your name?" asked the magistrate.

"I haven't any," replied the Man; for of course as he was the only Man in the Moon it wasn't necessary he should have a name.

"Come, come, no nonsense!" said the magistrate, "you must have some name. Who are you?"

"Why, I'm the Man in the Moon."

"That's rubbish!" said the magistrate, eyeing the prisoner severely, "you may be a man, but you're not in the moon—you're in Norwich."

"That is true," answered the Man, who was quite bewildered by this idea.

"And of course you must be called something," continued the magistrate.

"Well, then," said the prisoner, "if I'm not the Man in the Moon I must be the Man out of the Moon; so call me that."

"Very good," replied the judge; "now, then, where did you come from?"

"The moon."

"Oh, you did, eh? How did you get here?"

"I slid down a moonbeam."

"Indeed! Well, what were you running for?"

"A woman gave me some cold pease porridge, and it burned my mouth."

The magistrate looked at him a moment in surprise, and then he said,

"This person is evidently crazy; so take him to the lunatic asylum and keep him there."

This would surely have been the fate of the Man had there not been present an old astronomer who had often looked at the moon through his telescope, and so had discovered that what was hot on earth was cold in the moon, and what was cold here was hot there; so he began to think the Man had told the truth. Therefore he begged the magistrate to wait a few minutes while he looked through his telescope to see if the Man in the Moon was there. So, as it was now night, he fetched his telescope and looked at the Moon,—and found there was no man in it at all!

"It seems to be true," said the astronomer, "that the Man has got out of the Moon somehow or other. Let me look at your mouth, sir, and see if it is really burned."

Then the Man opened his mouth, and everyone saw plainly it was burned to a blister! Thereupon the magistrate begged his pardon for doubting his word, and asked him what he would like to do next.

"I'd like to get back to the Moon," said the Man, "for I don't like this earth of yours at all. The nights are too hot."

"Why, it's quite cool this evening!" said the magistrate.

"I'll tell you what we can do," remarked the astronomer; "there's a big balloon in town which belongs to the circus that came here last summer, and was pawned for a board bill. We can inflate this balloon and send the Man out of the Moon home in it."

"That's a good idea," replied the judge. So the balloon was brought and inflated, and the Man got into the basket and gave the word to let go, and then the balloon mounted up into the sky in the direction of the moon.

The good people of Norwich stood on the earth and tipped back their heads, and watched the balloon go higher and higher, until finally the Man reached out and caught hold of the edge of the moon, and behold! the next minute he was the Man in the Moon again!

After this adventure he was well contented to stay at home; and I've no doubt if you look through a telescope you will see him there to this day.

THE FORGETFUL POET

  

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 7, 1920.

Puzzle Corner

Last week’s answers were: Frost, snow, flakes, chrysanthemum and ice.

ODDS AND ENDS

I heard a pin drop
With a noise like thunder—
A pin? Yes a -----?
Pshaw—no wonder!

Will you tell me why a clock
Is like a working man?
Why a clock should join a union,
That is, tell me if you can!

One on the links and
One on the table?
Read me this riddle, dears—
If you are able?

Why should a wave have a foot?

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2017 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.