By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Ojo in Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.
Author of Ojo in Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 12, 1920
“Why should I not visit the small two leg?” rumbled Oliver Elephant thoughtfully. “No harm can come to a great fellow like me!” Although he had been warned to keep out of the paths of men always and though men seldom came to the jungle, since his experience with the hidden cave and the little prince everyday jungle life seemed very tame to the big elephant.
Many, many, many years before, a certain prince of India had constructed an underground pathway from his palace to the heart of the jungle and there in a deep cave he had hidden half of his treasure. The prince had long since died, and as no one knew of the secret treasure room the gold lay untouched. Oliver Elephant had come upon the ring that opened the door while grubbing in a pile of dead leaves and had fallen in. Thumping with his trunk on the walls, he had touched another door and gotten out. Later he had taken to the cave with a little native boy who had been chased by Ganda the tiger and this time Oliver Elephant found the door that led back to the prince’s palace, and there he had discovered that the little boy he had rescued was a small prince, in truth the great-great-grandson of the builder of the secret hiding place. Oliver Elephant had escaped before the servants in the garden could capture him, but he had taken a sudden fancy to his small comrade. In fact, he could think of nothing else, even the mysterious underground chamber did not interest him so much as the small brown little boy whom he had carried through the strange passage. He knew nothing of the value of the gems that filled the cave and only thought of it as a safe retreat in time of danger.
So on this morning I started to tell you about, Oliver Elephant set out for the palace of his little chum. It was a long and roundabout way through the jungle, but an elephant can travel as fast as an express train, and it was still early in the day when Oliver Elephant reached the walled garden. Peering through the gates, he saw the little prince and his nurse seated on a stone bench near the wall. Noiselessly Oliver stole to that part of the wall, raised himself on his hind legs and, reaching down with his trunk, lifted the little prince over before the nurse even turned. Holding him high in his trunk, Oliver ran with all his might back to the jungle and the little fellow never even screamed.
“It is the great gray one,” he whispered breathlessly. When Oliver had gone far enough to keep the palace servants from discovering them, he set the little prince down and trumpeted softly his delight at seeing him again.
“We shall have a holiday, little brother,” said Oliver Elephant. And though Mahanali (which is the little prince’s name) did not understand the elephant’s talk, he clapped his hands, and when Oliver set him in a low tree, laughed with delight. Then Oliver Elephant took him to a hidden pool and swam round with the boy on his back. He showed him the homes of many of the jungle creatures and gave him some of the good jungle berries to eat. When he was thirsty Oliver Elephant opened a coconut and the little prince drank the sweet milk. More and more they began to understand each other and invented a language all their own. But when the shadows began to lengthen, the big elephant set the little boy on his back and started on a run for the palace. As they neared the garden gates a great wailing came to them. The prince, according to the nurse, had been taken by an evil spirit and all the servants beat their chests and mourned. The men servants were searching in the bush and the prince’s father had ridden to the nearest town for help.
Quietly the big elephant slipped around to a deserted part of the garden and gently set the little prince on top of the wall. Then waving his big ears Oliver slowly backed into the shadows, and when he was quite out of sight the little prince called to his people.
“I have been with the gray elephant,” he shouted merrily, “and we have had a wonderful adventure together.”
“But if he hadn’t brought you back,” gasped the little prince’s mother, hugging him close and scarcely crediting what she heard. “Your father must kill the bold beast!” The little prince drew himself up stiffly.
“What does a woman know of such matters? I forbid it!” he announced proudly. The servants chuckled at the little fellow’s spirit and when the prince heard the story he gave word that the elephant was to be unmolested. “For he has done us a great service. But mind you watch the boy and see that he is not carried off again!” he commanded and glared so sternly at the nurse that she shook in her shoes. After that the prince was never left alone and a sharp outlook was kept for Oliver Elephant, for, however friendly he seemed, “an elephant,” said the old wise man of the court, “is no proper playmate for a prince.” The little prince, however, had other ideas. “We shall see,” he whispered when the words of the wise man were repeated to him. “We shall see!” And so we shall if my pen carries me back to the wild jungle.
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, August 4, 1918
Supposyville Doings
One day Supposy’s King, my dears,
Sat down with pen and specs and shears
Beneath the castle elm; piled by
Were books and books stacked up sky-high.
“One for each one,” he murmured low,
“But first I’ve got to fix ’em so
They’ll cause no trouble.” Now he blew
A whistle; out ran pages two.
“Here, Trip, you hand these books to me
One at a time, and Skip shall be
Upon the other side to take ’em,
And don’t you drop or bend or break ’em!”
Whatever are they, ducks and dears,
And why the pen and why the shears?
“Supposy folks must learn to spell
And not all upside down pellmell!”
He murmured, settling on his nose
His huge horn specs. “Though each one knows
The letters in the alphabet,
They’re almost certain to forget
To use enough in every word,
And shocking blunders have occurred!”
And so the good old monarch hurries
To fix ’em up with dictionaries.
Names in each one he writes with care,
In letters large and firm and square.
Even the babies in long clothes
Are not forgotten. “Each one grows
So fast, before I scarce can wink
He’s old enough to spill my ink!”
The good King chuckled, and just then
Upset the ink and dropped his pen.
“Ho, ho!” the pages roared with glee,
But not so loud nor long as he.
“I’m growing younger every year;
I’ll be an infant soon, I fear!”
He laughed, then set to work again,
And all the morning plied his pen
Till every name was written. “Trip,
Hand me the shears and now I’ll clip
The sad words out and all the long ones,
And only leave the short and strong ones!”
Yes, there he sat, sweethearts, and cut
Out every single “can’t” and “but,”
And all the sad “good-bys” and “tears,”
And hundreds more, my ducks and dears,
For in Supposy dictionaries
He wants no tears or sighs or worries.
And when he’s done the pages sweep
The bad and sad words in a heap,
And burn them there upon the spot;
And oooh! that fire was awful hot.
But wasn’t that a splendid thing,
And don’t you love that dear old King?
(I do!)
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