MARVELOUS TRAVELS ON A WISH, Part Three

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Yellow Knight of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink", "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, August 6 and 13, 1916.

[Ruth Plumly Thompson's Marvelous Travels on a Wish was serialized in the Philadelphia Public Ledger for thirteen Sundays in 1916, the longest of Thompson's serials to appear on the Ledger's "For Boys and Girls" page. A heavily abridged version was later published in Thompson's 1929 anthology The Wonder Book. Hungry Tiger Press is proud to present this little-known fantasy in six installments. Typographical errors have been corrected and paragraph divisions have been brought into line with standard usage.]


Synopsis, or What Happened Before

Berens, a little boy who is tired of his home, wishes himself Somewhere Else. He and his little dog, Rags, are bitten by the Dissatisfied Bug, who whirls them through the clouds and aboard a wish, which is somewhat like a trolley car. The wish is full of dissatisfied folks, also bound for Somewhere Else. There are an elephant, a donkey, a farmer's boy, a horse, a little old lady, a little old gentleman, a red-headed little girl, a serving maid and a poet on board. Just as Berens had managed to get a seat a terrible-looking creature came to collect the fares.

It was Envy, the conductor of the wish, and each passenger stole something from his neighbor to pay Envy his fare. Stuffing the articles into his hat, Envy retires, announcing that the next station will be TALKTOWN. As the wish rushes on its way Berens and Sarah Ann, the little red-headed girl, become great friends. Sarah Ann explains that she is going to be a beautiful little girl without freckles when she arrives Somewhere Else.

Talktown is a frightful place. The members of the party have some narrow escapes, and Rags and Berens are buried under a falling house.

Here they meet the "I'm a goin' tos" - who are always "going to do" great things. Aboard the wish once more, the passengers all tell what they are going to be when they reach "Somewhere Else."


____________

"Sic him, Rags," whispered Berens, and Rags bounded over and nipped the elephant sharply on the ear. The elephant sleepily opened one eye. "Are you going Somewhere Else?" asked Berens languidly.

"It seems to be the thing to do since he's (waving his trunk in the donkey's direction) been running things."

"What are you going to be when you get Somewhere Else?" asked Sarah Ann curiously.

"Same thing," said the elephant with a yawn. "Can't think of anything better, can you?"

"Well, no," replied Sarah Ann thoughtfully. "But what's the use of going Somewhere Else if you're going to be the same thing?"

"Well, I've decided to discover something new," said the elephant impressively. "Something terribly new, a platform or a tribe or something like that, you know. And one must always go Somewhere Else to discover - " Here the voice of the elephant became very indistinct and the rest of his sentence was swallowed in another terrible yawn.

"He's asleep again," exclaimed Berens in disgust.

"What do you suppose the donkey's doing?" whispered Sarah Ann suddenly.

Berens looked across and saw the donkey leaning far out of the wish window, his ears flapping briskly in the breeze.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

Without turning around, the donkey twitched his ears and remarked in a low tone, "Watching."

"What for?" said Berens, trying to scramble up beside him.

"And waiting," continued the donkey in the same low tone.

"What for?" asked Sarah Ann, coming hurriedly across the wish.

"I object to the question," said the donkey gravely. "Don't you know that if you watch and wait long enough something is bound to happen?"

"A watched pot never boils," grumbled the elephant sleepily.

"Don't mind him," said the donkey. "Do you care for thistles?" he asked, turning around to gaze at the two children.

"Thistles!!!" gasped Berens and Sarah Ann.

"What do you take us for?" growled Rags.

"Well, thistle do then!" growled the donkey, and continued to stare out of the window.

"You're very rude," said Sarah Ann severely.

"Oh, by the way," called the donkey, glancing over his shoulder, "I'm going Somewhere Else, too. I'm going to be a Bull Moose."

"You're not big enough," snorted the horse, but the donkey pretended not to hear this (which was perhaps the best.)

"Now with me," remarked the Horse in a confidential tone to Berens, "it is different. You see it is a matter of pulling. I'm going Somewhere Else so that I can ride a while, instead of pulling other people."

"That'll be nice," answered Berens absently.

"Why, you never told us what you were going to be when you got Somewhere Else," burst out Sarah Ann.

"That's so," said the Horse, putting his ears forward curiously.

"What are you going to be? What are you going to be?" shouted the Serving Maid, the Poet, the Little Old Gentleman - all of them, in fact, except the Elephant, who was asleep, and the Donkey, who was watching and waiting.

"Why, I - " began Berens.

But here the Dissatisfied Bug banged open the door at one end of the wish and Envy the door at the other. Both rushed in, collided violently in the centre, and fell in a tangled heap to the floor. At the same moment the wish stopped with a jolt. The Dissatisfied Bug was the first to recover. Gravely it separated its arms from its legs.

"State of Discontentment, State of Discontentment!!!" it bawled loudly, and then politely helped N. V. to its claws, and arm in fin they minuetted down the middle of the wish and jumped off together.

"Guess we might as well look around a bit," said the Poet, and stepped stiffly after them.

"Come on," cried Berens. "Come on."

Helter skelter rushed all the passengers from the wish to see what the strange State of Discontentment would be like.

With Rags tucked under one arm, Berens looked curiously around him. The wish had come to a stop at the top of a high hill. In the valley below they could see a little brown village; beyond that a great many mountains.

"I hope it's not going to be like Talktown," said Berens.

"Great shining bones, I hope not," breathed Rags fervently. "It looks kind of boggy to me," he added, wiggling his nose dubiously.

"There seem to be a good many mountains," said Berens, shading his eyes.

"And bridges," said Rags.

"And people," said Berens. "I wonder what ever is going to happen to us here?"

"Nothing," wheezed a disagreeable voice in Berens' ear. "At least, nothing pleasant."

Swinging around, Berens saw a blue person - oh, a terribly blue person, and, as he had never seen a blue person before, he stared at him in astonishment. (So would you have.)

"Nothing pleasant ever happens here," continued the Blue Person in a gloomy tone. "Now if I just had - "

"Why," cried Berens, rudely interrupting him, "what in the world have all those people down there got their umbrellas up for? It isn't raining."

It certainly was surprising to see hundreds and hundreds of people, with umbrellas up, rushing to and fro in the bright sunlight.

"Why, everybody has an umbrella up," added Berens excitedly.

"Would you like to borrow one?" asked the Blue Person, rolling his sad eyes at Berens.

"But it"s not raining," persisted Berens.

" 'Course it is not raining," grumbled the Blue Person. "Of all stupid people! Don't you know that if we didn't put up our umbrellas we'd see the sun?" The Blue Person looked so fierce as he said this that Berens was afraid to say anything, and hastily took the umbrella that was held out to him.

"I shan't put it up, though," he whispered to Rags.

The Blue Person in the meanwhile opened his umbrella and sank down upon a rock. "Oh, dear," he groaned loudly. "Oh my!!! Oh, oh, oh!" Each Oh! got louder and louder.

Berens looked uneasily at Rags, and Rags looked uneasily at Berens. "Is there anything the matter?" ventured Berens at last.

"Everything's the matter," groaned the Blue Person in a hollow voice. "Oh, oh, oh, my! Oh, dear! Oh, my head; oh, my heart!"

Berens was so interested in the singular behavior of the Blue Person that he had not noticed a strange-looking party who had come up behind him. Now the creature (I simply must call him a creature) strode forward and laid his hand heavily upon the Blue Person's shoulder.

"Things are going to be a great deal worse than they are now, my dear fellow!" he croaked dismally.

"Oh! Oh! I knew it!" moaned the Blue Person, mopping his eyes with his handkerchief. "I knew it!!" Then, choking down a sob, he rose unsteadily "I want you to meet my friend, the Glooms," said he to Berens.

"Pleased to meet you," muttered Berens awkwardly, which was hardly the truth, for the Glooms was a creature hideous in the extreme, being of a sad-green, bluish-yellowy color and of a terribly lumpish figure. Just as Berens was trying to decide whether it was a man or a thing, the Blue Person sighed heavily, and, taking the Glooms by the arm, went off. Berens could tell by the way the umbrella shook that he was weeping violently.

"There goes Sarah Ann!" cried Rags, perking up his ears. "Some one has loaned her an umbrella, too."

Sure enough it was Sarah Ann. With the umbrella held stiffly over her head, she was crossing a meadow quite a little distance below.

"Yoo-oo, Sarah!!" screamed Berens, dashing down the hill. "Yo-ooo, Sarah!"

Bumpppp - a little old man with his umbrella held down over his face had run forcibly into Berens, knocking him head over heels.

"Look where you"re going, can't you," growled the little old gentleman irritably.

"Look where YOU'RE going," replied Berens hotly, picking up himself and his borrowed umbrella.

The little old man carefully stuck his umbrella point in the ground, and, thrusting both hands into his pockets, sternly confronted Berens. "What brought you here?" he demanded at last.

"A wish," said Berens, thinking it better to answer at once. Besides , there was something about the old gentleman's nose that was positively fascinating. Between you and me, it was decidedly out of joint.

"Oh!" responded the old gentleman, rubbing his queer nose, "then you're only passing through the State of Discontentment? I'm rather glad of that, because - "

"So are we," snapped Rags pertly. "Come on," he growled in an undertone to Berens. "This old party gives me a pain in my tail."

" - you might want to put your finger in my pie," finished the old gentleman anxiously.

"Have you got a pie?" asked Berens eagerly. "I love pie!!!"

"What!!!" cried the old gentleman in alarm, and, snatching his umbrella, he ran off at top speed.

"Well, of all the queer people!" said Berens, gazing after him.

When he went to look for Sarah Ann, she had disappeared from view. There were any number of blue people running about, jostling and pushing each other disgracefully. Some not only had umbrellas but dark glasses as well. They all were muttering something under their breath. It sounded like this: "If I had a hadda had - if I had a hadda."

Suddenly, without knowing why, he began to feel very cross. "I believe Sarah Ann heard me and just pretended she didn't and I believe they all ran away and left me on purpose," said he sulkily to Rags.

"Stop!" barked Rags in alarm. "You're turning blue." And, my dears, he really was, you know.

"I'll put up my umbrella," he remarked to himself. "This sun hurts my eyes." And straightway he put up his huge umbrella, whereat he looked bluer and felt crosser than ever. Soon he began bumping and jostling every one he met in the rudest manner imaginable.

Rags trotted sadly behind, with his tail and ears drooping forlornly. It all comes of divisions," he muttered over and over to himself.

By now they had come to the dingy little village.

"The houses look just like snuff boxes!" grumbled Berens crossly.

Before a particularly snuff-boxy one he paused and looked over the gate. A very blue old lady was rocking to and fro in the front yard, knitting with two terribly fierce-looking needles - knitting and grumbling and rocking, and knitting and grumbling and rocking, and (you keep this up as long as you care to, as the old lady is probably at it yet).

"Did a little girl with red hair go past here?" called Berens, after watching her for a while in silence, while Rags put up his ears inquiringly.

"Bright red hair?" asked the old lady, without looking up.

"Yes," said Berens, "bright red. It is bright, isn't it?" appealing to Rags.

"Sure!" said Rags, with his tongue out.

Then I didn't see her," said the little old lady triumphantly; "I never see anything bright!"

"Oh, dear!" sighed Berens, shifting the umbrella, which had grown uncommonly heavy, to the other hand, "are you sure?"

But the old lady went on knitting and rocking and grumbling, and grumbling and rocking and knitting, and grumbling and rock -

Right in the middle of this rock a shutter in the second story of the snuff box flew open, and a little fat man stuck out his head, for all the world like the bird in a cuckoo clock. "Are you going to the meeting?" he piped shrilly.

He did look so comical that Berens laughed in spite of himself, and immediately his umbrella jerked out of his hand and went hopping off down the street.

"I'm glad it is gone!" cried Berens.

And so am I, my dears, for as soon as the umbrella turned the corner, which it did with a skip and a hop, Berens stopped looking blue and feeling cross.

"I say, are you going to the meeting?" shrilled the little man again. "Wait. I"ll come down," he added, pulling the shutter to with a bang before Berens had time to answer.

From the racket within, he evidently came down on his head. In a moment he rushed out the front door, pulling his coat on as he came.

"You must be a Hadder!" he exclaimed hurriedly. "My dear sir, you simply must!" and linking his arm confidentially through Berens, he started off with him down the street. Berens felt so important at being called "My dear sir" that he made no objections.

"Perhaps you are a Hadder?" the little man was saying now.

"I don't think so," said Berens cautiously. "But then, I should like to be."

"How about the dog?" asked the little man, jerking his head in the direction of Rags.

"Oh, he'd like to be one, too!" said Rags quickly.

"Well, it's really very simple," explained the little man. "You just keep thinking of the things you might have had - see? For instance, if I hadder had a king for a father I might have been a king, and if I hadder had a lot of money I might have been a millionaire - "

"Oh!" said Berens, "that is easy. Why, if I had have had another chance I might have been the pitcher on the team; if I had - "

"That's it! That's it!" exclaimed the little fellow, clapping Berens enthusiastically upon the shoulder. "You're coming along finely!"

"If I hadder had a bone before I left, I wouldn't have been so hungry now," put in Rags sadly.

"Here we are!" said the little man suddenly, and stopped before a tall, gloomy building. Over the door hung a dark blue sign, which read "INDEPENDENT ORDER OF HADDERS." Crowds and crowds of blue men and women were putting down their umbrellas and hurrying up the steps. The little man had soon ushered Berens and Rags into the building. It looked quite like any other public hall that you have seen; at least, any hall that is particularly dusty and musty and dim.

The three found seats in the front, and Berens waited patiently for the meeting to start. No sooner were the company seated before each one pulled out his handkerchief and began to weep bitterly, rocking to and fro and groaning terribly. This surprised Berens not a little.

"You're expected to join in the exercises," said the little man, touching him upon the arm, at the same time thrusting a handkerchief into his hand.

So Berens hastily covered his face with the handkerchief, groaning "Oh! oh! oh!" every once in a while - but all the time peeking curiously out of the corner to see just how long this particular exercise would last.

Rags had his paw over his eye, and Berens could hear him grumbling "Nonsense! Utter nonsense!" (which was probably true).

At last, after the Hadders had wept until their noses were as red as their faces were blue, the young lady next to Berens left her seat and slowly mounted the platform.

"If I hadder had curly hair," she moaned quite distinctly, "I'd have married the Prince and lived happily ever afterward. Oh! oh! oh!"

"Oh! oh! oh!",groaned the Hadders in concert.

"My hair's curly," said Rags in an undertone to Berens, "but I never found that it did me much good."

Now another Hadder had the floor. He held a large piece of canvas in one hand and a paint brush in the other. "If I hadder had lessons in art, this here canvas would have been a m - masterpiece!" he sobbed bitterly. "Oh! oh! oh!"

"Oh! oh! oh!" sobbed the audience, wringing its hands.

Now a thin, angular woman went up on the platform. Waving a long piece of paper over her head, she cried, "Oh, if I hadder just had a vote I'd have been President! Oh! oh! oh!"

So the meeting went on. Berens tried to listen politely to all the Hadder speeches, but the hall was very warm and he soon found himself dozing off between sobs.

Rags hadn't even pretended to be interested. "Dry as dog biscuits!" he growled, and promptly went to sleep.

A dull roaring awakened Berens at last. He jumped to his feet in alarm, only to find that the roaring was nothing more or less than singing. The Hadders were all standing up, bawling in tearful voices - and in a few moments Berens made out the words of the song:

"OH! OH! OH!
If we hadder hadder!
If we hadder hadder!
If we hadder hadder good chance!
We'd have done many things,
Have been statesmen or kings -
That we ain't you can see at a glance!
OH! OH! OH!"


Read the rest of the story in
THE WISH EXPRESS
by Ruth Plumly Thompson



(To be continued.)

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 15, 1917

Puzzles

The answers to last week's patriotic flag puzzles were Spain, Holland, Switzerland, Norway and Sweden.

The Forgetful Poet sends you a little verse, which, he says, may be completed by two vegetables.

More Haste Less Speed

As I turned the ___er the other day
I bumped into a huckster's cart,
And over on the pavement all
The peaches, plums and apples start!

To a___ the man I had to buy
The broken ones; next time I'll make
Less haste than speed, for often we
More things besides the record break!

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2004 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

MARVELOUS TRAVELS ON A WISH, Part Two

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Lost King of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink", "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 23 and 30, 1916.

[Ruth Plumly Thompson's Marvelous Travels on a Wish was serialized in the Philadelphia Public Ledger for thirteen Sundays in 1916, the longest of Thompson's serials to appear on the Ledger's "For Boys and Girls" page. A heavily abridged version was later published in Thompson's 1929 anthology The Wonder Book. Hungry Tiger Press is proud to present this little-known fantasy in six installments. Typographical errors have been corrected and paragraph divisions have been brought into line with standard usage.]


Synopsis, or What Happened Before

Berens, a little boy who is tired of his home, wishes himself Somewhere Else. He and his little dog, Rags, are bitten by the Dissatisfied Bug, who whirls them through the clouds and aboard a wish, which is somewhat like a trolley car. The wish is full of dissatisfied folks, also bound for Somewhere Else. There is an elephant, a donkey, a farmer's boy, a horse, a little old lady, a little old gentleman, a red-headed little girl, a serving maid and a poet on board. Just as Berens had managed to get a seat a terrible-looking creature came to collect the fares.

It was Envy, the conductor of the Wish, and each passenger stole something from the neighbor to pay Envy his fare. Stuffing the articles into his hat, Envy retires, announcing that the next station will be TALKTOWN. As the Wish rushes on its way Berens and Sarah Ann, the little red-headed girl become great friends. Sarah Ann explains that she is going to be a beautiful little girl without freckles when she arrives Somewhere Else.


____________

Berens and Sarah Ann exchanged disgusted glances, then both turned their backs upon the old lady and looked out of the window. The wish was rushing through a strange, gray country so misty and dim that the children could distinguish nothing but a confused blur.

"Dear, dear!" murmured the little old lady. "What's the matter with them? Have a mint?" she asked at last.

Berens and Sarah Ann immediately turned around. The old lady fumbled in her bag and handed each one of them a peppermint. (I don't think they said thank you, but I'm not positive.) Sarah Ann crunched hers in silence, but Berens, who had been curiously looking at the old lady, now rolled his conveniently into his cheek. "You must be very old!" he shouted loudly.

"Old?" cried the old lady, bridling angrily.

"He means pretty old," shouted Sarah Ann hastily, at the same time giving Berens a little kick.

"No," said the old lady, sighing deeply, "he means very old, and I am very old," she added slowly. "But when I'm Somewhere Else" - here she brightened up and her eyes began to dance and snap - "when I'm Somewhere Else I'm going to be young and charming again.'

"What?" exploded Sarah Ann, choking on the last of her peppermint. Hastily she climbed upon her knees, and putting her lips close to the old lady"s ear, called anxiously, "Why, surely you don't want to be a little girl again. You'll have to go to bed at 8, you know?"

"And get up at 7," shouted Berens in her other ear.

"And run all the errands," shrilled Sarah Ann.

"And have your neck washed," shrieked Berens.

"And dust the parlor," warned Sarah Ann.

"And do divisions!" roared Berens, "and - "

"What's all the rumpus?" wheezed the elephant, opening one eye.

"She wants to be young again," explained Berens.

"Nonsense!" cried the elephant, waving his trunk. "I'd rather be an old party any day!" Feeling, no doubt, that this settled the matter, he went off to sleep again.

"I don't want to be a little girl," chirped the old lady as soon as she could make herself heard. "I want to be a young girl just about 18," she finished with a nod of her white head.

Berens and Sarah Ann had ceased to pay attention by this time, though. "Just think!" Sarah Ann was saying in a low tone, "she can stay up as long as she pleases and have two helps of pie and - "

"Listen!" cried Berens suddenly. There was no need to listen. The air was full of a hideous noise like the roar of a hundred sawmills.

"My ears!" shrieked the donkey, hastily covering them with his hoofs. Every one covered his ears except the elephant. His were too large to cover.

"TALKTOWN! TALKTOWN!" bawled N. V., thrusting his hog's head through the door. "All get out," he commanded, waving his fins impatiently.

At this all of the passengers jumped to their feet or their hoofs as the case might be and hurried from the wish.

Rags had awakened at the terrible confusion and he and Berens had run out after the rest of the party. The noise grew steadily worse. The wish had stopped on the corner of what appeared to be an everyday sort of a city. With his fingers in his ears Berens looked curiously round. It was dusty and dirty, the houses were tumbling and crumbling to bits, the streets were full of rubbish and the gardens overgrown with weeds. More people than he had ever before seen in his life were standing about on the corners - all of them shouting at the top of their voices.

"Great cat tails!" exclaimed Rags, his ears laid flat against his head; "what in dog biscuits is the matter with 'em?"

While Berens had been looking around, Sarah Ann and all the rest of the wishers had disappeared.

"We're lost!" cried Berens in dismay and started on a run down one of the crooked little streets, Rags at his heels.

The noise was so confusing that it fairly made one's head spin, and the first thing you know Berens had stumbled over a little girl and rolled her into the gutter. He took his fingers from his ears and quickly picked her up. The child, paying no attention to the accident, went on playing with a little black pig - (the streets were full of children and pigs).

"Why, she hasn't any dress on!" shouted Berenes to Rags in a surprised shout. (This was perfectly true.)

A window just above opened at this and a frowsy woman stuck out her head. "I'm a-going to make Mary a blue dress with green buttons!" she called shrilly.

"I'm a-going to make Sally a yellow dress with a pink sash!" screamed another woman.

Now windows all along the row were thrown up. "I'm a-going to - pink! green! red buttons - going to - red sash - " All of the women were shouting at once, and Berens could make nothing of it. Berens noticed now that none of the children had dresses. They played on unconcernedly, not appearing to notice the racket their mothers were making overhead. "White blouse - pink - going to - " and dear knows what not besides came clattering down to Berens' ears.

"Whew!" he whistled, covering his ears. "Why don't you do it then?" And he and Rags took to their heels. At the corner of the street a great crowd had gathered round a man who stood waving his arms from a barrel-top and shouting even louder than the women that Berens had just left.

Just as the two reached the corner and Berens uncovered his ears to hear what the old fellow might have to shout, the barrel collapsed and swallowed up the orator. To Berens' amazement, he did not even pause to get his breath. "I'm a-going to write a - " came in a loud voice from the broken barrel staves.

Waiting to hear no more, Berens hurried on, hoping to catch up with Sarah Ann or even with the cross old lady. He had run only a few steps when a think little man bounced out of a tumbledown house and seized him by the coat button.

"See this house?" shouted the little creature in his ear, "well, I'm going to get a load of bricks and I'm a going to bring the load of bricks up to this door (with a wave of his hand) and then I'm going to build new foundations and after that I'm a going - "

"Look out! Look out!" barked Rags in alarm. But he was too late.

The house collapsed, falling forward with a crash and burying the three of them under a mass of rotten timbers and crumbling bricks. Fortunately, it was so very old that none of them was hurt, and Berens after some difficulty managed to crawl out.

"Rags! Rags!" he called anxiously. "Where are you?"

"Here!" came a muffled voice from under a huge pile of the stuff. Sticks and bricks and bits of plaster were spurting into the air as Rags vigorously dug with his front paws and kicked with his hind legs. "House about one's ears! Nonsense! Outrage!" Berens could hear him sputter. At last Rags had excavated himself and with an indignant shake growled crossly, "Is this what you call bringing down the house?"

"I'm sure I don't know!" said Berens.

Just then there was a stir from beneath the roof of the house which had fallen into the middle of the street. Out through the chimney popped the head of the little man. " - and after I get that done I'm a going to - "

"Help!" cried Berens, and ran off as fast as his legs would carry him.

The streets of Talktown seemed to go round and round and round. "Why, we'll never get anywhere!" cried Berens at last.

It was impossible to stop, however, for the streets were full of the rudest people, who pushed and jostled them along whether they wanted to go or not.

"I'm a going to make a statue, and there ain't never going to be another statue like this here statue I'm a-going to make!" bawled a great lump of a man, seizing Berens by the coat tails.

"Let go!" snapped Berens, jerking himself away.

But everywhere wild-looking individuals stopped him and shouted in his ear, "I'm a going to do this" and "I'm a going to do that."

"Well, I wish they would do it, then!" thought Berens wearily. "What's the use of all this noise?"

At last the two, hot and tired, were hustled into a large square. There did not seem to be as much shouting here, or perhaps they had grown more accustomed to it. From a platform in the centre a large man in an evening coat was booming in a thundering voice, "PEACE! PEACE! PEACE!"

"Piece of what?" growled Rags irritably. "Here's some more of this nonsensical division." (Rags had been stepped on more than once in the last few minutes and it had not improved his temper any.)

"Why, there's the donkey!" said Berens suddenly, and sure enough, on the edge of the crowd, stood the donkey waving his tail and cheering loudly.

"PEACE! PEACE! PEACE!" shouted the large man incessantly.

"And there's the elephant," continued Beren in an interested tone.

Here the elephant pushed the donkey rudely aside. "Nonsense!" he bawled through his trunk. "Nonsense!"

"PEACE! PEACE! PEACE!" thundered the speaker, paying no attention to the elephant.

"I tell you it's nonsense!" trumpeted the elephant angrily, and plunging his trunk into a nearby mud puddle, showered the speaker with the muddy water. (Which was very ill-bred, I think.)

"PEACE! PEACE! PEACE!" insisted the big man, with the water trickling down his nose.

"I'm a going to do this and I'm a going to do that," shouted the people in the crowd.

"Oh, dear!" signed Berens. "This is the stupidest meeting I - "

"Run, run for your life!" called a hoarse voice in his hear, and Berens, turning round, caught a glimpse of his friend the horse galloping by like a whirlwind.

Seizing Rags he dashed after it. The racket behind them was frightful. Crash after crash came splintering through the air. People were running and tumbling, but above all the confusion he could still hear the voice of the big man calling, "PEACE! PEACE! PEACE!"

When he had run about so far - and how far so far is you will have to guess - he looked anxiously over his shoulder.

"Whew!" whistled Berens, and ran faster than ever.

No wonder! An army of ferocious-looking men had ridden into the square and were charging into the midst of the talkers, driving them in every direction. The houses were crumpling up like so many match boxes - and between you and me it is no wonder, for all the houses in Talktown are built of words.

"I'm a going to - going to, I'm a - " shouted the inhabitants of this remarkable city, even as they fled.

Now the elephant went thundering past Berens in a cloud of dust.

"Just what I expected! Just what I expected!" he was grumbling to himself.

Behind him panted the little old lady with her umbrella up. "Oh, my rheumatism! Oh, my dyspepsia!"

Berens himself ran faster and faster; as for Rags, he ran along like a rabbit chased by a fox. Just as Berens felt that he could not run another step he spied the wish. With a sigh of relief, he climbed aboard. Soon all the other passengers came panting along and sank heavily into their seats, fanning themselves with their hats or their ears or their tails or with whatever else happened to be handy.

The Dissatisfied Bug and N. V. were sitting upon the floor of the wish quarreling over the fares. The Dissatisfied Bug, triumphantly jerking the red necktie away from N. V., now jumped to its seventeen feet and hastily began shaking hands with everybody at once. (It had 19 arms, you will remember.)

"Glad to see you back! Hope you had a pleasant time!" it murmured politely.

"Pleasant time!" rumbled the elephant wrathfully.

"Pleasant time!" exploded the little old man.

"Pleasant time!" screamed all of the passengers together, while the horse nearly choked with indignation.

"Well, don't blame me!" exclaimed the Dissatisfied Bug, waving its arms apologetically. "You all want to go Somewhere Else, and you've got to go through Talktown to get there, and the only way to get through is to stop, you know!"

"Aren't we nearly Somewhere Else?" asked Sarah Ann despondently. (She was very anxious to be Florabell Elizabeth.)

"Lies just on the other side of the State!" said the Bug, and pulling on its 19 serviceable cotton gloves, it hurried out on the platform. In less time than it takes to tell the wish was under way again.

Sarah Ann and Berens found themselves seated on either side of the horse. "I had a perfectly awful time!" confided Sarah Ann to Berens.

"I'm a goin' to! I'm a goin' to!" sniffed Rags, settling himself with a flounce in Berens' lap.

"But never mind!" continued Sarah Ann, "we'll soon be Somewhere Else and then - and THEN!" she clapped her hands gleefully.

"Then," shouted the serving maid, bouncing out of her seat, "then I'll be a real lady! No more 'Yes, sirs,' and 'Yes, ma'ams' for me! No more getting up at 5 - Oh! Oh! won't it be fine?"

"Isn't she silly?" whispered Sarah Ann to Berens as the serving maid flopped giggling into her place again.

"Then I'll be a millionaire!" shouted the farmer's boy, waving his rake hilariously - "a real swell 'un, too!" with a wink at Sarah Ann.

"Silence!" thundered the little man in the top hat. Now he leaned impressively across the wish and tapped Berens on the knee with his cane. "I don't mind telling you that I'm going to be KING when I get Somewhere Else," he announced grandly.

"King!" gasped Berens and Sarah Ann in amazement.


Read the rest of the story in
THE WISH EXPRESS
by Ruth Plumly Thompson


(To be continued.)

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 8, 1917

Patriotic Puzzles



Some of the flags colored by you boys and girls were real works of art and Mr. G. Ography was so delighted he decided to have another flag puzzle. Here are the flags of five neutral nations. Put in the names, color them correctly and mail to Mr. G. Ography. There will be ten prizes for the ten best-looking and correct answers. As the times are so rapid nowadays, I just want to say that these five countries are neutral on the date this puzzle was written, June 18.

The answers to last week's puzzles were:
"Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable!" --Daniel Webster.
"I have not yet begun to fight!" --John Paul Jones.
"Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute!" --Charles C. Pinkney.
"I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country!" --Nathan Hale.
"Don't give up the ship!" --Captain Lawrence.

[Answers next time. Please don't send entries. This is a historical presentation of the writing of Ruth Plumly Thompson. No prizes will be given.]

Copyright © 2004 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

MARVELOUS TRAVELS ON A WISH, Part One

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Gnome King of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink", "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 9 and 16, 1916.

[Ruth Plumly Thompson's Marvelous Travels on a Wish was serialized in the Philadelphia Public Ledger for thirteen Sundays in 1916, the longest of Thompson's serials to appear on the Ledger's "For Boys and Girls" page. A heavily abridged version was later published in Thompson's 1929 anthology The Wonder Book. Hungry Tiger Press is proud to present this little-known fantasy as the next six Tiger Tales. Typographical errors have been corrected and paragraph divisions have been brought into line with standard usage.]


"Goes five times and three to carry," muttered Berens, chewing his pencil gloomily. "Jinks! That can't be right 'cause there couldn't be a third of a man left!" For a few minutes the pencil squeaked busily - then bang! flew the lesson book into the corner so suddenly that Rags, the Skye terrier, woke with a jump. "What good are divisions?" scowled Berens, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets.

"R - uff, r - uff, r - uff," barked Rags sharply, which in plain doggish meant "No good whatever!" (what do you think about this?)

"I don't believe other little boys have as many lessons as I have," continued Berens crossly, drumming his fingers on the window pane. "Anyhow, home is a poky old place. I wish, I just wish I was SOMEWHERE ELSE and SOME ONE ELSE - I just - Oh! Oh! Ouch!" Something had bitten him sharply.

"Ki-yi-i!" yelped Rags in the same breath.

The next minute Berens was jerked into the air out of the window, up over all the chimneys and housetops. Whi-z! Whi-r! he went spinning through the sky. He tried to think, but his head might just as well have been a huckleberry pudding for all the good it was to him, only 'twas full of multiplication and division signs 'stead of huckleberries.

"Oh, where, where am I going?" he gasped in dismay as he went dipping and ducking through the clouds. "Most extrawdinree! Most extrawdinree!" exclaimed a sharp voice from somewhere just above. "But it all comes of division - I always knew no good would ever come of division. Now, why can't those stupid two-legs be satisfied with whole things? But no, they are forever dividing their apples and pies and pencils - catch me dividing my bones and biscuits!"

There was something familiar about this voice and Berens, brushing aside a cloud that had settled stuffily upon his head, peered up and caught sight of Rags sprawling though the air a few feet above him.

"Of course," Rags was saying now in a grieved voice, "being a Skye terrier I might have expected to find myself skied sooner or later and perhaps I shall get used to it in time, but I shouldn't wonder if it would take a dog age!"

For a few moments the two whizzed on in silence, Berens too surprised to speak. He had always thought Rags could talk if he wanted to, but it really took one a little while to get used to the idea of it.

"Wonder what one eats in these parts?" continued Rags at last in a depressed voice. "Gives me the sky-blues to think of it!"

"Maybe there are sky-bones," called Berens hopefully, emerging from a gray cloud and careening along beside Rags.

"What! You here?" cried Rags delightedly. "Well, thank my dog star for that!"

They surely looked comical, sweethearts, as they blew along - Rags with his legs set stiffly, his ears plastered tightly back against his head, while his hair puffed out for all the world like the petals of a huge chrysanthemum. Berens spraddled along after him like an ungainly bird.

"But what shall we do?" asked Berens breathlessly.

"Do" Jerked Rags dubiously. "Well, my mother always said, 'When in doubt wag your tail,' but I don't see how we can wag our tails with the wind blowing at this rate."

"Nonsense!" began Berens crossly, when down almost upon their heads whirled a gigantic bug - oh, a frightful, fearful - oh, a terrible bug! It had 19 arms and 17 legs. Its 19 arms ended in 19 yellow serviceable cotton gloves and its 17 legs in 17 common-sense shoes, which was extremely fortunate, for otherwise there would have been no distinguishing between its arms and legs. Jauntily upon its head perched a motorman's cap. With its twelfth cotton glove it seized Rags by the ear and with its sixteenth it grasped Berens by the hair (which was very unpleasant).

"Come on!" cried the bug, and working the rest of its arms and legs like ferryboat paddles, progressed through the air at a terrific speed. There was not much for Berens and Rags to do under the circumstances except come, and it was mighty scaresome coming at that.

"My eyelashes! My eyelashes!" wheezed the bug irritably, "we shall miss the WISH!"

"Miss the which?" snapped Rags, trying to squirm 'round and get a better view of the strange creature.

"Did you say witch?" gasped Berens in alarm.

"The question is which," croaked the bug disagreeably. "Wish or witch? As it happens, young man, I said WISH, wish, wish, WISH!"

"Oh, dear," groaned Berens in a low tone to Rags, "it's pulling my hair frightfully and I never heard of missing a wish and isn't it disagreeable?"

"My ear, on, my ear!" moaned Rags in concert. "I shall be hard of hearing after this, I know!"

Faster and faster whirred the three through the sky. At last, Berens ventured a polite question. "Please, sir," said he breathlessly, "where are we?"

"Up in the air," replied the bug shortly. After a long pause it continued. "You made a wish, didn't you? Well, a wish always goes up, doesn't it - couldn't possibly go down, you know - and people who make wishes are bound to go up in the air sooner or later and here you are. That's all! But what's the use of making a wish and then missing it? Besides, you brought me all the way from Europe where I was most exceedingly occupied," he grumbled crossly.

"Would you mind very much telling us your name?" shouted Berens, for the wind was blowing so hard that otherwise he would not have been heard.

"You might have asked me before," shouted the Bug in reply, "but one cannot expect manners from wishers!" Then, without diminishing its speed in the least, it took its second serviceable cotton glove and snatched off its cap, croaking:

"Oh, I'm a bug of great renown,
I roam the country up and down,
I'm sometimes here and sometimes there,
But pretty generally everywhere -
For I'm the Dissatisfied Bug, you see -
Dissatisfied Bug - three groans for me!"

"I bit you," he added jocularly.

"Was that YOU?" cried Berens, remembering the sharp bite he had received just before being jerked into the air.

"Oh!" groaned Rags, "you bit me, too!"

The bug paid no attention to this.

"Hello!" it exclaimed suddenly. "There she is!" and plunged at top speed into a purple cloud.

Berens and Rags sneezed violently, for the cloud was wet and clammy. When they had come through it and Berens had left off sneezing he saw a trolley car (or, at least, it looked like a trolley car) gliding swiftly along just ahead. With a mighty stretching of its arms and legs the bug caught up with the car and sprang upon the step.

"Don't crowd! Step lively! Get aboard there!" shouted the Dissatisfied Bug, dumping the two unceremoniously in through one of the windows and climbing itself upon the front platform.

Skyrockets! Skyrockets!" shrilled an excited voice.

"An outrage!" grumbled a deep bass.

"Get off my trunk, won't you?"

"Stop pushing!"

"Get off!"

"What is it?"

"Mind what you're about!" chimed in a score of other voices all together.

Berens opened his eyes dizzily, for he was being pushed and prodded in a scandalous fashion. He and Rags had fallen upon the floor of the car, pshaw, I mean WISH, and were surrounded by the strangest company he had ever seen in his life. There was an elephant feebly waving his trunk, a farmer's boy with a rake, a tired-looking horse, a little old lady in a black poke, a persimmony old gentleman in a high hat, a serious-looking donkey, a little red-headed girl, a serving maid with bobbing bonnet strings and last of all a tall, thin young man with a ferocious mop of hair. They were all pushing and jostling each other in an effort to get a better view of Berens and Rags.

"It's a skyrocket, I tell you!" shrilled the little old lady in the black poke, prodding Rags sharply with her cotton umbrella.

"Stop that!" snapped Rags, showing his teeth.

"He's not!" cried Berens indignantly. "He's a Skye terrier!"

"Sky terror?" said the little old lady, who was a bit deaf.

"SKYE TERRIER!" shouted Berens angrily.

"Hey?" said the little old lady, "sky terror. Course he's a sky terror, and that's as bad as a skyrocket - one and the same thing - sky terror and skyrocket. I - " brandishing her umbrella.

"Sit down!" said the donkey, pushing her violently into her seat so that her black bonnet fell forward and completely snuffed her out like a candle. "Skyrocket! Skyrocket!" still came in muffled tones from under the bonnet.

"Now!" drawled the donkey, pushing his way to the front, "everybody sit down." The donkey seemed to be a person of some authority, for the passengers, muttering "Outrage!" and "Imposition!" and a good bit more, that I haven't time to tell you, went grumbling back to their seats.

"You see," said the donkey, waving its foot apologetically, "this wish is full, so you'll just have to get off and take the next one."

"Couldn't they move up a bit?" said Berens anxiously, "there's plenty of room."

"Nothing could move me!" announced the elephant, and spreading comfortably over at least six seats he promptly fell asleep, snoring loudly.

"Get off! Get off!" shouted some of the others crossly.

Rags looked sadly at Berens and, scratching his ear, remarked in a low tone, "I think I begin to see the use of division. Now, if each of them would just give us a small piece of his seat we might between us have a whole one."

Berens was getting mad. "Well, of all the pigs!" he began angrily, but here the little red-headed girl, who had been prodding the thin young man next to her unmercifully, beckoned to him.

"Come on over here!" she called cordially.

So Berens picked up Rags and squeezed in between the two with a sigh of relief. At this most of the passengers stopped staring at them and either went to sleep or retired behind their papers.

"This wish is just like a trolley car," thought Berens to himself, and leaning curiously around the thin man he was surprised to see that the Dissatisfied Bug was the motorman. It used its arms and legs interchangeably and the serviceable cotton gloves and common-sense shoes whirled round the wheels and brakes in a dizzying fashion.

"Here comes N.," said the little red-headed girl, touching Berens upon the arm.

"Who's N.?" asked Berens, without turning round, for the Dissatisfied Bug was at this minute holding its cap with its sixteenth yellow glove, taking out its handkerchief with its second, counting its change with its eleventh and twelfth, twirling its whiskers with its tenth, combing its hair with its first, while with the rest of its arms and legs it ran the wish.

"My!" said Berens admiringly, "that's something like! Now, if I just had that many arms and legs, I'd - "

"Fares, please!" roared a terrible voice.

Berens turned round with a jerk and saw the most curious creature you can imagine swinging down the center of the wish. Rags' hair began to bristle with fright, while Berens shook so that he nearly fell off the wish. No wonder! It was a terrible-looking monster - bright green for one thing.

At first Berens thought it must be a dragon, because it was covered with scales.

"Why, the head is a hog's head!" said Berens half aloud. (Which was certainly true.) Moreover, its eyes were green and rolled greedily from side to side as it lumbered down the wish on its dragon feet waving its fins menacingly. (Yes, it had fins.)

"Don't mind him," said the little red-headed girl, "it's only N., you know."

All the time the green-eyed monster was drawing nearer. Berens glanced anxiously around the wish to see what the other passengers were doing. They did not seem to be the least bit frightened; "and if they're not frightened I needn't be," reasoned Berens to himself. So trying to appear very much at his ease, he turned to the little girl and asked in a voice that would shake a little in spite of all he could do, "Did you say it was N.?"

"Uh huh!" answered the little girl, kicking her heels unconcernedly.

But here a great excitement arose.

"Stop that!"

"Quit!"

"Ouch!"

"Leave off!"

"Well of all the - "

Berens stared around in amazement, for each passenger as N. V. demanded his fare reached over and grabbed something from his neighbor to pay it with. The farmer's boy plucked out the persimmony old gentleman's scarfpin; the little old lady tore out a whole handful of the thin young man's hair and handed it to the green-eyed monster; the elephant rose up ponderously and pulled a bit off the donkey's hide, at which the donkey brayed furiously and bit off a length of the elephant's tail; the serving maid seized the little red-headed girl's necklace; the horse put his hoof through the old lady's poke bonnet and gravely held it out to N. V., and they all made such a terrible to-do about their fare paying that Berens covered his ears, while Rags stuffed his head beneath Berens' coat.

At this minute the long-haired young man put out his long arm and snatched Berens' red silk necktie, while some one from across the wish ripped off Rags' collar.

"Stop!" cried Berens in a fury. "I'll tell my father - " but here the little red-headed girl calmly took his watch and handed it to the monster, his very best new-at-Christmas watch!

At this Berens started to jump out of his seat, but now he himself was confronted by the green-eyed monster. It flapped its fins impatiently and droned, "Fare! Fare!"

"You'd better pay," said the little girl warningly, "or he'll put you off."

So Berens, swallowing his rage as best he could and with a secret satisfaction, leaned over and violently jerked out the thin young man's silk handkerchief, while Rags, not to be outdone, jumped down and bit a huge piece from the young man's frayed trousers. N. V. greedily took the two fares and then stuffing all of the strange collection in his conductor's cap (which he had been holding all this time in his tail), he clapped it upon his head. The poke bonnet protruded all round, the red necktie hung down in his eye, while the bunch of hair kept tickling his ear; but not seeming to notice these slight inconveniences, he bawled in a loud voice: "This WISH is bound for Somewhere Else! First stop Talktown! All aboard! Are we all aboard?" blaring angrily around the wish.

"Sure!" said the horse, who was somewhat of a wag; "bored to death!"

"What a strange conductor!" thought Berens as the green-eyed monster clattered down the wish, closing the door with a bang as he stepped out upon the platform.

The wish was traveling very fast now, but Berens was so interested in his fellow-passengers that he hardly once glanced out of the window, which is a pity, for a wish carries one through strange countries, I can tell you. Rags, worn out with his flight through the clouds, had fallen asleep in Berens' lap.

"N. V.," mused Berens aloud, "now, what can that stand for," and here began running over in his head all the things that began with N. and V.

"Not very much, if you'll pardon my saying so," said the horse, who sat directly opposite. He had been looking at Berens for some time, and now he nodded his head sociably.

"Well, he's the very queerest conductor I ever saw," said Berens, glad to have started a conversation.

"He's really not a conductor, you know," went on the horse slowly, crossing his legs. "He's what you might call a nonconductor, a nonconductor of kindness." After saying this the horse turned his head self-consciously from side to side to see how the others were taking it; but they nearly all were asleep, so it passed unnoticed. "They're a fine lot!" he snorted contemptuously, and with a gusty sigh he turned and gazed out of the window.

Berens, seeing that nothing more was to be got out of him, turned to the little red-headed girl. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Sarah Ann!" said the little red-headed girl bitterly; "but when I'm Somewhere Else my name's going to be Florabell Elizabeth, and I'm not going to have a single freckle, so there!" she finished triumphantly.

"You have got a good many," said Berens, eyeing her speculatively. "Ever count 'em?"

"Well, I did start to once, but I lost count," replied Sarah Ann in a depressed voice.

"Would you like me to try?" asked Berens obligingly.

"It's no use," sighed Sarah Ann gloomily.

For a few minutes nothing more was said, then, "You've 29 on your nose," said Berens in an interested tone.

"Thirty-two," corrected Sarah Ann listlessly, "but do talk of something else."

"Can you pitch a curve?" asked Berens after some thought.

"Sure!" said Sarah Ann, kicking her heels, "and I can skin the cat, walk the fence with clothes-props and lick every boy in our block," she finished challengingly.

But here the thin young man next to Berens, who had been mumbling something over and over under his breath, jumped excitedly to his feet. "Listen!" he shouted, and tossing back his tangled locks with a flourish, began:

"Quoth a fat and jolly spider
To a thousand-legger spry,
'Let us run a race, my hearty,
And the prize will be a fly.

"So they race across the ceiling,
And the thousand-legger's feet
Moved in companies (two together)
In a manner very neat.

"But alas! He had not reckoned
With the ceiling as a track,
And he lost his tenth and nineteenth feet
Within a yawning crack.

"He lost his feet, also the race,
The victor was the spider,
And when the fly saw who had won,
She tried to run and hide 'er.
uh, self, you know," finished the poet apologetically.


Read the rest of the story in
THE WISH EXPRESS
by Ruth Plumly Thompson

(To be continued.)  

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 1, 1917

Patriotic Puzzles

The Forgetful Poet says he 'sposes you'll be so busy preparing for the Fourth of July picnics that you'll not have much time for puzzles, still, he said, he could not help sending you a few short ones. And before setting them down he wants to say that the correct answers for last week were Charles and Mary Lamb, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Lewis Carroll, John Burroughs. And now for the puzzles. He wants to know what American patriots uttered the following historic and immortal sentiments:
First - "Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable!"
Second - "I have not yet begun to fight!"
Third - "Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute!"
Fourth - "I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country!"
Fifth - "Don't give up the ship!"

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2004 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved. 

THE MAGIC BON BONS

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Woggle-Bug Book, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the South Seas, etc.

From American Fairy Tales, 1901.


There lived in Boston a wise and ancient chemist by the name of Dr. Daws, who dabbled somewhat in magic. There also lived in Boston a young lady by the name of Claribel Sudds, who was possessed of much money, little wit and an intense desire to go upon the stage.

So Claribel went to Dr. Daws and said:

"I can neither sing nor dance; I cannot recite verse nor play upon the piano; I am no acrobat nor leaper nor high kicker; yet I wish to go upon the stage. What shall I do?"

"Are you willing to pay for such accomplishments?" asked the wise chemist.

"Certainly," answered Claribel, jingling her purse.

"Then come to me to-morrow at two o'clock," said he.

All that night he practiced what is known as chemical sorcery; so that when Claribel Sudds came next day at two o'clock he showed her a small box filled with compounds that closely resembled French bonbons.

"This is a progressive age," said the old man, "and I flatter myself your Uncle Daws keeps right along with the procession. Now, one of your old-fashioned sorcerers would have made you some nasty, bitter pills to swallow; but I have consulted your taste and convenience. Here are some magic bonbons. If you eat this one with the lavender color you can dance thereafter as lightly and gracefully as if you had been trained a lifetime. After you consume the pink confection you will sing like a nightingale. Eating the white one will enable you to become the finest elocutionist in the land. The chocolate piece will charm you into playing the piano better the Rubenstein, while after eating the lemon-yellow bonbon you can easily kick six feet above your head."

"How delightful!" exclaimed Claribel, who was truly enraptured. "You are certainly a most clever sorcerer as well as a considerate compounder," and she held out her hand for the box.

"Ahem!" said the wise one; "a check, please."

"Oh, yes; to be sure! How stupid of me to forget it," she returned.

He considerately retained the box in his own hand while she signed a check for a large amount of money, after which he allowed her to hold the box herself.

"Are you sure you have made them strong enough?" she enquired, anxiously; "it usually takes a great deal to affect me."

"My only fear," replied Dr. Daws, "is that I have made them too strong. For this is the first time I have ever been called upon to prepare these wonderful confections."

"Dont worry," said Claribel; "the stronger they act the better I shall act myself."

She went away, after saying this, but stopping in at a dry goods store to shop, she forgot the precious box in her new interest and left it lying on the ribbon counter.

Then little Bessie Bostwick came to the counter to buy a hair ribbon and laid her parcels beside the box. When she went away she gathered up the box with her other bundles and trotted off home with it.

Bessie never knew, until after she had hung her coat in the hall closet and counted up her parcels, that she had one too many. Then she opened it and exclaimed:

"Why, it's a box of candy! Someone must have mislaid it. But it is too small a matter to worry about; there are only a few pieces." So she dumped the contents of the box into a bonbon dish that stood upon the hall table and picking out the chocolate piece - she was fond of chocolates - ate it daintily while she examined her purchases.

These were not many, for Bessie was only twelve years old and was not yet trusted by her parents to expend much money at the stores. But while she tried on the hair ribbon she suddenly felt a great desire to play upon the piano, and the desire at last became so overpowering that she went into the parlor and opened the instrument.

The little girl had, with infinite pains, contrived to learn two "pieces" which she usually executed with a jerky movement of her right hand and a left hand that forgot to keep up and so made dreadful discords. But under the influence of the chocolate bonbon she sat down and ran her fingers lightly over the keys producing such exquisite harmony that she was filled with amazement at her own performance.

That was the prelude, however. The next moment she dashed into Beethoven's seventh sonata and played it magnificently.

Her mother, hearing the unusual burst of melody, came downstairs to see what musical guest had arrived; but when she discovered it was her own little daughter who was playing so divinely she had an attack of palpitation of the heart (to which she was subject) and sat down upon a sofa until it should pass away.

Meanwhile Bessie played one piece after another with untiring energy. She loved music, and now found that all she need do was to sit at the piano and listen and watch her hands twinkle over the keyboard.

Twilight deepened in the room and Bessie's father came home and hung up his hat and overcoat and placed his umbrella in the rack. Then he peeped into the parlor to see who was playing.

"Great Caesar!" he exclaimed. But the mother came to him softly with her finger on her lips and whispered: "Don't interrupt her, John. Our child seems to be in a trance. Did you ever hear such superb music?"

"Why, she's an infant prodigy!" gasped the astounded father. "Beats Blind Tom all hollow! It's - it's wonderful!"

As they stood listening the senator arrived, having been invited to dine with them that evening. And before he had taken off his coat the Yale professor - a man of deep learning and scholarly attainments - joined the party.

Bessie played on; and the four elders stood in a huddled but silent and amazed group, listening to the music and waiting for the sound of the dinner gong.

Mr. Bostwick, who was hungry, picked up the bonbon dish that lay on the table beside him and ate the pink confection. The professor was watching him, so Mr. Bostwick courteously held the dish toward him. The professor ate the lemon-yellow piece and the senator reached out his hand and took the lavender piece. He did not eat it, however, for, chancing to remember that it might spoil his dinner, he put it in his vest pocket. Mrs. Bostwick, still intently listening to her precocious daughter, without thinking what she did, took the remaining piece, which was the white one, and slowly devoured it.

The dish was now empty, and Claribel Sudds' precious bonbons had passed form her possession forever! Suddenly Mr. Bostwick, who was a big man, began to sing in a shrill, tremolo soprano voice. It was not the same song Bessie was playing, and the discord was so shocking that the professor smiled, the senator put his hands to his ears and Mrs. Bostwick cried in a horrified voice:

"William!"

Her husband continued to sing as if endeavoring to emulate the famous Christine Nillson, and paid no attention whatever to his wife or his guests.

Fortunately the dinner gong now sounded, and Mrs. Bostwick dragged Bessie from the piano and ushered her guests into the dining-room. Mr. Bostwick followed, singing "The Last Rose of Summer" as if it had been an encore demanded by a thousand delighted hearers.

The poor woman was in despair at witnessing her husband's undignified actions and wondered what she might do to control him. The professor seemed more grave than usual; the senator's face wore an offended expression, and Bessie kept moving her fingers as if she still wanted to play the piano.

Mrs. Bostwick managed to get them all seated, although her husband had broken into another aria; and then the maid brought in the soup.

When she carried a plate to the professor, he cried, in an excited voice:

"Hold it higher! Higher---I say!" And springing up he gave it a sudden kick that sent it nearly to the ceiling, from whence the dish descended to scatter soup over Bessie and the maid and to smash in pieces upon the crown of the professor's bald head.

At this atrocious act the senator rose from his seat with an exclamation of horror and glanced at his hostess.

For some time Mrs. Bostwick had been staring straight ahead, with a dazed expression; but now, catching the senator's eye, she bowed gracefully and began reciting "The Charge of the Light Brigade" in forceful tones.

The senator shuddered. Such disgraceful rioting he had never seen nor heard before in a decent private family! He felt that his reputation was at stake, and, being the only sane person, apparently, in the room, there was no one to whom he might appeal.

The maid had run away to cry hysterically in the kitchen; Mr. Bostwick was singing "O Promise Me;" the professor was trying to kick the globes off the chandelier; Mrs. Bostwick had switched her recitation to "The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck," and Bessie had stolen into the parlor and was pounding out the overture from the "Flying Dutchman."

The senator was not at all sure he would not go crazy himself, presently; so he slipped away from the turmoil, and, catching up his hat and coat in the hall, hurried from the house.

That night he sat up late writing a political speech he was to deliver the next afternoon at Faneuil hall, but his experiences at the Bostwick's had so unnerved him that he could scarcely collect his thoughts, and often he would pause and shake his head pityingly as he remembered the strange things he had seen in that usually respectable home.

The next day he met Mr. Bostwick in the street, but passed him by with a stony glare of oblivion. He felt he rally could not afford to know this gentleman in the future. Mr. Bostwick was naturally indignant at the direct snub; yet in his mind lingered a faint memory of some quite unusual occurrences at his dinner party the evening before, and he hardly knew whether he dared resent the senator's treatment or not.

The political meeting was the feature of the day, for the senator's eloquence was well known in Boston. So the big hall was crowded with people, and in one of the front tows sat the Bostwick family, with the learned Yale professor beside them. They all looked tired and pale, as if they had passed a rather dissipated evening, and the senator was rendered so nervous by seeing them that he refused to look in their direction a second time.

While the mayor was introducing him the great man sat fidgeting in his chair; and, happening to put his thumb and finger into his vest pocket, he found the lavender-colored bonbon he had placed there the evening before.

"This may clear my throat," thought the senator, and slipped the bonbon into his mouth.

A few minutes afterwards he arose before the vast audience, which greeted him with enthusiastic plaudits.

"My friends," began the senator, in a grave voice, "this is a most impressive and important occasion."

Then he paused, balanced himself upon his left foot, and kicked his right leg into the air in the way favored by ballet-dancers!

There was a hum of amazement and horror from the spectators, but the senator appeared not to notice it. He whirled around upon the tips of his toes, kicked right and left in a graceful manner, and startled a bald-headed man in the front row by casting a languishing glance in his direction.

Suddenly Caribel Sudds, who happened to be present, uttered a scream and sprang to her feet. Pointing an accusing finger at the dancing senator, she cried in a loud voice:

"That's the man who stole my bonbons! Seize him! Arrest him! Don't let him escape!"

But the ushers rushed her out of the hall, thinking she had gone suddenly insane; and the senator's friends seized him firmly and carried him out the stage entrance to the street, where they put him into an open carriage and instructed the driver to take him home.

The effect of the magic bonbon was still powerful enough to control the poor senator, who stood upon the rear seat of the carriage and danced energetically all the way home, to the delight of the crowd of small boys who followed the carriage and the grief of the sober-minded citizens, who shook their heads sadly and whispered that "another good man had gone wrong."

It took the senator several months to recover from the shame and humiliation of this escapade; and, curiously enough, he never had the slightest idea what had induced him to act in so extraordinary a manner. Perhaps it was fortunate the last bonbon had now been eaten, for they might easily have caused considerably more trouble than they did.

Of course Claribel went again to the wise chemist and signed a check for another box of magic bonbons; but she must have taken better care of these, for she is now a famous vaudeville actress.

* * * * * * *

This story should teach us the folly of condemning others for actions that we do not understand, for we never know what may happen to ourselves. It may also serve as a hint to be careful about leaving parcels in public places, and, incidentally, to let other people's packages severely alone.

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 24, 1917.

An Out o' Door Pome

In the field the ------ go skipping,
Joyous and ------free.
Lazily the sheep dog watches - what
Asleep? Not he!

The ------ blooms on hill and hedge,
Merrily the birds do ------,
Flashing to and fro to show
The world their feathered fine apparel.

The mole, without a thought of sun,
Works glumly in his dismal furrows;
The little rabbits bide till night,
A napping in their hidden ------!

The Forgetful Poet says that the forgotten words are authors. In answering this puzzle you need not copy the whole poem, but just send in a list of the missing words. Address your letters to the Forgetful Poet, care of the Boys and Girls' Department.

Mr. G. Ography's Puzzles

Mr. G. Ography said that it could not be done. He shook his head so solemnly that I hastened to inquire what he meant. "Just this," he replied, "I cannot make my puzzles hard enough for the boys and girls, they catch me every time." Sh-h, I'm afraid he is right, but I cannot help being glad, for it proves, of course, a number of things. I am glad so many of you recognized the famous men in last week's puzzle. They were Elihu Root, one of America's foremost statesmen, suggested to head the commission to be sent to Russia to help establish the republic; George Washington Goethals, builder of the Panama Canal and at present head of the shipbuilding plans in the present war; Major General Pershing, who is to lead the American divisions to France; Right Honorable Arthur J. Balfour, English statesman and author and one of the English Commission who visited the United States recently; Herbert Hoover, head of the Belgian relief organization and at present serving his own country in the capacity of Food Administrator; and General Leonard Wood, commander of the Department of the Southeast, U. S. A.

[Answers next time. This is a historical presentation of Ruth Plumly Thompson's writing. Please don't send in answers. No prizes will be awarded.]

Copyright © 2004 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

MAKING UP THE HUNDRED

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Ojo in Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink", "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 15, 1917.


"Oh, Jack, you don't mean to say it is gone!" Louise leaned over her brother's shoulder and began scrambling about among the papers in the little desk drawer.

Jack sank back in the chair, his face white as a sheet. "I haven't been in this drawer since father put it here and told me to take it up to the Judge at the end of the month. Oh, Sis, what shall we do? I suppose we'll have to tell dad, and he'll think I'm careless, and anyway, he told me he was very short, and he depended on me!" finished Jack dismally.

"It wasn't YOUR fault," championed Louise stoutly. "Some one must have taken it. Wait, I'll tell Aunt Jennie." The little old lady had just whisked into the room and Louise hurled herself upon her. "The money dad left for the rent is GONE!" she screamed excitedly.

"There, there, don't be rude!" Settling her brooch, Aunt Jennie drew away from Louise. "No," said she crossly, "you can't have honey for luncheon. I don't care what your dad said!" Aunt Jennie was deaf, but never allowed any one to notice the matter. "Young ladies did not shout so when I was young," she added acidly, passing out into the hall.

"No use trying to make HER understand - we'll just have to think of something - we'll have to earn some if it. I've got ten dollars of my allowance left and that's a start!"

"Do you think we could?" Jack hunched up a bit and regarded Louise doubtfully. "Anyway, we've got a month and we needn't write dad yet!"

"Let's get a paper and put down everything we have," suggested Louise energetically. "I'll sell the rags and papers and that ought to bring in about a dollar."

"I've got $3.50," exclaimed Jack, digging ruefully into his pocket.

"Fine!" chuckled Louise. "Every penny counts. Now, on this side I'll put $100 and on this side $10, $3.50 and a dollar. That leaves $85.50 for us to earn. Now let's see, what's the first thing a body does when they want to earn money?"

"Look in the paper!" announced Jack, springing out of his chair. They both pounced upon the paper that lay on the table.

"You read the male help wanted and I'll read the other!" said Louise. With anxious fingers they followed down the long column, but there seemed nothing that a fourteen-year-old girl and a thirteen-year-old boy could do.

"Bother!" cried Louise, jumping up. "I'm going for a walk. I can think better outdoors!" And out she went, leaving Jack still hunched over the paper.

Jack and Louise lived in a big, roomy mansion on the edge of the suburbs of Dayton and never until this year knew what it was to want money. The war had upset dad's business and a sudden trip abroad made him feel the necessity for reducing expenses. They had dismissed all the servants but the cook and gardener, and Aunt Jennie had come to look after them during their father's absence. How the rent money left in Jack's care had disappeared you already know.

Louise was thinking very hard as she sauntered down the shady walk to the gate. Then all at once she got her first idea and went plunging back into the house. She collided violently with Jack in the hallway, for, paper in hand, he had dashed out to find her. "Well!" spluttered Louise breathlessly.

"Here's a fellow wants some one to keep his dog for the summer--$3 a week to the right party--that means up--and just add $12 to our fund!"

"Where'd you find it?" gasped Louise, snatching the paper away from him.

"In the personals," remarked Jack loftily.

"Say! Look here: 'For housecleaning: party would like to rent a vacuum cleaner for week of 5th; will pay $1 a day for use. 1519 Cooper Terrace.' " read Louise! "Why, that's only a few blocks down. Gee! Isn't earning money fun? We'll get John to take it down for us - and, oh, yes, I forgot my idea. I heard the Judge tell Mr. Dalton the other day that he'd give a good deal for a decent pasture for his cow. What's the matter with ours - all fine clover and nothing in it?"

"Say, you're a wonder," whistled Jack. "I'll run right over and see what he says."

"And I'll go get John fixed," laughed Louise. "We'll have a zoo first thing you know."

Louise took old John, the gardener, into her confidence and he not only promised to deliver and call for the vacuum cleaner but suggested another source of money. "Miss Louise, deary, we've got more tomatoes than we"ll use in a month of Sundays. Do you want that I should sell some for you on the quiet?"

"You're an angel!" Clasping the astonished John around the neck, Louise danced in a circle and then rushed into the house to write to the vacuum cleaner and dog persons.

Jack returned from the Judge's radiant. "Said he'd pay us $10 a month!" he cried, tossing his hat up. "How much does that make?"

"Twelve for the dog, ten for the cow, six for the cleaner--that's eighteen--$85.50 minus $18 leaves $67.50."

The next few weeks were the most exciting Jack and Louise had ever known. Every day they scanned the personals, they wrought a shrewd bargain with an old-clothes man, Jack sold two pairs of his rabbits to an advertiser--he had always given them away before. This brought the sum down to $51.50.

The dog proved a boon companion and all their negotiations went on without Aunt Jennie discovering anything. "It's a regular adventure," exulted Louise, returning from an animated debate with a scrap-iron man after extracting $3.20 for an old tricycle and some pipes. They invested some of their capital and advertised the cleaner--$8 more rolled into the treasury. "Only $40 to make the $100," sighed Louise at the end of the second week.

John made good on the tomatoes and proudly tuned over $7 to the children. Later he sold some peaches and netted them $6 more. An antique man, summoned by letter from Louise, purchased a broken little mahogany rocker for $6. Then for a time it seemed that they had nothing else to rent or sell. A harrowing week's work at addressing envelopes brought them another $7, and the final $14 were proudly earned by Louise. With the cook's help she put up three dozen jars of peaches and triumphantly disposed of them through the advertising columns of the paper.

Two days before it was due, Jack and Louise took the precious rent money to the Judge, their landlord. "But!" exclaimed he, eyeing the bundle of crumpled bills cunningly , "the rent IS paid!"

"IS paid!" gasped Louise, lunging forward.

"Yes, your Aunt Jennie paid it about a week ago. Is anything the matter?" For Jack was staring in fury at Louise and Louise was stamping her foot with rage.

"The interfering thing. SHE TOOK IT, DID SHE, and after all our trouble." Excitedly the two poured out their story.

"So that's why you wanted my cow to board," chuckled the Judge. "Wait till I tell your dad. He'll be the happiest man alive. Actually earned $100. Why, I can't believe it!"

"And it's ours!" cried Louise, suddenly realizing her wealth.

"Gee! But I'm glad Aunt Jennie took it!" cried Jack, making a dash for the door. "Come on, Louise, let's talk about what we're going to do!"

It was a very proud daddy who heard the story when he returned and I don't blame him one bit, do you?

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 17, 1917

Patriotic Puzzles
You did so well on the flag puzzles that Mr. G. Ography wants to try you on something harder. Who are these men? Write the numbers of the pictures on your list, and after each one the name and a short description. Send to Mr. G. Ography, care of the Boys and Girls' Department.

The flags were those of France, blue, white and red; Great Britain, white, red and blue, merchant flag of Britain; Rumania, blue, yellow and red; Russia, white and blue; Russian merchant, white, blue and red; Italy, green, white and red, with crest white and red edged with blue; Cuba, blue and white stripes, white star on red background; Belgium, black, yellow and red; Japan, white background, red circle; Serbia, red, blue and white. There were three flags alike before they were colored, each having three vertical stripes--France, Belgium and Rumania; and two others alike, having three horizontal stripes--Serbia and the Russian merchant. The flag in the center was, of course, our own Stars and Stripes.

[Answers next time. The faces above represent historical figures of 1917. This is a historical presentation of Ruth Plumly Thompson's writing, so please don't mail in entries. No prizes will be awarded.]

Copyright © 2004 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

LETTERS IN THE SAND

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Woggle-Bug Book, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the South Seas, etc.

Chapter Three excerpted from Ozma of Oz, 1907.


Walking a little way back from the water's edge, toward the grove of trees, Dorothy came to a flat stretch of white sand that seemed to have queer signs marked upon its surface, just as one would write upon sand with a stick.

"What does it say?" she asked the yellow hen, who trotted along beside her in a rather dignified fashion.

"How should I know?" returned the hen. "I cannot read."

"Oh! Can't you?"

"Certainly not; I've never been to school, you know."

"Well, I have," admitted Dorothy; "but the letters are big and far apart, and it's hard to spell out the words."

But she looked at each letter carefully, and finally discovered that these words were written in the sand:

"BEWARE THE WHEELERS!"

"That's rather strange," declared the hen, when Dorothy had read aloud the words. "What do you suppose the Wheelers are?"

"Folks that wheel, I guess. They must have wheelbarrows, or baby-cabs or hand-carts," said Dorothy.

"Perhaps they're automobiles," suggested the yellow hen. "There is no need to beware of baby-cabs and wheelbarrows; but automobiles are dangerous things. Several of my friends have been run over by them."

"It can't be auto'biles," replied the girl, "for this is a new, wild country, without even trolley-cars or tel'phones. The people here haven't been discovered yet, I'm sure; that is, if there ARE any people. So I don't b'lieve there CAN be any auto'biles, Billina."

"Perhaps not," admitted the yellow hen. "Where are you going now?"

"Over to those trees, to see if I can find some fruit or nuts," answered Dorothy.

She tramped across the sand, skirting the foot of one of the little rocky hills that stood near, and soon reached the edge of the forest.

At first she was greatly disappointed, because the nearer trees were all punita, or cotton-wood or eucalyptus, and bore no fruit or nuts at all. But, bye and bye, when she was almost in despair, the little girl came upon two trees that promised to furnish her with plenty of food.

One was quite full of square paper boxes, which grew in clusters on all the limbs, and upon the biggest and ripest boxes the word "Lunch" could be read, in neat raised letters. This tree seemed to bear all the year around, for there were lunch-box blossoms on some of the branches, and on others tiny little lunch-boxes that were as yet quite green, and evidently not fit to eat until they had grown bigger.

The leaves of this tree were all paper napkins, and it presented a very pleasing appearance to the hungry little girl.

But the tree next to the lunch-box tree was even more wonderful, for it bore quantities of tin dinner-pails, which were so full and heavy that the stout branches bent underneath their weight. Some were small and dark-brown in color; those larger were of a dull tin color; but the really ripe ones were pails of bright tin that shone and glistened beautifully in the rays of sunshine that touched them.

Dorothy was delighted, and even the yellow hen acknowledged that she was surprised.

The little girl stood on tip-toe and picked one of the nicest and biggest lunch-boxes, and then she sat down upon the ground and eagerly opened it. Inside she found, nicely wrapped in white papers, a ham sandwich, a piece of sponge-cake, a pickle, a slice of new cheese and an apple. Each thing had a separate stem, and so had to be picked off the side of the box; but Dorothy found them all to be delicious, and she ate every bit of luncheon in the box before she had finished.

"A lunch isn't zactly breakfast," she said to Billina, who sat beside her curiously watching. "But when one is hungry one can eat even supper in the morning, and not complain."

"I hope your lunch-box was perfectly ripe," observed the yellow hen, in a anxious tone. "So much sickness is caused by eating green things."

"Oh, I'm sure it was ripe," declared Dorothy, "all, that is, 'cept the pickle, and a pickle just HAS to be green, Billina. But everything tasted perfectly splendid, and I'd rather have it than a church picnic. And now I think I'll pick a dinner-pail, to have when I get hungry again, and then we'll start out and 'splore the country, and see where we are."

"Haven't you any idea what country this is?" inquired Billina.

"None at all. But listen: I'm quite sure it's a fairy country, or such things as lunch-boxes and dinner-pails wouldn't be growing upon trees. Besides, Billina, being a hen, you wouldn't be able to talk in any civ'lized country, like Kansas, where no fairies live at all."

"Perhaps we're in the Land of Oz," said the hen, thoughtfully.

"No, that can't be," answered the little girl; because I've been to the Land of Oz, and it's all surrounded by a horrid desert that no one can cross."

"Then how did you get away from there again?" asked Billina.

"I had a pair of silver shoes, that carried me through the air; but I lost them," said Dorothy.

"Ah, indeed," remarked the yellow hen, in a tone of unbelief.

"Anyhow," resumed the girl, "there is no seashore near the Land of Oz, so this must surely be some other fairy country."

While she was speaking she selected a bright and pretty dinner-pail that seemed to have a stout handle, and picked it from its branch. Then, accompanied by the yellow hen, she walked out of the shadow of the trees toward the sea-shore.

They were part way across the sands when Billina suddenly cried, in a voice of terror:

"What's that?"

Dorothy turned quickly around, and saw coming out of a path that led from between the trees the most peculiar person her eyes had ever beheld.

It had the form of a man, except that it walked, or rather rolled, upon all fours, and its legs were the same length as its arms, giving them the appearance of the four legs of a beast. Yet it was no beast that Dorothy had discovered, for the person was clothed most gorgeously in embroidered garments of many colors, and wore a straw hat perched jauntily upon the side of its head. But it differed from human beings in this respect, that instead of hands and feet there grew at the end of its arms and legs round wheels, and by means of these wheels it rolled very swiftly over the level ground. Afterward Dorothy found that these odd wheels were of the same hard substance that our finger-nails and toe-nails are composed of, and she also learned that creatures of this strange race were born in this queer fashion. But when our little girl first caught sight of the first individual of a race that was destined to cause her a lot of trouble, she had an idea that the brilliantly-clothed personage was on roller-skates, which were attached to his hands as well as to his feet.

"Run!" screamed the yellow hen, fluttering away in great fright. "It's a Wheeler!"

"A Wheeler?" exclaimed Dorothy. "What can that be?"

"Don't you remember the warning in the sand: 'Beware the Wheelers'? Run, I tell you--run!"

So Dorothy ran, and the Wheeler gave a sharp, wild cry and came after her in full chase.

Looking over her shoulder as she ran, the girl now saw a great procession of Wheelers emerging from the forest--dozens and dozens of them--all clad in splendid, tight-fitting garments and all rolling swiftly toward her and uttering their wild, strange cries.

"They're sure to catch us!" panted the girl, who was still carrying the heavy dinner-pail she had picked. "I can't run much farther, Billina."

"Climb up this hill,--quick!" said the hen; and Dorothy found she was very near to the heap of loose and jagged rocks they had passed on their way to the forest. The yellow hen was even now fluttering among the rocks, and Dorothy followed as best she could, half climbing and half tumbling up the rough and rugged steep.

She was none too soon, for the foremost Wheeler reached the hill a moment after her; but while the girl scrambled up the rocks the creature stopped short with howls of rage and disappointment.

Dorothy now heard the yellow hen laughing, in her cackling, henny way.

"Don't hurry, my dear," cried Billina. "They can't follow us among these rocks, so we're safe enough now."

Dorothy stopped at once and sat down upon a broad boulder, for she was all out of breath.

The rest of the Wheelers had now reached the foot of the hill, but it was evident that their wheels would not roll upon the rough and jagged rocks, and therefore they were helpless to follow Dorothy and the hen to where they had taken refuge. But they circled all around the little hill, so the child and Billina were fast prisoners and could not come down without being captured.

Then the creatures shook their front wheels at Dorothy in a threatening manner, and it seemed they were able to speak as well as to make their dreadful outcries, for several of them shouted:

"We'll get you in time, never fear! And when we do get you, we'll tear you into little bits!"

"Why are you so cruel to me?" asked Dorothy. "I'm a stranger in your country, and have done you no harm."

"No harm!" cried one who seemed to be their leader. "Did you not pick our lunch-boxes and dinner-pails? Have you not a stolen dinner-pail still in your hand?"

"I only picked one of each," she answered. "I was hungry, and I didn't know the trees were yours."

"That is no excuse," retorted the leader, who was clothed in a most gorgeous suit. "It is the law here that whoever picks a dinner-pail without our permission must die immediately."

"Don't you believe him," said Billina. "I'm sure the trees do not belong to these awful creatures. They are fit for any mischief, and it's my opinion they would try to kill us just the same if you hadn't picked a dinner-pail."

"I think so, too," agreed Dorothy. "But what shall we do now?"

"Stay where we are," advised the yellow hen. "We are safe from the Wheelers until we starve to death, anyhow; and before that time comes a good many things can happen."

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 10, 1917. 

 
Patriotic Puzzles

Mr. G. Ography was much surprised to find how many grown-up folks did not recognize the flags of our ALLIES. He said he was sure the boys and girls would, and I am sure, too. Write the country beneath the flag and put in the colors in crayon or paints. Mail to Mr. G. Ography, and for every correct one there will be a prize.

The authors and poets which completed the Forgetful Poet's verses were Mark Twain, Hall Crain, Eugene Field, Grimm and Burns.

[Answers next time. The flags above represent the allies of the United States of America during World War I. This is a historical presentation of Ruth Plumly Thompson's writing, so please don't mail in entries. No prizes will be awarded.]

Copyright © 2004 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE STORY OF A STONE LION

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Cowardly Lion of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink", "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 10, 1916.


Once upon a time a proud and haughty stone lion lived in a garden. He stood at the end of a lovely walk and from his high stone base looked disdainfully at every one who passed. How proud and haughty he was you could never imagine unless you had seen him. With his cold eyes looking sternly at the garden wall and his stone head reared scornfully in the air, he stood year after year, through sun and showers and snow--always the same.

The birds came in the spring and built their nests, the flowers peeped shyly from their garden beds, bloomed and sweetened the air with their fragrance as the birds made it lovely with their songs; but children came into the garden to play and the stone lion never noticed them. Fall came and turned the leaves to gold and red, the birds flew away again and the chill November winds heaped the leaves in little piles at the lion's feet. Then down whirled the snow and covered the garden with its lovely mantle of white. Again the children came running out to play, but still the stone lion heeded nothing, and, thinking his cold thoughts, stood proudly alone.

Then one spring two little robins fluttered down upon the lion's head. "Same old garden," chirped the first robin, "for here is the LION!" "Oh, isn't it sweet to come back? Oh, isnt it lovely?" And for very happiness the second little robin began to twitter so merrily that 'tis a wonder the stone lion did not melt upon the spot. But he did nothing of the kind and paid no attention to the little birds, till one stuck its head on one side and said: "Why, you poor old lion you, it must be dreadful to be made of stone and never to move about, nor sing, nor be happy!" What was that? Were these poor, little, insignificant robins pitying HIM? Why,k the very idea, the impudence! The stone lion fairly shook with rage, but, being stone, of course, said nothing. Just then a little squirrel whisked across the lawn and stopped to call "Howde" to the robins. "I was just saying to Reddy how dreadful it must be for this lion," chirped the robin sociably. "Never to move, nor talk; never to do ANYTHING. Why, it's sad, that's what it is!" The squirrel shook his head thoughtfully. "That's so," said he. "But he'll last a long time. Why, he might stay here for CENTURIES; at least, that's what Solomon Owl tells me!"

"Centuries! Centuries!" scoffed the little robin. "Why, I'd rather be a robin for FIVE minutes than a stone lion for a HUNDRED YEARS!" Which statement so astonished the proud lion that he almost fell off of his pedestal. What was all this talk, anyway? Wasn't if enough to stand grandly aloof? Wasn't it enough for him to BE in the garden for the people to admire? From being angry he grew curious. He began to notice the birds in the garden, to listen to their songs and wonder what they saw when they flew over the high wall. He watched the squirrel whisking from tree to tree, and it somehow made him feel old and stiff. The children came and picked flowers, and a lively little puppy tumbled about with them. "My," thought the stone lion. "How nice it would be to roll in the grass and run down the path and out of the gate! What COULD be on the other side, now?" Indeed, he grew so interested and curious about the life in the garden that he quite forgot to be proud and self-satisfied. He wished he could turn around so he would not miss what was going on back of him; and, OH, how he longed to talk to the merry little robins who perched on his back every afternoon and told strange stories of the countries they visited. Then summer went so quickly the stone lion could hardly believe it when the last bird had gone and the last flower had fallen. He grew lonely, and one night he could contain himself no longer and he wept--REAL tears, too, for he wasn't stone inside any more. And the tears trickled down into the home of the Fairy of the Garden. And it didn't take her long to find out, honeys; and next thing she had waved her wand and the stone lion was gone. On his stone pedestal perched a gay little robin, and as it looked it spread its wings and flew up and up and away over the garden wall. The Fairy had granted the wish in the lion's heart, for the lion had been saying over and over again, "I had rather be a live robin than a STONE LION. I had rather live than last." Better a robin for five minutes than a stone lion for five centuries! And I think so, too!

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 3, 1917

Some More Riddles That Rhyme

The Forgetful Poet says that some folks think there is more rhyme than reason in his verses, but that the boys and girls know just what he means. And I believe you do, judging from the answers that come tumbling into the office on Monday mornings. He says that the blanks this week should be filled in by authors and poets. Well, did you ever?

The Tale of a Stolen Cake

Oh, once a laddie stole a cake
And ran with might and main,
Tripped down and fell. Ah, dear! Ah, well!
He broke the cake in ------.
The baker caught him. I regret
To say, he used his ------,
Which in a passion he did wield
Till the lad escaped across the ------.
The baker looking very ------
Declared he'd tell his dad on him.
While on his shop his back he turns
Alas! his largest plum pie ------.

Send your answers to the Forgetful Poet, care of the Public Ledger. The Forgetful Poet wishes to compliment Hamor Michener on his correct answers, also Miss Jean Page.

[Answers next time. Last time's answers: gnu, bear, deer, ?]

Copyright © 2004 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.