WHEN I GROW UP - THE PIRATE

Written and Illustrated by W. W. Denslow
Author of The Scarecrow and the Tin-Man of Oz, illustrator of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Denslow/s Mother Goose, etc.

Originally published in The Century Magazine, 1909.
 
 
'Twas little Johnnie's heart's desire
To be a pirate bold,
And scuttle ships on Southern trips
As done in days of old.


 
Said John: "I'd sail the Spanish Main,
The Master of the Seas,
And hide my loot in coral caves
Among the Caribbees.

"We'd board the ship with pike and gun;
We'd show the crew no quarter, -
Except in case there was on board
The Captain's handsome daughter.

 
"Then if she'd ask their worthless lives,
We'd grant it, if they would
Salute at once the pirate flag
And promise to be good.

"Jewels and plate and 'pieces of eight'
We'd have in goodly stores
That we had buried at dark midnight
On far-off island shores."





THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 6, 1919.

The Forgetful Poet

Has a sunburned nose, but otherwise he is just the same. And as forgetful as ever! But he hasn't forgotten the answers to last week's riddles. Here they are: sloop, cutter, catboat, yacht, ferry and dhow, the Arab boat. He says:

"I know some clocks
That never tick
The minutes
Nor the hours.
You needn't think
From this I mean
A certain sort
Of flowers!"
('Cause I don't.)

And when you've answered that one try these:

What bird, plus a letter of the alphabet, will give a game played by us all in the summertime?

And what body of water will give a gentleman's game?

And what structure on which we cross rivers will give a favorite lady's game?

Then see if you can fill in these blanks with the proper boats.

Among the harbor's busy racket
You'll surely spy the good old -----,
While loaded to the very prow
Comes next the ancient river -----;
With many a whistle and churn and clug
Arrives the busy little -----.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2011 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE GOOD LITTLE MERMAID

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, May 11, 1919.


Once upon a time a fisherman drawing in his nets was astonished to find a little mermaid playing fearlessly among the fishes. He hauled up the nets very carefully so as not to hurt her. She was so pretty and playful that he resolved to take her home to his wife. They had no children and it was often very lonely in the little hut beside the sea.

He was afraid to open the net for fear she would jump out and he stared down so hard that the little mermaid looked up at him. She was just about as cunning as a little four-year-old girl, only she had much longer hair and a beautiful golden tail.

He could not help smiling at her, and she clapped her little hands at him and did not seem the teeniest bit afraid, though she had cause to be, goodness knows - for while a mermaid can live a long time out of water, she cannot live very comfortably, and droops just as the flowers do when they are picked.

"I'm all caught in this funny seaweed, won't you please take me out, Mr. Fisherman?" she called. The fisherman leaned down, unfastened the net, and she threw both arms around his neck.

"You're almost as nice as a fish," she announced gravely, as he lifted her out of the water and set her on the bottom of the boat. She watched with big eyes as he emptied the fish into the bottom of the boat. Then, as they began flopping about, panting for breath she began to cry.

"Please throw them back. Please, good Mr. Fisherman, throw us all back, it's so dry out here and how shall I get about!" The fisherman looked at her slowly.

"I'll carry you," he said kindly. "And you shall have a necklace and a ring - and everything you want. Will you come back with me, little Missie?"

By this time several of the fish had died. The cunning little mermaid began to cry in earnest. Then all at once she cheered up.

"If you'll throw the fishes back I'll come!" The old man looked at the tiny bit of a sea girl, and was ashamed of himself.

"So you'll give yourself up for a lot of worthless fishes," he chuckled. "Well, overboard with them, overboard with them!" Suiting the action to the word he threw the fishes all back into the sea. As each one splashed away the little mermaid grew sadder, for she knew it was going to be very hard to keep her word - and she had a beautiful mermother down in the lovely sea-house where she lived. A mermother and father, a six little brothers and sisters!

The old fisherman chuckled to himself. He knew that he was not going to keep such a generous little creature against her will, and the fact that she made no attempt to escape pleased him tremendously.

"See that little hut, right on the edge of the sands? That's where I live," he said, and started to row in that direction. Two tears stole down the mermaid's cheeks, but she dashed them away quickly and strained her eyes in the direction that the fisherman pointed. When he was sure that she had seen, he pulled up his oars and stopped rowing. Then he picked the little mergirl up in his arms, gave her one kiss, and tossed her back into the water.

"We'll be expecting you to visit us some fine night. We're lonely folks, my wife and I," he called, as her head disappeared under water. His wife wondered mightily when he told her of his experience, but agreed that he had done right. "She could not live happily out of the sea," she told him sadly, and then because there were no fish to eat they went to bed hungry, and tried to forget how lonely they were. But what do you think? The next time the fisherman drew up his nets they were so heavy he could hardly manage them, and when at last they came to the surface of the sea, he could scarcely believe his eyes - for they were full of pearls and coral, gold from sunken ships, and all manner of strange treasure. And was it not a good thing that he threw the little mermaid back into the water? I hope if you ever catch one you will do the same and be rewarded as richly as he was.


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 29, 1919.

The Forgetful Poet

Wishes you a snappy Fourth and all that sort of thing. He seems still to be interested in boats. See how many of these you can find.

ALL THE BOATS AFLOAT!

The sailboats are a motley group.
And first among them is the -----.
Oh! there are more than one can utter.
Another odd one is the -----,
And then the fisherman's stand pat boat,
The useful, little lively ----- boat.

'Mong other craft there are a lot,
We'll not forget the sporting -----.
Commuter folk are bound to hurry
If they would catch the churning -----.
The Arab man sails in his -----,
And that's about enough for now.

The boats that came to dock in last week's puzzles were junk, fishing smack, barge, ocean liner, dory and raft.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2011 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE SCARECROW AND THE TIN WOODMAN

By L. Frank Baum
Author of John Dough and the Cherub, The Treasure of Karnak, and The Visitors from Oz. etc.

Originally published in 1913.


There lived in the Land of Oz two queerly made men who were the best of friends. They were so much happier when together that they were seldom apart; yet they liked to separate, once in a while, that they might enjoy the pleasure of meeting again.

One was a Scarecrow. That means he was a suit of blue Munchkin clothes, stuffed with straw, on top of which was fastened a round cloth head, filled with bran to hold it in shape. On the head were painted two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth. The Scarecrow had never been much of a success in scaring crows, but he prided himself on being a superior man, because he could feel no pain, was never tired and did not have to eat or drink. His brains were sharp, for the Wizard of Oz had put pins and needles in the Scarecrow's brains.

The other man was made all of tin, his arms and legs and head being cleverly jointed so that he could move them freely. He was known as the Tin Woodman, having at one time been a woodchopper, and everyone loved him because the Wizard had given him an excellent heart of red plush.

The Tin Woodman lived in a magnificent tin castle, built on his country estate in the Winkie Land, not far from the Emerald City of Oz. It had pretty tin furniture and was surrounded by lovely gardens in which were many tin trees and beds of tin flowers. The palace of the Scarecrow was not far distant, on the banks of a river, and this palace was in the shape of an immense ear of corn.

One morning the Tin Woodman went to visit his friend the Scarecrow, and as they had nothing better to do they decided to take a boat ride on the river. So they got into the Scarecrow's boat, which was formed from a big corncob, hollowed out and pointed at both ends and decorated around the edges with brilliant jewels. The sail was of purple silk and glittered gayly in the sunshine.

There was a good breeze that day, so the boat glided swiftly over the water. By and by they came to a smaller river that flowed from out a deep forest, and the Tin Woodman proposed they sail up this stream, as it would be cool and shady beneath the trees of the forest. So the Scarecrow, who was steering, turned the boat up the stream and the friends continued talking together of old times and the wonderful adventures they had met with while traveling with Dorothy, the little Kansas girl. They became so much interested in this talk that they forgot to notice that the boat was now sailing through the forest, or that the stream was growing more narrow and crooked.

Suddenly the Scarecrow glanced up and saw a big rock just ahead of them.

"Look out!" he cried; but the warning came too late.

The Tin Woodman sprang to his feet just as the boat bumped into the rock, and the jar made him lose his balance. He toppled and fell overboard and being made of tin he sank to the bottom of the water in an instant and lay there at full length, face up.

Immediately the Scarecrow threw out the anchor, so as to hold the boat in that place, and then he leaned over the side and through the clear water looked at his friend sorrowfully.

"Dear me!" he exclaimed; "what a misfortune!"

"It is, indeed," replied the Tin Woodman, speaking in muffled tones because so much water covered him. "I cannot drown, of course, but I must lie here until you find a way to get me out. Meantime, the water is soaking into all my joints and I shall become badly rusted before I am rescued."

"Very true," agreed the Scarecrow; "but be patient, my friend, and I'll dive down and get you. My straw will not rust, and is easily replaced, if damaged, so I'm not afraid of water."

The Scarecrow now took off his hat and made a dive from the boat into the water; but he was so light in weight that he barely dented the surface of the stream, nor could he reach the Tin Woodman with his outstretched straw arms. So he floated to the boat and climbed into it, saying the while:

"Do not despair, my friend. We have an extra anchor aboard, and I will tie it around my waist, to make me sink, and dive again."

"Don't do that!" called the tin man. "That would anchor you also to the bottom, where I am. And we'd both be helpless."

"True enough," sighed the Scarecrow, wiping his wet face with a handkerchief; and then he gave a cry of astonishment, for he found he had wiped off one painted eye and now had but one eye to see with.

"How dreadful!" said the poor Scarecrow. "That eye must have been painted in watercolor, instead of oil. I must be careful not to wipe off the other eye, for then I could not see to help you at all."

A shriek of elfish laughter greeted this speech and looking up the Scarecrow found the trees full of black crows, who seemed much amused by the straw man's one-eyed countenance. He knew the crows well, however, and they had usually been friendly to him because he had never deceived them into thinking he was a meat man - the sort of man they really feared.

"Don't laugh," said he; "you may lose an eye yourselves some day."

"We couldn't look as funny as you, if we did," replied one old crow, the king of them. "But what had gone wrong with you?"

"The Tin Woodman, my dear friend and companion, had fallen overboard and is now on the bottom of the river," said the Scarecrow. "I'm trying to get him out again, but I fear I shall not succeed."

"Why, it's easy enough," declared the old crow. "Tie a string to him and all of my crows will fly down, take hold of the string, and pull him up out of the water. There are hundreds of us here, so our united strength could lift much more than that."

"But I can't tie a string to him," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw is so light that I am unable to dive through the water. I've tried it, and knocked one eye out."

"Can't you fish for him?"

"Ah, that is a good idea," said the Scarecrow. "I'll make the attempt."

He found a fishline in the boat, with a stout hook at the end of it. No bait was needed, so the Scarecrow dropped the hook into the water till it touched the Woodman.

"Hook it into a joint," advised the crow, who was now perched upon a branch that stuck far out and bent down over the water.

The Scarecrow tried to do this, but having only one eye he could not see the joints very clearly.

"Hurry up, please," begged the Tin Woodman; "you've no idea how damp it is down here."

"Can't you help?" asked the crow.

"How?" inquired the tin man.

"Catch the line and hook it around your neck."

The Tin Woodman made the attempt and after several trials wound the line around his neck and hooked it securely.

"Good!" cried the King Crow, a mischievous old fellow. "Now, then, we'll all grab the line and pull you out."

At once the air was filled with black crows, each of whom seized the cord with beak or talons. The Scarecrow watched them with much interest and forgot that he had tied the other end of the line around his own waist, so he would not lose it while fishing for his friend.

"All together for the good caws!" shrieked the King Crow, and with a great flapping of wings the birds rose into the air.

The Scarecrow clapped his stuffed hands in glee as he saw his friend drawn from the water into the air; but the next moment the straw man was himself in the air, his stuffed legs kicking wildly; for the crows had flown straight up through the trees. On one end of the line dangled the Tin Woodman, hung by the neck, and on the other dangled the Scarecrow, hung by the waist and clinging fast to the spare anchor of the boar, which he had seized hoping to save himself.

"Hi, there - be careful!" shouted the Scarecrow to the crows. "Don't take us so high. Land us on the river bank."

But the crows were bent on mischief. They thought it a good joke to bother the two, now that they held them captive.

"Here's where the crows scare the Scarecrow!" chuckled the naughty King Crow, and at his command the birds flew over the forest to where a tall dead tree stood higher than all the other trees. At the very top was a crotch, formed by two dead limbs and into the crotch the crows dropped the center of the line. Then, letting go their hold, they flew away, chattering with laughter, and left the two friends suspended high in the air - one on each side of the tree.

Now the Tin Woodman was much heavier than the Scarecrow, but the reason they balanced so nicely was because the straw man still clung fast to the iron anchor. There they hung, not ten feet apart, yet unable to reach the bare tree-trunk.

"For goodness sake don't drop that anchor," said the Tin Woodman anxiously.

"Why not?" inquired the Scarecrow.

"If you did I'd tumble to the ground, where my tin would be badly dented by the fall. Also you would shoot into the air and alight somewhere among the tree-tops.

"Then," said the Scarecrow, earnestly, "I shall hold fast to the anchor."

For a time they both dangled in silence, the breeze swaying them gently to and fro. Finally the tin man said: "Here is an emergency, friend, where only brains can help us. We must think of some way to escape."

"I'll do the thinking," replied the Scarecrow. "My brains are the sharpest."

He thought so long that the tin man grew tired and tried to change his position, but found his joints had already rusted so badly that he could not move them. And his oil-can was back in the boat.

"Do you suppose your brains are rusted, friend Scarecrow?" he asked in a weak voice, for his jaws would scarcely move.

"No, indeed. Ah, here's an idea at last!"

And with this the Scarecrow clapped his hands to his head, forgetting the anchor, which tumbled to the ground. The result was astonishing; for, just as the tin man had said, the light Scarecrow flew into the air, sailing over the top of the tree and landed in a bramble-bush, while the tin man fell plump to the ground, and landing on a bed of dry leaves was not dented at all. The Tin Woodman's joints were so rusted, however, that he was unable to move, while the thorns held the Scarecrow a fast prisoner.

While they were in this sad plight the sound of hoofs was heard and along the forest path rode the little Wizard of Oz, seated on a wooden Sawhorse. He smiled when he saw the one-eyed head of the Scarecrow sticking out of the bramble-bush, but he helped the poor straw man out of his prison.

"Thank you, dear Wiz," said the grateful Scarecrow. "Now we must get the oil-can and rescue the Tin Woodman."

Together they ran to the river bank, but the boat was floating in midstream and the Wizard was obliged to mumble some magic words to draw it to the bank, so the Scarecrow could get the oil-can. Then back they flew to the tin man, and while the Scarecrow carefully oiled each joint the little Wizard moved the joints gently back and forth until they worked freely. After an hour of this labor the Tin Woodman was again on his feet, and although still a little stiff he managed to walk to the boat.

The Wizard and the Sawhorse also got aboard the corncob craft and together they returned to the Scarecrow's palace. But the Tin Woodman was very careful not to stand up in the boat again.


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 22, 1919.

The Forgetful Poet

Says that if it were not for his rose cold he would be perfectly happy; as it is, life is just one sneeze after another. The answers to his geography puzzles were the Gulf of Guinea and the Bay of Bengal. A fish is like a shopkeeper because it has scales, and with tears in his eyes he confessed that he forgot the answer to his riddle about the mouse and the telescope. (That's what comes of going fishing.) Can any one answer this puzzle for us - Why is a mouse like a telescope?

The comical old dear has evidently been talking to a maritime person. He says it is surprising the number of boats there are. Can you guess these mentioned below?

BOATS

The Chinaman is very odd
And calls his boat a ____?
In war with England long ago
A lot of them were sunk!

The fisherman knows how to sail
And come about and tack,
But now I wonder why on earth
He calls his craft a ____?

Another boat not very large
Is known my most folks as a ____!
And of them all there's nothing finer
Than the majestic ____ ____!

This little boat's not much for glory
But very useful is the ____!
And first of all seafaring craft
Man fashioned long ago the ____?

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2011 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

WHY JACK RABBIT HAS LONG EARS AND NO TAIL

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, May 16, 1920.


Once upon a time Jack Rabbit had ears about the size of Brother Possum and a tail as long as the next fellow. He'd have had them yet if he had not been such a curious chap. He always was listening and listening to other folks' affairs, sitting with his tail all curled up under him and his little bright eyes snapping like coals.

Whenever there was talking or quarreling or singing there was little Jack Rabbit. Pshaw, but he was a busybody, sure enough. He even went listening around two-legs' houses and more than once nearly got caught and popped into a pie. But he always managed to run pretty fast, and after a while folks really got used to the little chap sitting on his hind paws taking in all the news. The creatures, too, didn't pay any more attention to him than if he'd been a tree stump.

"That's only little Jack Rabbit!" they'd say to one another and go right on with their speechifying.

But not satisfied with all the things he heard in the woods and in the village where he visited, Jack started staying awake at nights and trying to hear what the goblins and fairies were up to. For many, many nights he listened to their secrets and first thing you know he began trying to put into practice the fairy charms and spells he had overheard. One day he met old Mr. Hedgehog. Mr. Hedgehog wished him good day and asked him what all the news was.

Instead of answering Jack stopped short and twinkled his whiskers.

"Abra – cabra dabra cob!" mumbled Jack Rabbit, and, pop! away flew Mr. Hedgehog as invisible as air. He didn't know he was invisible either and while Jack Rabbit laughed and laughed all the creatures ran around telling one another that a ghost was in the woods that talked like Henry Hedgehog, and poor Mrs. Hedgehog when she heard her husband's voice and bumped into something she couldn't see in the parlor fell into a swoon from which the entire village could not arouse her.

Now it happened that a little fairy chanced by and heard all the confusion and putting two and two together decided that some one was practicing magic.

And this conclusion once reached it was not hard for her to find the culprit. Changing Henry Hedgehog to his visible self again she hurried back to her companions and told them of Jack Rabbit's prank.

The fairies were very angry and resolved to teach Jack a lesson. And a little goblin, who was listening to the fairies, on his own account resolved to do the same.

That evening Jack went as usual to the fairy ring and hid in a hole with only his ears sticking out the top. The fairies laughed and sang, all the time drawing nearer to Jack Rabbit's hiding place. And the goblins, led by the one little goblin who had heard of the fairies' plan, dug up through the ground till they were right under Jack.

And all at once the fairies all together jumped into the hole and seizing Jack's ears began to pull away for dear life. At the same minute the goblins broke through the last bit of earth and got hold of his tail. And for all that they were so small they tugged and tugged till between them they nearly tore Jack in two.

"Never do to let the fairies get him!" fumed the goblins.

"Whatever is holding him!" gasped the fairies. And they pulled and pulled till suddenly they all fell over in a heap. The goblins had pulled Jack's tail clean out. But before the fairies recovered their breath the little rabbit was half way across the forest crying in three different languages. And next morning when he saw how the fairies had stretched his ears, and he looked at the poor little piece that the goblins had left of his tail, he cried some more.

But ever [after] that he ran away from everybody and minded his own business. Which is a good thing.


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 15, 1919.

The Forgetful Poet and His Riddles

The answers to our friend's cookbook puzzles were floating island, which is surely a geographical pudding, and cottage pudding HAS a sort of architectural sound; flannel cakes, White Mountain cake, marble cake and sponge cake finish up the set. No wonder the poor fellow was puzzled. As to the islands you have probably guessed by this time that they were the Spice islands, Madeira, Canary islands, Solomon's island and last of all the Shetland islands.

The dear fellow must be spending his time studying his map, and that's a pretty hard thing to do in June, is it not? He says you will have to make out with three riddles this week as he's going fishing. Perhaps he'll tell us about his trip next week. I hope so! At any rate here are the three riddles mentioned:

On Africa's coast
'Pon my word
There's a gulf that
Is named for a bird.

And on India's shore
There's a bay, and what's more
It is named for a
Tiger. Absurd!
(Only it's not!)

And, besides all this, he wants to know why a fish is like a shopkeeper, and why a mouse is like a telescope. I don't believe he knows the answer to that one himself. Do you?

[Answers next time. No prizes will be offered--this is merely a historical presentation of Thompson's writings.]

Copyright © 2011 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE LITTLE MAN AND HIS LITTLE GUN

By L. Frank Baum
Author of John Dough and the Cherub, The Treasure of Karnak, and The Visitors from Oz. etc.

Originally published in Mother Goose in Prose, 1897.


There was a little man and he had a little gun.
And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead.
He went to the brook and shot a little duck,
And the bullet went right through its head, head, head.

There was once a little man named Jimson, who had stopped growing when he was a boy, and never started again. So, although he was old enough to be a man he was hardly big enough, and had he not owned a bald head and gray whiskers you would certainly have taken him for a boy whenever you saw him.

This little man was very sorry he was not bigger, and if you wanted to make him angry you had but to call attention to his size. He dressed just as big men do, and wore a silk hat and a long-tailed coat when he went to church, and a cap and top-boots when he rode horseback. He walked with a little cane and had a little umbrella made to carry when it rained. In fact, whatever other men did this little man was anxious to do also, and so it happened that when the hunting season came around, and all the men began to get their guns ready to hunt for snipe and duck, Mr. Jimson also had a little gun made, and determined to use it as well as any of them.

When he brought it home and showed it to his wife, who was a very big woman, she said,

"Jimson, you'd better use bullets made of bread, and then you won't hurt anything."

"Nonsense, Joan," replied the little man, "I shall have bullets made of lead just as other men do, and every duck I see I shall shoot and bring home to you. "

"I'm afraid you won't kill many," said Joan.

But the little man believed he could shoot with the best of them, so the next morning he got up early and took his little gun and started down to the brook to hunt for duck.

It was scarcely daybreak when he arrived at the brook, and the sun had not yet peeped over the eastern hill-tops, but no duck appeared anywhere in sight, although Mr. Jimson knew this was the right time of day for shooting them. So he sat down beside the brook and begun watching, and before he knew it he had fallen fast asleep.

By and by he was awakened by a peculiar noise.

"Quack, quack, quack!" sounded in his ears; and looking up he saw a pretty little duck swimming in the brook and popping its head under the water in search of something to eat. The duck belonged to Johnny Sprigg, who lived a little way down the brook, but the little man did not know this. He thought it was a wild duck, so he stood up and carefully took aim.

"I'm afraid I can't hit it from here," he thought, "so I'll just step upon that big stone in the brook, and shoot from there."

So he stepped out upon the stone, and took aim at the duck again, and fired the gun.

The next minute the little man had tumbled head over heels into the water, and he nearly drowned before he could scramble out again; for, not being used to shooting, the gun had kicked, or recoiled, and had knocked him off the round stone where he had been standing.

When he had succeeded in reaching the bank he was overjoyed to see that he had shot the duck, which lay dead upon the water a short distance away. The little man got a long stick, and, reaching it out, drew the dead duck to the bank. Then he started joyfully homeward to show the prize to his wife.

"There, Joan," he said, as he entered the house, "is a nice little duck for our dinner. Do you now think your husband cannot shoot?"

"But there's only one duck," remarked his wife, "and it's very small. Can't you go and shoot another? Then we shall have enough for dinner."

"Yes, of course I can shoot another," said the little man, proudly; "you make a fire and get the pot boiling, and I'll go for another duck."

"You'd better shoot a drake this time," said Joan, "for drakes are bigger."

She started to make the fire, and the little man took his gun and went to the brook; but not a duck did he see, nor drake neither, and so he was forced to come home without any game.

"There's no use cooking one duck," said his wife, "so we'll have pork and beans for dinner and I'll hang the little duck in the shed. Perhaps you'll be able to shoot a drake to-morrow, and then we'll cook them both together."

So they had pork and beans, to the great disappointment of Mr. Jimson, who expected to eat duck instead; and after dinner the little man lay down to take a nap while his wife went out to tell the neighbors what a great hunter he was.

The news spread rapidly through the town, and when the evening paper came out the little man was very angry to see this verse printed in it:

There was a little man and he had a little gun,
And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead.
He went to the brook and shot a little duck.
And the bullet went right through its head, head, head.

He carried it home to his good wife Joan,
And bade her a fire to make, make, make,
While he went to the brook where he shot the little duck,
And tried for to shoot the drake, drake, drake.

"There's no use putting it into the paper," exclaimed the little man, much provoked, "and Mr. Brayer, the editor, is probably jealous because he himself cannot shoot a gun. Perhaps people think I cannot shoot a drake, but I'll show them to-morrow that I can!"

So the next morning he got up early again, and took his gun, and loaded it with bullets made of lead. Then he said to his wife,

"What does a drake look like, my love?"

"Why," she replied, "it's much like a duck, only it has a curl on its tail and red on its wing."

"All right," he answered, "I'll bring you home a drake in a short time, and to¬day we shall have something better for dinner than pork and beans."

When he got to the brook there was nothing in sight, so he sat down on the bank to watch, and again fell fast asleep.

Now Johnny Sprigg had missed his little duck, and knew some one had shot it; so he thought this morning he would go to the brook and watch for the man who had killed the duck, and make him pay a good price for it. Johnny was a big man, whose head was very bald; therefore he wore a red curly wig to cover his baldness and make him look younger.

When he got to the brook he saw no one about, and so he hid in a clump of bushes. After a time the little man woke up, and in looking around for the drake he saw Johnny's red wig sticking out of the top of the bushes.

"That is surely the drake," he thought, "for I can see a curl and something red;" and the next minute "bang!" went the gun, and Johnny Sprigg gave a great yell and jumped out of the bushes. As for his beautiful wig, it was shot right off his head, and fell into the water of the brook a good ten yards away!

"What are you trying to do?" he cried, shaking his fist at the little man

"Why, I was only shooting at the drake," replied Jimson; "and I hit it, too for there it is in the water."

"That's my wig, sir!" said Johnny Sprigg, "and you shall pay for it, or I'll have the law on you. Are you the man who shot the duck here yesterday morning?"

"I am, sir," answered the little man, proud that he had shot something besides a wig.

"Well, you shall pay for that also," said Mr. Sprigg; "for it belonged to me, and I'll have the money or I'll put you in jail!"

The little man did not want to go to jail, so with a heavy heart he paid for the wig and the duck, and then took his way sorrowfully homeward.

He did not tell Joan of his meeting with Mr, Sprigg; he only said he could not find a drake. But she knew all about it when the paper came out, for this is what it said on the front page:

There was a little man and he had a little gun.
And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead.
He shot Johnny Sprigg through the middle of his wig.
And knocked it right off from his head, head, head.

The little man was so angry at this, and at the laughter of all the men he met, that he traded his gun off for a lawn-mower, and resolved never to go hunting again.

He had the little duck he had shot made into a pie, and he and Joan ate it; but he did not enjoy it very much.

"This duck cost me twelve dollars," he said to his loving wife, "for that is the sum Johnny Sprigg made me pay; and it's a very high price for one little duck - don't you think so, Joan?"


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 8, 1919.

The Forgetful Poet's Puzzles

The dear fellow says that he found all sorts of things in the cookbook. A geographical dessert, an architectural pudding, a hot cake which sounded most unappetizing being made of a heavy material one uses in winter.

A cake that sounded like a summer resort in New England, another that sounded like a stone and at last one described as he would describe an addition to the bath. Altogether he thinks the names are very puzzling. And I suppose that at first you will agree with him.

The answers to last week's riddles were mouth organ, mosquitoes, stings, shade and crawling. I think he must have been studying up his map from his verses this week, don't you?

WHAT ISLANDS?

Some island might be used to flavor
Cakes, they are so nice.
Their name's the same as seasoning
Called in the cookbooks -----.

Some other islands that I know
Are named for famous wine.
They're in the big Atlantic, and
At times the climate's fine.

Some islands, too, are named for birds,
The kind that sing in cages.
One's named for just the wisest man
We've had in all the ages.

The last ones that I know have got
A pony's name. They're small.
So are the ponies named for them.
Good-by, I guess that's all.

For the best five lists sent to the Forgetful Poet there will be five little surprises. See how many islands you can find.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2011 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE TOOTHACHE OF THE SULTAN

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, March 18, 1917.


Once upon a time the Sultan of Durberay waked up with a toothache. Now it is bad enough when an ordinary person has the toothache, but when a Sultan has the toothache EVERYBODY suffers! The slaves ran to and fro, their robes flying and their turbans standing on end, and, as the chief lords remarked to one another in some agitation, if something was not done soon there would not be a head in the palace.

The Sultana had stuffed her ears with cotton and locked herself in a closet at the top of the house, the dancers were twirling about in an effort to take his Excellency's mind off the pain, but the more they twirled the louder he groaned. "Run for your lives!" whispered the keeper of the wardrobe, and run they did, just in time to prevent the Sultan from ordering off their heads. The fastest horse in the kingdom had been saddled and the young Prince had ridden for the doctor - would he NEVER COME?

Shoes, snuff-boxes, pipes and silver vases flew at one and then another and just as the Grand Vizier received a large brass flowerpot upon his head, a soothsayer entered the Sultan's apartment, begging permission to entertain him. How readily that permission was granted you can well imagine. Paying no attention to the book that the Sultan ill-naturedly let fly, he began to speak:

"The strangest thing I ever heard," he said slowly, "the strangest thing I EVER heard was told me today in the market place by a seaman with one eye. It certainly was an almost unbelievable phenomenon! The more I think of it, the more I wonder and the more I wonder, the more wonderful it becomes!" He stopped and shaking his head slowly from side to side looked off into space.

The Sultan raised himself upon one elbow. "What was it, idiot?" he demanded crossly.

""I hardly think I'd better tell you - nay, I am sure it would be most unwise to tell anybody! " He put his hand uneasily to his head and lapsed into silence again.

"Would it be DANGEROUS for me to know?" In spite of himself , the Sultan was growing interested. "Perhaps it is a plot against the realm - perhaps, perhaps - I insist upon your telling me. I command you to tell me! Begin at once or --" The Sultan touched his scimitar menacingly.

"If that seaman had ONLY had TWO eyes!" muttered the soothsayer absently.

"What's that got to do with it?" snapped the Sultan.

"Everything in the world!" replied the soothsayer promptly. "If he saw all he did see with ONE eye, what MIGHT he have seen with TWO!"

"What DID he see - what did he see?" screamed the Sultan, beside himself with curiosity.

"Defender of the Faithful, MUST I tell you?"

"Yes, yes, BY MY ROYAL TURBAN, YES!"

"Then so be it! This sailor, being homeward bound aboard a ship loaded with silk from China, was overtaken - I mean the ship - was overtaken by a storm. With all speed they made for the nearest land - a great shaggy island. On one side there arose what appeared to be a great cliff, in the center of which was a deep red cavern. They sailed in and made fast to a pure white rock - the cave was studded with them - and waited for the storm to pass." Again the soothsayer was silent.

"Yes, yes," exclaimed the Sultan, leaning forward impatiently.

"That was all!" said the soothsayer.

"All! ALL!" shrieked the Sultan in a rage. "There is nothing strange about THAT, you lying scoundrel!"

"For the GIANT HAD CLOSED HIS MOUTH!" finished the soothsayer calmly.

"GIANT!"

"Yes," continued the soothsayer. "It seems that they had anchored in the mouth of Gori, the giant who lives in the sea. He is so tall that his feet touch the ocean's bed and his head only appears above water. He nearly always sleeps with his mouth open. The one-eyed sailor, who had not been as satisfied with their shelter as the rest, noticed it growing darker, saw the walls of the cave closing down, rushed to the prow of the ship and dived out, just as the mighty jaws came creaking together. For ten days he hid himself in the forest on the giant's head, from which he managed to signal a ship and was thus rescued to make known to the world his strange story."

"Marvelous!" sighed the Sultan.

"The doctor!" announced the Grand Vizier, tossing the soothsayer a bag of gold.


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 1, 1919.

The Forgetful Poet Again

The dear fellow came rushing in this week with the answers to the professor's puzzles. I rather think he was jealous, and he told me that I might dismiss the professor at once, as he would attend to the puzzles himself. So I did. The answers to the professor's insect puzzles are ant, beetle, bee, gnat, fly. Photographs are snapped, yet not broken. And now for some new fellows.

The Forgetful Poet says that a feature and a musical instrument will give you another musical instrument.

Little Things

The June bug is about, they say,
Likewise the big ------,
Who do their best each summer time
To absolutely eat us.

The gnats and ants and bumble bees,
Of course, are little things;
But for their size they surely have
Remarkably sharp ------.

I sit down 'neath a tree to think
And slumber in the ------,
But oh, dear me! quite soon I flee
Before the ant brigade!

And though I'm not a timid man,
To me it is appalling
To feel adown my quaking spine
A caterpillar ------.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2011 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

A SCANDAL IN HIGH LIFE

By John R. Neill
Illustrator of most of the Oz books, and author of The Runaway in Oz, The Wonder City of Oz, Lucky Bucky in Oz, etc.

Originally published in The Sunday Magazine, February 21, 1904.




THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, May 25, 1919.

The Forever Forgetful Poet

"The sand man," says the forgetful poet, "carries a knapsack, because it is full of naps. As for dactylology, it is the sign language of the deaf and dumb. As for the marine creature mentioned last week, 'tis a dolphin; and as for the gales in his verse, nightingale, farthingale and a wind gale." Having delivered himself of all this the dear fellow went to sleep in the most comfortable chair in the office, and refused to be interviewed.

Fortunately, Professor Specs came along with some riddles. The professor is a very learned gentleman, and spends his time studying the earth. He says that below he has described a number of insects. I hope you will recognize them.

First, a relation will give a very industrious little insect.

A vegetable and a letter of the alphabet another.

A single letter of the alphabet gives a busy insect citizen.

A boy's nickname, rather an old-fashioned name beginning with N, gives a vexing little insect that bites.

A verb meaning "to hurry very quickly" gives another small pest.

And that is about enough for you to puzzle over this week, I fancy. But can you tell me what snaps without breaking?

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2010 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.