By Ruth Plumly ThompsonAuthor of Kabumpo in Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink," "King, King! Double King!" etc.
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 12, 1920
Once upon a time there was a kind-hearted wolf. Imagine! He ate nothing but baked potatoes, oatmeal and custard, and never once thought of eating boys or girls or fat woolly lambs. Never once, mind you! He always had pennies and peppermint lozenges in his pockets.
But for all that he had the most wretched time of it, for no one would associate with him. His relations among the wolves turned up their nose at baked potatoes and said a wolf had no business being kind-hearted. The other animals in the woods were afraid of him and warned their children to keep away from his house.
“He’s just pretending to be kind and some day while you are playing in his yard, he will rush out and gobble you up,” Mrs. Rabbit explained with a shake of her head.
So when the little rabbits saw him coming they scurried away as if goblins were chasing them. As for the boys and girls, they took to their heels at the very sight of him. For, of course, they kept getting him mixed in their minds with the wolf who ate Red Riding Hood.
“Some day they will understand,” he would say to himself as he sat by his fire all alone. “If I only were not so ugly!”
The more he smiled the faster people ran and, though there were sledding and coasting parties in the wood, he was never invited, for the wolves said he was queer and the other animals said that he was sly. And so it went.
Then one day a hunting party rode into the forest and when they galloped back to the king’s city a score of baby foxes and rabbits waited and waited for their daddies and mammies. But, of course, they did not come, for the huntsmen had shot them.
The kind-hearted wolf had seen the huntsmen pass his house with the furry bodies dangling from their shoulders. He shook his head sadly; then, building a cheerful fire and putting some potatoes in the oven, he went out into the dark night.
When he returned twenty little foxes clung to his coat-tails and thirty little rabbits snuggled in his pockets. Then he shut the windows and barred all the doors and gave them a lovely supper, and after that he put them to sleep in his big bed and sat down by the fire as if he expected something.
He didn’t have long to wait, for pretty soon there came a knock-knock-ing at the door. A company of bears and wolves were outside snarling and growling.
“Give us some of the baby rabbits and foxes, you selfish fellow,” they roared. They had been hunting all evening for them.
The kind-hearted wolf chuckled, then went on smoking his pipe, and after the bears and wolves had thumped and bumped themselves tired they went away. Next day another hunting party rode into the woods, dogs ran baying through the bush and guns popped like crackers on the Fourth of July. Hither and thither ran the poor animals seeking shelter, but the party was so large it seemed as if they would all be killed. Just ahead of the dogs they reached the kind-hearted wolf’s house.
“Let us in! Let us in!” they called loudly; bears, hares, wolves and foxes all together.
“Will you promise not to harm the little rabbit and fox babies?” cried the wolf, sticking his head out of the window. They promised in a great hurry, so he let them all in.
When the dogs and huntsmen pounded by the wolf’s house was tightly shut, so they thought no one lived there and they went on. Meanwhile the kind-hearted wolf bustled about, offering every one refreshments.
After dinner they had a game of buzz, so that it was quite a party, and when the big animals went away next day they agreed that the kind-hearted wolf was the best animal in the woods.
After that he was never lonely again, for all the little animals came to see him and the big ones, too, and while they were under his roof they never quarreled.
As for the twenty foxes and thirty little rabbits, he brought them up as if they had been his own children, and with such care and skill that they distinguished themselves in several parts of the world.
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 7, 1918
The High Pie Test in Supposyville
Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise,
The King’s chiefmost adviser,
Seems every day to find a way
Of proving himself wiser.
“There is,” said he, “one thing that we
Have overlooked, your Highness;
A matter of importance and
A matter of much finesse!
“It has to do with weddings, Sire,
Contentedness and quiet;
It has to do with the tremendous
Part of each man’s diet
That lacking causes pain, distress,
The blues and melancholy;
That eaten regularly keeps
Him jovial and jolly.
“A peaceful household you will find
Where good pie is a factor,
It is a never failing calm,
A masculine attractor;
And knowing this to be the case,
Your Majesty, ’twere best
To make each maiden pass, before
She weds, a high pie test!”
“A high pie test! Sir Solomon,
Your genius is sublime, Sir!”
Thus spoke the King, “and so your hint
I regard as very prime, Sir!”
By royal proclamation it
Was spread North, East and West
And South: “No maid shall wed until
She’s passed the high pie test!”
And after that—’most every day,
Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise
Is called upon to test and pass—
Well, several dozen pies.
Sometimes the King helps. The insides
Must be both sweet and shaky;
As for the crust--of course, that must
Be white and light and flaky.
And when the pies have passed, the maid
May wed—Aho! I’m thinking
Sir Solomon just made that rule—
Yes; once I saw him winking—
Because he wanted pie himself.
Not having any wife
He thought he’d just insure himself
Against a pieless life!
He tests the pies himself, you know.
Now what a merry joke
The wise old wight has played this time
On our Supposy Folk.
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