THE ADVENTURES OF PETER SPOTTLE

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

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 8, 1918. 


There was once a brave frogling named Peter Spottle, which is, I think, a sensible enough name for a frog.

He had applied himself diligently to his studies and knew all the secrets of frogology, the main principles of which are "Look before you leap!" and "Birds have beaks as well as feathers."

His knowledge had not made him vain, but it had aroused in him restless ambitions to see the world.

"What is the use of this continual jumping in if it never gets you anywhere," he remarked to Ezra Bullfrog, the Mayor of the pond.

Ezra used to swallow harder than ever and roll his eyes, but he never seemed to be able to answer Peter's question. "You should settle down!" he would wheeze crossly; "settle down, Pete!"

But Peter did not want to settle down in the mud. He wouldn't give two croaks for such a life, he said; at least not until he had traveled. Peter had a beautiful voice and might have led the Froggie Pond chorus, but he went off by himself instead and stared up at the stars and the trees and wondered what was on the other side of the forest and how one set about adventuring. No one in the pond had ever tried it, so no one could give him any advice. He asked a little sparrow who had come to the pond for a bath what was on the other side of the forest, and the sparrow had told him a house. But as houses were not mentioned on frogology, Peter was no better off than before.

"Perhaps," said Peter, "it is a kind of tree!" The more he thought about it the curiouser and curiouser he became, and one night, in spite of the warnings of his parents, he hopped out of the pond and off through the forest.

On and on all night hopped Peter. By morning he was so dry and dusty he could go no further, and crawling in between the roots of a big tree, he lay the whole day. By night he was a little rested, but only able to hop along weakly. He felt that his strength would give out if he did not soon have some water. The twigs and stones of the forest were not soft and yielding like the mud, and poor Peter was soon bruised and blistered. The pond began to look very fine to the little frog, but he pressed on bravely, for "they will laugh if I return so soon," he thought miserably.

Traveling was very perilous, and once an owl missed Peter by such a breath of space he felt its claws snatching for an hour afterward.

Toward morning the sound of water rippling just ahead sent him hurrying forward. There was water - a long, narrow pond, so Pete thought. Forgetting all about his frogology and "look before you leap," he plunged head first into an icy brook, knocking himself senseless against the hard stones on the bottom. When he finally did come to the cold water (oh, how unlike the warm currents of that once-despised pond) had chilled and stiffened him so he could hardly move.

He crawled sadly out and must have gone to sleep, for the next thing he knew he was flying through the air, or so it seemed to Peter.

"Why, Fred, I never saw frogs here before. Let's take him home for the aquarium!"

Peter decided that traveling was very perilous indeed and wiggled frantically to escape from the little girl's soft finger. But it was no use, and next thing he found himself and some wet leaves firmly buttoned into the little girl's pocket.

"This is the end!" gasped Peter Spottle, and closed his eyes in resignation. Bump, bump, bump, he went bouncing along. He was roused by a familiar word, "I'm going right in the house and put him in with the goldfish!"

House! So he was really going to see a house after all!

More bouncing about and then again he was taken in the small fingers and popped into a glass pond. The water was warm, and after a few minutes, Peter revived and looked about him. To the goldfish who swam curiously around him he paid no attention. They had no legs, poor things, and were not worthy of attention. He jumped to the top of the stone castle and stared and stared. So this was a house! In his interest all the perils of his journey were forgotten.

He stared at the walls and the pictures and books and blinked solemnly at the people. Indeed, for several weeks he was so happy he almost forgot the pond.

But after a while he grew very homesick. After all, what was the use of seeing all these wonderful things if you could not tell it to some one?

He decided to talk to the strange giant creatures who sat in chairs around the table. He made his adventures into a song and croaked away at the top of his voice. Sometimes he sang all night.

"That frog's got to go!" The little girl's father looked crossly over his paper. "It stares me out of countenance and that noise it makes is horrible!" Sadly the little girl imparted the news to Billy, and next day Peter was again popped into the dark pocket. "I'm going to send him home in style!" chuckled Billy, and refused to tell his sister just what he meant. She soon learned, and so did Peter Spottle. The sudden change from the dark pocket to the light dazzled him, but when he came to he was floating swiftly down the brook n a neat little toy boat.

The children waved good-by, and Peter was so proud he almost burst his jacket. But the wonderfulest part of the story is to come. That brook wound straight back to Peter's pond, and two days later the whole frog population was amazed to see him come sailing home. He became straightway the most famous frog in the community, and he never tired of telling his adventures. When he was introduced they always said, "Pray, meet Mr. Peter Spottle, the frog who has seen a house.!"

But, for all that, Peter never went traveling again.

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 9, 1917.

A Handful of Riddles

To what two trees and to what plant would you go for sewing materials?

What part of the telegraph system will give you the nationality of a man?

What bird is used in every construction operation?

Mr. G. Ography has sent us some remarkable sentences. He wonders what you will find in them. So do I.

Al jeeza at hens. That tune is nice. Dela wear your new jersey. Florence stop peeking.

Last week's answers were:
A public official is like a cow because he is bossy. Lid, feet, shoulder blade. An army is like a windmill because it is armed.

[Answers next time]

Copyright © 2005 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE WITCHCRAFT OF MARY-MARIE

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Visitors from Oz, The Wogglebug Book, The Flying Girl, etc.

Originally published in Baum's American Fairy Tales, 1908.
 

Mary-Marie wanted something to do. Her mother had died years before, and the cruel king had commanded her father to join the royal army and march into far-off countries to do battle. She could not even guess when he would return; indeed, few of the soldiers of the king's army ever did return from the fierce wars. So the girl lived through many tedious days in her lonely little hut, and gathered nuts and berries from the forest to satisfy her hunger. But her one gown was getting faded and shabby, and Mary-Marie could not think how she might manage to get another.

The hut stood beside a path that wound up the mountain side and away into the kingdom of Aurissau that lay in the valley beyond, and one day as Mary-Marie sat before her door an aged traveler came up the path and paused before her. The girl brought him a cup of water and in answer to his questions told how lonely and poor she was.

"But what can I do?" cried she, spreading out her arms helplessly. "I can not hew down trees, as my father used; and in all this end of the king's domain there is nothing else to be done. For there are so many shepherds that no more are needed, and so many tillers of the soil that no more can find employment. Ah, I have tried; hut no one wants a weak girl like me."

"Why don't you become a witch?" asked the man.

"Me!" gasped Mary-Marie, amazed. "A witch!"

"Why not?" he inquired, as if surprised.

"Well," said the girl, laughing. "I'm not old enough. Witches, you know, are withered dried-up old hags."

"Oh, not at all!" returned the stranger.

"And they sell their souls to Satan, in return for a knowledge of witchcraft," continued Mary-Marie more seriously.

"Stuff and nonsense!" cried the stranger angrily.

"And all the enjoyment they get in life is riding broomsticks through the air on dark nights," declared the girl.

"Well, well, well!" said the old man in an astonished tone. "One might think you knew all about witches, to hear you chatter. But your words prove you to be very ignorant of the subject. You may find good people and bad people in the world; and so, I suppose, you may find good witches and bad witches. But I must confess most of the witches I have known were very respectable, indeed, and famous for their kind actions."

"Oh. I'd like to be that kind of witch!" said Mary-Marie, clasping her hands earnestly.

"It's easy enough," answered the stranger. "I passed a witch's cottage about five miles down this path, and there was a sign on the door which read:


WITCHCRAFT IN ALL ITS BRANCHES
TAUGHT BY THE MOST APPROVED MODERN METHODS

"Were I you, my dear child, I would seek this cottage and learn to be a witch, for then you would have a busy and a happy life."

Saying these words the traveler rose and resumed his journey up the mountain, and Mary-Marie looked after him thoughtfully until he was out of sight. Then she jumped up and walked down the path, saying to herself:

"I'll go to the witch's cottage, anyway; and if I can coax her to give me lessons without cost I will learn her craft and become a witch myself."

So, singing and dancing along the steep pathway, she covered the five miles in a space of two hours, and so came to the very cottage the stranger had mentioned.

Until now she had almost doubted the truth of the old man's words; but, sure enough, there was the sign — and it read exactly as be had stated.

Mary-Marie knocked once upon the door and it flew open. Inside she saw a big room, the walls and ceiling and floor all painted a pure white color. The only furniture was a pretty white chair by the window, and seated on the chair was a woman with a fresh sweet face, snow-white hair and clothing so pure and speckless that the girl was sure that it had just come from the laundry. Noting the kindly expression upon the woman's face, Mary-Marie bobbed a courtesy, as was proper, and stood in a modest attitude of waiting.

"Come in, Mary-Marie," said the woman pleasantly.

"Oh, of course she knows my name!" thought the girl.

"Yes, and I know why you have come to me," continued the witch, just as if Mary-Marie had spoken her thought aloud.

"Then you also know I have no money to pay you for teaching me," said the girl.

"There are always ways of making payment without money," said the witch, smiling, "so I will take you as my pupil, and teach you to become a witch. I think you have considerable talent for the profession, and you are young and beautiful. These qualifications are somewhat rare, for witchcraft is a fine art that is much neglected these days."

Here the white-haired lady stopped to sigh, and Mary-Marie, thinking over her speech, asked timidly:

"To make payment without money, must I sell my soul to Satan?"

"Surely not!" returned the witch, "nor to me. nor to any one else. For you shall not become a wicked witch, but rather a good and faithful one, using your arts for the benefit of all mankind."

"Then I'll take my first lesson now!" exclaimed the girl eagerly.

"Wait a moment." said the woman; "we will not begin until we have made our bargain. You must promise, in return for my instruction, to perform three tasks for me."

"Very well," said Mary-Marie, "if I am able."

"You will be able when you are a witch," answered the woman. "But you must also agree to attend to my business before you begin to practice witchcraft on your own account."

"Very well," said Mary-Marie again.

"When you have faithfully executed my commands you shall be your own mistress, and work your witchcraft where you will for ever after."

"Thank you," said Mary-Marie; "let us begin at once."

The witch waved her hand and a pretty white chair appeared beside her own. Mary-Marie sat down and took her first lesson, and thereafter, for many days, she applied herself to learning the art of witchcraft, and found her companion a very interesting teacher.

There was no work to be done about the cottage. When they became hungry a table appeared in the center of the room loaded with wholesome food that proved most grateful to the girl after her accustomed meals of nuts and berries. And for drink they had delicious nectar, cold as spring water, which welled up in a magic flagon whenever they grew thirsty. At night two pretty white beds appeared, upon which it was impossible not to sleep soundly; and Mary-Marie noticed that the dreams which came to her while slumbering in her magic bed were far more pleasing than the stories she read in a story book.

The girl was an apt scholar, and being interested in her work learned its mysteries with exceeding rapidity. At length came a day when all magical arts that the witch knew were also known by Mary-Marie, and then the old woman said:

"Your education is finished. Tomorrow you shall start on your journey."

"What journey?" asked the girl.

"One that is necessary for you to undertake in order to accomplish the tasks you promised to perform in my behalf," was the answer.

"I am ready," declared Mary-Marie.

"Then listen carefully to my instructions," began the witch, drawing her chair nearer the girl, and speaking in an eager voice. "You must first go to the king's palace."

Mary-Marie looked at her frock and sighed.

"You will go as Princess Pritikin of Aurissau, as if on a visit of royal state. King Gruph has never seen this princess, so he will receive you courteously, and before he can discover the imposition you will have accomplished your errand."

"And what is my errand to the king?" asked the girl.

"I am coming to that," answered the witch. "But first tell me: what do you know of the king?"

"Very little," said Mary-Marie. "Men call him cruel and heartless, and I believe it is true, for he sent my dear father to the foreign wars. And they say the king is terrible in anger, often slaying his servants with his own hand when they anger him."

"They say truly in all this," declared the witch gravely; "and it is harder to bear because he is not our rightful king."

"Indeed, everyone knows Prince Melra should sit in his father's throne, instead of his Uncle Gruph. But the prince has disappeared, and they say his uncle had him killed, in order that he might himself be king," said Mary-Marie, dropping her voice to an awed whisper.

"Well, your first task will be to get near enough to King Gruph to enchant him," continued the old witch; "and it is my desire that you change him into the form of a nanny-goat."

Mary-Marie laughed and clapped her hands.

"How funny it will be," she cried, "to see the stern king trotting around as a goat!"

But the witch did not laugh. She looked thoughtful instead.

"My first task is easy enough," resumed the girl; "what next?"

"Next you must escape with the goat and lead it over the mountains to the city of Ribdil."

"Will that be difficult?" asked Mary-Marie.

"Not for a witch," was the answer, "although common mortals might fail to find a path over those wild mountains. Your third task will be to sell the goat at the city gate to a butcher named Gurd. As soon as Gurd has killed the goat you must hurry back to me. Afterward you will be at liberty to act as you please, for you will have repaid the debt you owe me for your instruction in witchcraft."

Well, Mary-Marie did not much like the tasks the witch had set her to do, for she was a gentle-hearted girl and had resolved to practice witchcraft only for the good of her fellow-creatures; but she was obliged to fulfill her promises, so she only said:

"Very well; I shall start tomorrow."

Next day a beautiful carriage, with many gaily dressed guards and servants attending it, drove up to the king's palace. In the carriage sat Mary-Marie, robed in exquisite garments and appearing every bit as dignified and sweet as the royal princess she represented.

"Make way for the Princess Pritikin of Aurissau!" shouted one of the guards; and so imposing was the escort that every one bowed down to the ground, and even King Gruph, in person, came down the marble steps of his palace to open the door of the carriage and assist the princess to alight.

Two pages carried the train of her silken mantle and the king led her at once to the great banquet hall and set her on his right hand, while the royal musicians played their best music to entertain the beautiful visitor.

For a time Mary-Marie quite enjoyed herself.

"This is better than eating nuts in my lonely hut on the hillside," she thought, as she feasted on the many dainties that covered the king's table. "I am very glad I learned how to be a witch."

She listened to the music and watched the dancers and the jugglers until it grew late and nearly all the courtiers and attendants had fallen sound asleep in their chairs. Only the king appeared fully awake, and he sat staring gloomily at the supposed princess as if for some reason he began to mistrust her errand at his palace.

Mary-Marie noticed that the king's mood had changed, so she dared delay no longer, but slyly drawing a silver bodkin from her bosom she leaned forward, as if to address the king, and gave him a tiny prick with the bodkin on his left shoulder.

Instantly the king's great form shrank away, and with a clatter of hoofs and a terrified bleat a nanny-goat fell upon the steps of the throne and then stood up trembling and turned its frightened eyes upon Mary-Marie.

The noise aroused all the slumbering courtiers, but when they rubbed their eyes and looked about them they found that both the king and the princess had disappeared, and only noticed that a barefooted, ragged girl was leading a goat from the hall by means of a hempen cord attached to its leg.

The young witch's own carriage and servants had long since disappeared, so she had but to find a path leading toward the mountains and begin the second part of her journey, leading the goat beside her and picking her way carefully by the light of the moon.

The goat gave many pitiful bleatings, and Mary-Marie's heart reproached her for what she was doing until she remembered the many cruel deeds of which the king had been guilty. Then she shook her finger at him and said:

"It serves you right!" and walked on swiftly.

At length the path, which constantly led upward, came to a stop at the edge of a deep gulf So Mary-Marie tied the goat to a rock and then lay down and slept until daylight.

In the morning she plucked four long hairs from the goat's back, and, having knotted them together, threw one end toward the gulf, muttering a few mystical words as she did so. Instantly a splendid bridge appeared, stretching from one edge of the gulf to the other, and on this the girl crossed in safety, driving the goat before her.

Having reached the other side of the gulf, she journeyed on until, nearing the highest peak of the mountain, she came upon a huge giant guarding the path.

"Stop!" he roared in a terrible voice. "None can pass here."

The little witch merely waved her hand and a cloud of thick dust swept into the giant's eyes and quickly blinded him. He dropped his club and began rubbing his eyes furiously, roaring the while with anger and pain. But Mary-Marie only laughed and said to the goat:

"How easy this witchcraft is when one knows how!"

And then she led the goat past the giant and down the mountain side, paying no further attention to his ravings.

Still other difficulties the little witch encountered, but she always overcame them by means of her magical arts, and finally she approached the city of Ribdil. Entering the gate she found near-by a big, brutal looking butcher, who stood before his shop and frowned at the passers-by.

"Is your name Gurd?" asked Mary-Marie.

"My name is Gurd!" answered the butcher with a fierce scowl. "What do you want?"

"Money for my goat," said Mary-Marie.

At this the butcher seized the goat and dragged it into his shop. Then he returned to the girl and cried:

"Be gone! Why are you loitering here?"

"I await the money for my goat," said Mary-Marie, looking at him bravely, although she was a bit frightened. For her witchcraft had enabled her to discover that this Gurd, who pretended to be a butcher, was in reality a powerful magician, whose arts might easily overcome her own unless she was clever enough to deceive him. It was Gurd's love of bloodshed that made him keep the butcher's shop, where he might satisfy his horrid longing to kill by slaughtering animals of all kinds.

The citizens of Ribdil all feared this evil man and avoided him whenever possible, and Gurd had no doubt the little girl whose goat he had stolen would be easily frightened.

He drew a sharp knife from his girdle and said:

"I will give you two minutes to escape. If you are not gone by that time I will kill you as well as your goat."

Mary-Marie was really tempted to run away when she heard that, for she knew her life was in great danger. But she resolved not to leave the place until she had accomplished her mission, so she answered boldly:

"If you do not pay me for the goat I will complain to the king."

"The king, eh?" said Gurd with a rough laugh. "Do you think I fear any mortal king? Escape while you have the time!"

But the girl did not move, so Gurd suddenly grasped her in his strong arms and carried her inside the shop, closing the door behind them that she might not escape.

"When I have killed the goat it will be your turn!" he cried, and with a flourish of his knife he sprang upon the bleating animal and with one blow stabbed it to the heart.

The poor goat fell down in a pool of its own blood, and behold! its form gradually changed to that of King Gruph, who with one deep groan expired at the butcher's feet.

Gurd gave one look at his victim and then uttered a terrible shriek of anguish. His burly form began to shrink and dwindle away, and in less than a minute he stood before Mary-Marie a feeble palsied old man, with scarcely enough strength to stagger to a bench.

"I am ruined - ruined!" he wailed, beginning to sob like a child. "For I have slain the king, and it was fated that if I ever drew but one drop of his royal blood my magic powers would depart from me for ever! I am ruined - and by a girl!"

Then he raised his head and asked feebly: "Who are you?"

"My name is Mary-Marie, and I am a good witch," she answered.

"Who sent you on this errand?" he inquired, moaning.

"An old woman with a fair, fresh face and white hair, whose name I do not know, but who taught me my witchcraft," replied Mary-Marie.

The wretched man paused to pass his withered hand over his forehead.

"I know who you mean," he said with another sob; "but you will find her an old woman no longer. Go back, and say you have avenged the wrong I have done. In an hour I shall be dead, and men will fear me no longer!"

He sank to the floor in a heap, and Mary-Marie walked out of the butcher's shop and passed through the gate of the city. Then, finding herself alone upon the mountain path, she drew a purple handkerchief from her bosom and spread it upon the ground. It was just large enough for her to stand upon, and when her feet rested upon the cloth she spoke a magic word she had learned from her teacher.

A sudden breeze ruffled her hair an instant, and then she found herself standing in the road before the white cottage of the witch.

Mary-Marie sprang forward and knocked on the door. As it flew open she cried:

"Your tasks are done, mistress!"

But then she paused in astonishment, for instead of the old witch a handsome young man stood within the room, clothed in princely raiment and smiling happily at the surprised look on the maiden's face.

"Come in, little witch!" he called in a gay voice; "come in and receive thanks for setting me free and restoring me to my kingdom!"

"Who are you?" gasped Mary-Marie.

"I am Prince Melra, who was supposed to be dead, bound by a powerful enchantment of the wicked magician Gurd, and I have been kept in the form of an old woman at the command of my uncle, King Gruph, that he might occupy the throne belonging by right to me. For five years I have suffered this enchantment; but I discovered that if ever the magician drew a drop of the king's blood he would lose all his powers, and I would regain my freedom. So I studied the arts of witchcraft, only to find that my every movement was watched by the magician, and that I must find some one else to accomplish my purpose."

"But how came you to select me?" asked the girl.

"I saw you one day gathering nuts in the forest, and loved you for your beauty and sweetness. So I took upon myself the form of an old man and passed your hut, stopping long enough to advise you to come to the old witch for lessons. Then I returned here by another path, and was in time to greet you. And while I taught you witchcraft I learned to love you more than before; so that now, being free and restored to my proper form and to my kingdom, I long to make you my queen."

"I think I'm too young to marry," said Mary-Marie, blushing. "Then I must find another mate," said the handsome prince, pretending to turn away.

"But girls often marry when they are too young," exclaimed Mary-Marie quickly; "so, if you don't object to my age - "

"Oh, not at all!" cried the prince; "the younger we are the more years we shall have to be happy in."

"That is true," said the girl thoughtfully. "But if I'm to be married so young it's a pity you ever taught me witchcraft."

"Nonsense!" said the prince, kissing her sweet lips fondly; "you were bewitching, Mary-Marie, long before I became your teacher!"

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 2, 1917.

Some Ridiculous Riddles

That's what the Forgetful Poet called them, but I did not find them ridiculously easy. Before I tell you them, I must set down the answers to the Thanksgiving riddles--Mayflower, Pilgrim, Miles Standish, and the last contained three well-known poems--the first, "When the frost is on the pumpkin," by James Whitcomb Riley; the second, "We ourselves must pilgrims be," by James Russel Lowell, and third, "The Landing of the Pilgrims," by Mrs. Hemans.

And now for the ridiculous riddles:

Why is a public official like a cow?

With part of my eye
I could cover a box,
While part of a yardstick
I wear in my socks,
I have in my body
A part of a knife,
Which, strangely,
Does not interfere
With my life.

Why is a windmill like an army?

It ends with a measure for weight,
And begins with a word short and queer,
Whose meaning, I'm sad to relate,
Is to, well, I might say, domineer.
And this city (Sh-h! it's out of hearing),
Is weighty, also--domineering!

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2005 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE WITCHES' WELL

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

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, October 25, 1914.

(For All the Boys and Girls Who Wanted a Witch Story.)


There was once a Prince who, having been treacherously cheated out of his inheritance by his two older brothers, set out to make his fortune in a strange country. But he was in no wise cast down for he had the merriest heart in the world as well as the kindliest, and was the possessor of a silver flute, upon which he could play with marvelous skill.

One night his travels brought him to the edge of a dense forest. Fearing that if he lay down to rest he would be devoured by wild beasts, he determined to push on. He had not gone far before he saw a red light gleaming though the trees.

At every step the way grew more dense and tangled, but the light grew steadily brighter, and at last, parting the thick foliage, the Prince looked out upon a small clearing. "Trees and steeple-tops," cried he, falling back against a tree. No wonder!

In the centre of the clearing, chained by her nose to a dark well, crouched a witch. Oh, an awful witch - a terrible witch - a hideous witch - an awful, terrible, hideous witch! Her eyes were red, and big as dinner plates, indeed it was their light that cast the red glow over the forest. Her teeth were long as elephant's tusks, while her hair writhed out from beneath her peaked hat like mass of snakes. The Prince wiped the cold perspiration from his brow and stood watching from behind his tree.

Soon a whole company of wild beasts came slinking down to the well. They rumbled and roared threateningly until the witch had drawn them each a bucket of water, then they went slinking off again. Next a horde of goblins sprang into the clearing. Moaning and groaning, the red-eyed witch drew them bucket after bucket of water. The little imps pulled her hair, screamed in her ear and played every other sort of mischievous prank that goblins can play. Chained by her nose to the well, the witch was at their mercy.

"This won't do!" said the kind-hearted Prince, for he could not stand seeing even a red-eyed witch suffer. Seizing his flute he played the merriest tune that he knew. Straightway the goblins ceased their pranks. They hopped and skipped, and whirled and twirled and bounded about in the maddest, merriest goblin dance, not even stopping to see where the music came from. Playing gayly the Prince led them deep into the forest. Faster and faster played the flute - faster and faster whirled the little imps till at length they fell exhausted to the ground.

Then the Prince returned to the witch's well. "Good evening, madam," said he, sweeping off his hat. The witch's eyes grew big as meat platters and her tusks rattled like twenty drums, but the Prince neither shuddered nor stepped back. Seeing that she could neither make him shudder nor run, the witch spoke, "You are a brave lad! You have a kind heart. You are the only human being who has not run from me. Therefore I will grant you a wish. Come! Make a wish. Anything that your heart desires." The Prince sat down upon the edge of the well to wish and the witch sat on the edge of the well to wait, and there they sat and sat and sat! For as the merry-hearted Prince never thought of himself at all, he found making a wish the hardest thing in the world.

Then all at once he looked at the witch. "What a terrible misfortune to be so horribly ugly - !" Up sprang the Prince, "I wish that you were no longer a witch!" Scarcely had he spoken before there was a rumbling as of a hundred thunderstorms rolled into one. Everything grew dark. When it grew light again the Prince was standing before a beautiful palace. Down its golden steps swept the most beautiful Princess you can imagine. "Ah," cried she, "The spell is broken! Because I refused to marry him, I was changed by Crumblesticken, a wicked magician, to the horrible witch that you saw in the forest. There I was condemned to draw water for the wild beasts and goblins till someone, without fear, and of his own free will would do me a kindness."

It only remains to say that they were married upon the spot with great splendor and magnificence and lived happily ever afterward.

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 25, 1917

Riddles in Rhyme for Thanksgiving Time

A month and an ingredient
In bread will give a ship
In whom our sturdy ancestors
First made the ocean trip!

A form of medicine, a word
That means stern and severe,
Will give, well, now what will it give,
Just tell me that, my dear?

His first name's a measure for distance,
And once you have that you will know
The whole, for he's truly thrice famous
A hot tempered man he was, though!

"When the frost is on the pumpkin
We ourselves must pilgrims be,
Amid the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea."

That seems to me a remarkable poem; what do you make of it?

Last week's answers were: Rumania and Serbia. If an oak had an elderly relation it would certainly be Antioch--in Syria.

[Answers next time]
 

Copyright © 2005 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE DESCENT OF MANN

By Louis F. Baum
Author of The Visitors from Oz, The Wogglebug Book, The Flying Girl, etc.

The original publication of this poem is unknown. Baum's use of the psuedonym "Louis F. Baum" (his name was Lyman Frank Baum) indicates that the poem dates from about the 1880s. Possibly it was published in the Aberdeen [South Dakota] Saturday Pioneer while Baum was the editor of that newspaper. However, if the poem's subject, Mr. Mann, refers to the composer Nathaniel D. Mann, who wrote some music for the 1903 Broadway production of The Wizard of Oz and collaborated with Baum on at least one other unproduced musical, that could indicate the poem could be dated as late as 1902 or even later, though that seems unlikely.

Mr. Mann was fat and jolly;
So he never thought it folly
When he rose and said, "By golly,
I've a notion what I'll do!"
"I'll go down and be a skater,
Quite a slick perambulator
On the rink I'll be, and cater
To the reigning fashion, too."

So unto the rink he rambled,
With the crowd for skates he scrambled,
Put them on, and slightly trembled
As he eyed the floor askance;
First a roll - and then a tumble!
Then ejaculations mumble -
Just as though a man should grumble
When he falls upon his pants!

Then, with a face as red and beaming
As a beacon - wisely deeming
'Twas regarded quite unseeming
To be sitting on the floor
Up he sprang, quite acrobatic,
And with feeling not ecstatic
Threw his toes up toward the attic -
And was seated as before.

"Now, by gum!" he said in wonder,
"How in Geddes - how in thunder
Shall I 'scape from this vile blunder
And regain my dignity!
See the girls all madly laughing!
How the fellows will be chaffing,
And at my expense by quaffing
Ten-cent drinks in heartless glee."

At the thought, up sprang he boldly,
And a yard quite neatly rolled he,
Then a crash! And he lay coldly,
Silently upon the floor.
Carefully they raised his mangled
Form, and from his throat untangled
Half a skate before he strangled -
Then away his form they bore.

* * * * *

Now our friend has an affair
Like a cushion filled with air,
Which he places on a chair,
And its softness eases pain.
But no more he's fat and jolly,
For his mind is melancholy
Ruminating on his folly
And he'll never skate again.

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

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

Riddles

As usual, any number of you answered the forgetful poet's riddles, so this time Mr. G. Ography, who has just returned from the war zone, has made you some which he is quite sure will be several huckleberries above your persimmon, whatever that means.

? ? ? ? ?

A word--to regret,
And a State plus two letters.
The ninth and the first
Feels the War Lord's iron fetters?

Ending the same,
Starting off with a word
Who's meaning is to wait,
Is a country--and a third.

If an oak tree had an elderly relation it would probably be a certain city in Syria?

Last week's answers were: A train is worn by a Queen and carried by a Page. Daniel Boone, Lewis Carrol and Sir Francis Drake.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2005 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE STORY OF CINDERELLA AS IT IS TOLD IN CHINA

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

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 20, 1914.


In that country of lanterns and firecrackers, where little pigtailed boys and girls play at shuttlecock and kite flying from sun-up till sun-down, there once lived a mighty pigtailed Prince named Ti-fa. Like most mighty Princes, he was very fond of hunting, and one day as he and his silk-coated friends were riding in the craggy heights of the mountains near his father;s palace they came upon a wonderful fountain. It gushed from the heart of the rock and hurled its sparkling waters high in the air, then splintered them into a thousand diamond drops below. It was not alone the beauty of the fountain that caused Ti-fa to spur his horse forward. In its waters sported a company of graceful maidens. Oh, they were beautiful! But as the royal hunting party came up they fled in terror to the woods.

The Prince was greatly vexed, and, as is the custom of august Majesties when they are in a temper, began to scold and abuse his poor friends and ministers. They kowtowed and waved their arms about in great agitation, but one or more would certainly have lost his head, or his pigtail, at least, if something had not happened at that minute. A great eagle rose from the spot where the maidens had disappeared, and with a glittering parcel in his beak soared up, up and out of sight. The Prince hurried to the place, and there on the ground lay a tiny shoe. Oh, you never could believe how tiny it was, nor how studded with gems its silken tininess! He seized the dainty thing with a cry of joy and thrust it beneath his silk coat. On the way back to the palace he could think of naught else but the owner of the miniature boot. Who was she? Rich, surely, to possess so fine a shoe! Beautiful, certainly, to match so small a foot!

Hardly had the royal party reached the palace and hardly had the Prince seated himself upon the throne when the same eagle they had seen in the woods swept into the palace and, drooping low on his golden wings, dropped the mate of the little shoe into Ti-fa's lap. Now there was excitement I can tell you! It was very clear that all those fierce and strange creatures whom the Chinese call Gods had decreed that the lady of the silken shoes should wed Ti-fa. A proclamation was issued forthwith commanding her to appear in court on penalty of death.

Now, all the other ladies in the kingdom, dearly as they would have liked to try on the silken shoes, dared not venture in court, for if the shoes failed to go on 'twould be "Off with her head!" and who cared to risk that, pray! So it happened that Candida, the real owner of the dainty shoes, appeared as commanded, because she dared not do otherwise. The courtroom blazed with splendor and light as the little lady of the silken shoes entered. There was a gasp of wonder, then a vigorous wagging of pigtailed heads. The beauty of the little Chinese lady was so dazzling, so glorious, that in her radiant presence all else seemed mean and poor. Ti-fa led her to his own great throne and, kneeling, slipped on her dainty feet the tiny embroidered shoes. Then amid general rejoicing he declared her to be his wife. Flags and pennants flew from the turrets, lanterns blazed from the palace gardens, a weird and wonderful banquet was served in the ballroom, a banquet, girls and boys, to which I am glad we were not bidden. There were dried and salted earth worms, pigeon eggs and shark fins, pounded shrimps and dear only knows what else. However, these viands had no ill effects upon the beautiful Candida and her royal husband, and, as you have probably guessed, they lived happily ever after.

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 11, 1917

A Handful of Riddles

The Forgetful Poet was amazed when I showed him the pile of correct answers to his rhyming riddles. "Never saw anything like it!" he murmured, ruffling his hair. And neither did I. If you persist in guessing all of our riddles--why, as a punishment we shall demand that you make some yourselves.

The correct answers to last week's riddles are--swallows, a nut kernel which is inclosed in a shell, a knight, a bay horse and an oxheart cherry.

Tell me now: What vehicle is worn by a queen and carried by part of a book? and what garden implement is found in a fall fruit? And--

What other word for favor
Will name a pioneer--
While what we sing at Christmas time
Will give an author dear?

A nautical bird, too,
Will give you as plain
As can be a great Englishman
Not loved by Spain?

[Answers next time]

Copyright © 2005 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

A HIGHLY MAGNIFIED HISTORY

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Visitors from Oz, The Wogglebug Book, The Flying Girl, etc.

An excerpt from The Marvelous Land of Oz, 1904, presented here to celebrate the publication of The Visitors from Oz by L. Frank Baum.

"It is but honest that I should acknowledge at the beginning of my recital that I was born an ordinary Woggle-Bug," began the creature, in a frank and friendly tone. "Knowing no better, I used my arms as well as my legs for walking, and crawled under the edges of stones or hid among the roots of grasses with no thought beyond finding a few insects smaller than myself to feed upon.

"The chill nights rendered me stiff and motionless, for I wore no clothing, but each morning the warm rays of the sun gave me new life and restored me to activity. A horrible existence is this, but you must remember it is the regular ordained existence of Woggle-Bugs, as well as of many other tiny creatures that inhabit the earth.

"But Destiny had singled me out, humble though I was, for a grander fate! One day I crawled near to a country school house, and my curiosity being excited by the monotonous hum of the students within, I made bold to enter and creep along a crack between two boards until I reached the far end, where, in front of a hearth of glowing embers, sat the master at his desk.

"No one noticed so small a creature as a Woggle-Bug, and when I found that the hearth was even warmer and more comfortable than the sunshine, I resolved to establish my future home beside it. So I found a charming nest between two bricks and hid myself therein for many, many months.

"Professor Nowitall is, doubtless, the most famous scholar in the land of Oz, and after a few days I began to listen to the lectures and discourses he gave his pupils. Not one of them was more attentive than the humble, unnoticed Woggle-Bug, and I acquired in this way a fund of knowledge that I will myself confess is simply marvelous. That is why I place 'T.E.' Thoroughly Educated upon my cards; for my greatest pride lies in the fact that the world cannot produce another Woggle-Bug with a tenth part of my own culture and erudition."

"I do not blame you," said the Scarecrow. "Education is a thing to be proud of. I'm educated myself. The mess of brains given me by the Great Wizard is considered by my friends to be unexcelled."

"Nevertheless," interrupted the Tin Woodman, "a good heart is, I believe, much more desirable than education or brains."

"To me," said the Saw-Horse, "a good leg is more desirable than either."

"Could seeds be considered in the light of brains?" enquired the Pumpkinhead, abruptly.

"Keep quiet!" commanded Tip, sternly.

"Very well, dear father," answered the obedient Jack.

The Woggle-Bug listened patiently -- even respectfully -- to these remarks, and then resumed his story.

"I must have lived fully three years in that secluded school-house hearth," said he, "drinking thirstily of the ever-flowing fount of limpid knowledge before me."

"Quite poetical," commented the Scarecrow, nodding his head approvingly.

"But one, day" continued the Bug, "a marvelous circumstance occurred that altered my very existence and brought me to my present pinnacle of greatness. The Professor discovered me in the act of crawling across the hearth, and before I could escape he had caught me between his thumb and forefinger.

"'My dear children,' said he, 'I have captured a Woggle-Bug -- a very rare and interesting specimen. Do any of you know what a Woggle-Bug is?'

"'No!' yelled the scholars, in chorus.

"'Then,' said the Professor, 'I will get out my famous magnifying-glass and throw the insect upon a screen in a highly-magnified condition, that you may all study carefully its peculiar construction and become acquainted with its *** Suspicious paragraph end: habits and manner of life.' habits and manner of life.'

"He then brought from a cupboard a most curious instrument, and before I could realize what had happened I found myself thrown upon a screen in a highly-magnified state -- even as you now behold me.

"The students stood up on their stools and craned their heads forward to get a better view of me, and two little girls jumped upon the sill of an open window where they could see more plainly.

"'Behold!' cried the Professor, in a loud voice, 'this highly-magnified Woggle-Bug; one of the most curious insects in existence!'

"Being Thoroughly Educated, and knowing what is required of a cultured gentleman, at this juncture I stood upright and, placing my hand upon my bosom, made a very polite bow. My action, being unexpected, must have startled them, for one of the little girls perched upon the window-sill gave a scream and fell backward out the window, drawing her companion with her as she disappeared.

"The Professor uttered a cry of horror and rushed away through the door to see if the poor children were injured by the fall. The scholars followed after him in a wild mob, and I was left alone in the school-room, still in a Highly-Magnified state and free to do as I pleased.

"It immediately occurred to me that this was a good opportunity to escape. I was proud of my great size, and realized that now I could safely travel anywhere in the world, while my superior culture would make me a fit associate for the most learned person I might chance to meet.

"So, while the Professor picked the little girls -- who were more frightened than hurt -- off the ground, and the pupils clustered around him closely grouped, I calmly walked out of the school-house, turned a corner, and escaped unnoticed to a grove of trees that stood near"

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the Pumpkinhead, admiringly.

"It was, indeed," agreed the Woggle-Bug. "I have never ceased to congratulate myself for escaping while I was Highly Magnified; for even my excessive knowledge would have proved of little use to me had I remained a tiny, insignificant insect."

"I didn't know before," said Tip, looking at the Woggle-Bug with a puzzled expression, "that insects wore clothes."

"Nor do they, in their natural state," returned the stranger. "But in the course of my wanderings I had the good fortune to save the ninth life of a tailor -- tailors having, like cats, nine lives, as you probably know. The fellow was exceedingly grateful, for had he lost that ninth life it would have been the end of him; so he begged permission to furnish me with the stylish costume I now wear. It fits very nicely, does it not?" and the Woggle-Bug stood up and turned himself around slowly, that all might examine his person.

"He must have been a good tailor," said the Scarecrow, somewhat enviously.

"He was a good-hearted tailor, at any rate," observed Nick Chopper.

"But where were you going, when you met us?" Tip asked the Woggle-Bug.

"Nowhere in particular," was the reply, "although it is my intention soon to visit the Emerald City and arrange to give a course of lectures to select audiences on the 'Advantages of Magnification.'"

"We are bound for the Emerald City now," said the Tin Woodman; "so, if it pleases you to do so, you are welcome to travel in our company."

The Woggle-Bug bowed with profound grace.

"It will give me great pleasure," said he "to accept your kind invitation; for nowhere in the Land of Oz could I hope to meet with so congenial a company."

"That is true," acknowledged the Pumpkinhead. "We are quite as congenial as flies and honey."

"But -- pardon me if I seem inquisitive -- are you not all rather -- ahem! rather unusual?" asked the Woggle-Bug, looking from one to another with unconcealed interest.

"Not more so than yourself," answered the Scarecrow. "Everything in life is unusual until you get accustomed to it."

"What rare philosophy!" exclaimed the Woggle-Bug, admiringly.

"Yes; my brains are working well today," admitted the Scarecrow, an accent of pride in his voice.

"Then, if you are sufficiently rested and refreshed, let us bend our steps toward the Emerald City," suggested the magnified one.

"We can't," said Tip. "The Saw-Horse has broken a leg, so he can't bend his steps. And there is no wood around to make him a new limb from. And we can't leave the horse behind because the Pumpkinhead is so stiff in his Joints that he has to ride."

"How very unfortunate!" cried the Woggle-Bug. Then he looked the party over carefully and said:

"If the Pumpkinhead is to ride, why not use one of his legs to make a leg for the horse that carries him? I judge that both are made of wood."

"Now, that is what I call real cleverness," said the Scarecrow, approvingly. "I wonder my brains did not think of that long ago! Get to work, my dear Nick, and fit the Pumpkinhead's leg to the Saw-Horse."

Jack was not especially pleased with this idea; but he submitted to having his left leg amputated by the Tin Woodman and whittled down to fit the left leg of the Saw-Horse. Nor was the Saw-Horse especially pleased with the operation, either; for he growled a good deal about being "butchered," as he called it, and afterward declared that the new leg was a disgrace to a respectable Saw-Horse.

"I beg you to be more careful in your speech," said the Pumpkinhead, sharply. "Remember, if you please, that it is my leg you are abusing."

"I cannot forget it," retorted the Saw-Horse, "for it is quite as flimsy as the rest of your person."

"Flimsy! me flimsy!" cried Jack, in a rage. "How dare you call me flimsy?"

"Because you are built as absurdly as a jumping-jack," sneered the horse, rolling his knotty eyes in a vicious manner. "Even your head won't stay straight, and you never can tell whether you are looking backwards or forwards!"

"Friends, I entreat you not to quarrel!" pleaded the Tin Woodman, anxiously." As a matter of fact, we are none of us above criticism; so let us bear with each others' faults."

"An excellent suggestion," said the Woggle-Bug, approvingly. "You must have an excellent heart, my metallic friend."

"I have," returned Nick, well pleased. "My heart is quite the best part of me. But now let us start upon our Journey.

They perched the one-legged Pumpkinhead upon the Saw-Horse, and tied him to his seat with cords, so that he could not possibly fall off.

And then, following the lead of the Scarecrow, they all advanced in the direction of the Emerald City.

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 4, 1917.

A Few Rhyming Riddles

The Forgetful Poet stepped in this morning with a new batch of riddles. He had left out quite a few of the words, but after filling them in, I agreed to publish them, as he said he needed a hew hat. I should say they were worth that much, anyway; what do you say?

When eating what
Birds come into play?
What's inclosed in something
Used in the fray

And named like an officer?
Can you say
What olden time hero
Is part of a day?

What creature is a body of water?
What brute,
Plus an organ, will equal
An early spring fruit?

Last week's riddles answers were: An after-dinner speaker is like a nut cracker, because he is always cracking chestnuts. In the verses a football, an appendix, leave (what we all at some time take) and batter (athlete) were concealed.

Copyright © 2005 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.