SUB SIGHTED!

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

Originally published in King Comics #49, November 1942.


It was the last frolic before the break-up of Bayside Camp on the Cape. Not the usual weekly cruise to Clay's Island for a corn and clam bake, but a real bang-up all-day party and celebration at Provincetown itself. A special permit had been secured giving the Romp permission to cross the bay from Wellfleet to the doll-like little town on the tip of Cape Cod, and though theirs was an inside course and not in the ocean at all, a lively discussion about subs was already under way.

"Subs could easily come in here," asserted Polly Spencer, hopefully waving her binoculars. To this the other Baysiders enthusiastically agreed, passing the glasses from hand to hand, till eyes and necks protesting, they were thankfully returned to their owner. A. D., the camp's head counselor, did not bother to explain the extreme improbability of encountering a sub. She felt it a shame to remove the thrill of such an experience from their last cruise. Only the captain of the little motor boat allowed himself an indulgent chuckle as the girls agreed to post a lookout on the cabin top and take turns on watch. Gabe Saunders, hailed as Gabriel because she played cornet in the camp band, climbed cheerfully aloft for the first turn. The others, intent on the souvenirs they hoped to pick up in Provincetown and the prospect of a good old gorge on sodas and buns to make up for the balanced diet at Bayside, soon forgot all about subs, chattering away as noisily as the Romp's engine. Gulls circled lazily overhead as they went chugging along through the choppy waters of Cape Cod Bay. The sky above was so blue and the air so clear and snappy the Codders (Bayside girls after a season in camp felt justified in calling themselves that) could not help breaking into song. One tune followed another so fast the morning passed quickly and everyone was astonished when A. D. began handing 'round the lunch boxes. Though the motion of the boat was considerable, all hands fell to with a hearty appetite and complete justice was done to the sandwiches, pickles, eggs, tomatoes, cake and fruit. Captain Bill's hard-boiled egg, parked absentmindedly in his port pocket, rolled down into the engine when he lifted the hatch to see how it was running. Sally Blake sat on a tomato, but these little incidents only added to the general hilarity. In fact, there was such a merry noise and racket the first shriek from the lookout went completely unheeded. But at Betty's second scream - Bet was now doing her turn - everyone stopped chewing and talking at the same instant. Lunches were pushed aside and only a sharp order from A. D. kept them all from rushing over to Betty's side of the Romp. In one leap Betty had landed on the deck and was pointing wordless t' leeward.

"What is it?" gasped Polly, snatching the binoculars. "Did you see one? Was it really a sub? Here, give us a gander!"

"Girls! Girls!" warned the A. D. as the Codders made another rush toward Betty and the Romp dipped down dangerously. "What use is it going to a nautical camp if you forget all the rules of seamanship at the first test? Back to your places. Spread out as you were. Now then, Betty, what DID you see?"

"A�a periscope!" stuttered Betty, waving her sandwich in a dramatic circle. And she kept stubbornly repeating herself even after the whole crew, squinting off in the direction indicated, declared there was nothing in sight but the bobbing waves of the bay.

"I don't care what you say. It WAS there, too!" declared Betty, stamping her foot in exasperation as no one seemed inclined to take her story seriously. "First there was a long shadow and then this gray funnel sticking up out of the water. Oh, do put about, Captain Bill, it's heading right this way."

"Pshaw, you've, been reading too many war stories," muttered the captain, taking his pipe out of his mouth and staring quizzically off toward the horizon. "There's never been a sub in these waters and likely there never will be."

"Just the same. I think she's right." Janey Bramwell, who'd been quietly reading a magazine during all the fun and merriment, spoke up smartly. Usually no one paid any attention to Janey. She'd come up to Bayside for the last ten days, and who could be expected to be treated as a real camper in that short time? At first Janey had tried to enter into the spirit of the sports and games, but irked by the patronizing and superior attitude of the older girls and their unwillingness to include her in any of the inner circles or fun, she gave up the attempt and, bothering as little as possible with camp routine, extracted what enjoyment she could from the boats and scenery. But today was different, and as every eye turned in her direction she announced calmly: "There's a destroyer aft." Captain Bill's pipe fell to the deck with a clatter. Half the Codders made a dive for the inside cabin. The others, frozen to the spot in a kind of terror, watched the grim shape cutting through the bay's blue waters. "Nothing to be frightened about." Again Jane spoke calmly. "It's an American destroyer. See, there's the flag!"

" 'Course it's an American destroyer!" Grumbling and muttering, Captain Bill retrieved his pipe while the crowd in the cabin came streaming out. Certainly they'd all known it was an American destroyer.

"We'll edge over and have a look. Not every day they come as close as this," Captain Bill said, giving his wheel a spin.

"Look, she's signalling another boat," observed A. D., now perfectly cool and collected again. "Probably out on maneuvers. Watch this, girls; it should be interesting."

"There isn't any other boat," said Jane politely but firmly. "They're signalling to us, Miss Dreighton."

"To us. Oh, my goodness! Why should they? Here, Polly, Anne, Frances, you've all had wigwagging. Hop up on the cabin, one of you, and see what's wanted."

"Oh, but he goes so fast." demurred Polly, making no move to mount the cabin. "Oh, that's not the way we learned signalling, A. D." Frowning and really alarmed, Miss Dreighton turned to Captain Bill. He, knowing nothing of the navy signalling code, merely shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, why," groaned A. D. frantically to herself, "had she not brought Speedy, the camp's nautical instructor and expert, along."

"Suppose I edge closer," proposed Captain Bill with a doubtful look over his shoulder.

"Would you like me to take the message?" inquired Janey, calmly putting down her peach and magazine.

"Oh, COULD you? WOULD YOU?" With an eager push, A. D. accelerated Janey's spring to the cabin top. Once there, the little rookie waved a handkerchief in each hand to attract the furiously wigwagging sailor on the destroyer's bridge. Then she stood stiffly at attention while he continued to wigwag more furiously than ever. As the Codders with open-mouthed envy and admiration looked on, Janey wigwagged a satisfactory answer back. That it was satisfactory they could tell from the cheerful waves of the sailors aboard the destroyer and the hoarse cheer of the signaller himself.

"Quick, what did he say?" demanded A. D. as Janey slid down with more speed than grace. Janey cocked a cold and critical eye at her discomfited mates. "He said," stated Janey, " 'Have sighted sub and are chasing same. Scram!' "

"I told you it was a sub," screamed Betty, her voice hoarse between triumph and terror.

"And what did YOU say?" inquired A, D. in the electric little silence that followed. Sinking back into her deck chair, Janey picked up her magazine with elaborate carelessness. "Who, ME? Oh, I said, 'O, K., keep 'em fleeing!' "

"Good!" A brief smile chased the frown of worry from the counselor's anguished countenance. Then, turning to Captain Bill, she barked out an order. "Put about and get out of here, FAST! Now, girls, no confusion, no panic. Stand by for further instructions, and whatever happens -" A. D.'s voice trailed off, for who could tell what they should do then?

"The destroyer told us to proceed to Provincetown and wait there for permission to leave," volunteered Janey. This time she spoke less stiffly, for she, herself, was excited to the very bone.

"We're nearer Provincetown, at that," puffed Captain Bill, swinging his wheel to port. "I aim to lay up the boat there tomorrow, anyway, so I'll just stay on and you and the girls can go back to camp by bus."

"Oh, not before we see the fun, I hope," exclaimed Janey, leaning her elbows on the Romp's low rail and gazing intently off toward the destroyer, now churning away in the direction where Betty had first sighted the sub.

"Fun?" choked Captain Bill, veering in the opposite direction as speedily as his engine would take him. "If you think roosting over a torpedo is fun, you're crazy."

"Sub fun," giggled Gabe, who would make a joke out of a hanging.

"Oh, wait till John hears about this," exulted Janey, paying no attention as her magazine slid overboard.

"Who's John?" asked Polly, edging over to sit beside Jane and proffering her binoculars as a sort of peace offering.

"John? Oh, he's my brother, and in the navy. He taught me all the signals on his last leave."

"A brother in the navy! Boy, are you lucky! Me, I knew some of those old wigwags, but darned if I could get organized."

"Using what you know at the right time and why is the real test of knowledge," said A. D. with a warm little twinkle for the camp rookie. "Taking that message earns Jane her camp letters in one week. Janey here is going to make a real sailor."

"Thank you." Janey, who'd been sole crew and able-bodied seaman for years on her brother's ketch in Barnegat Bay, smiled demurely. And from then on, as she wrote John later, everything was better if not completely smooth. Though the Codders did not have the thrill of seeing the sub-marine chase, they were still near enough to watch the depth bombs going over and to feel, as indeed they were, in the middle of the grimmest war in history. As they rolled home by bus late that evening they all voted the last frolic most thrilling of all. It was, too, except for A. D., who heaved a great sigh of relief when the tents and cabins of Camp Bayside hove into view.

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 1, 1918.

A Few More Puzzles by That Old Friend of Ours

First and 4most he wants to answer his last puzzles. He says a shoe is like you because it has a long tongue. (The idea!) And a tree is like himself because it has its head in the air and is a great loser. He loses everything--almost. A potato is related to a table because it is a vege-table--and the words which he had abbreviated were sedate, decipher, opiate, foray, tool and Entente.

Here is one he forgot to put in last week--O. E.

"Tall and slender,
Shaggy topped,
Mum's the word," he said,
Then stopped.

I made that rhyme up myself, so don't be too critical of it. Can you guess the puzzle?

Here are some of his own verses, which seem even more mixed up than usual:

Last Night

The moon was blowing gently
And the wind began to fall;
The snow behind a cloud--my stars!--
This don't sound right at all!

But let's proceed. The fields were coated
With a powdery white--
Like sugar on a pie--now I
Think this verse is all right!

The hill shone out upon the lights,
The snowflakes in their beds,--
Seeing the children falling,
Dreamed of skating and of sleds!
(My goodness!)

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2009 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

FEBRUARY and Other Verse

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Secret of the Lost Fortune, The Visitors from Oz, etc.

Originally published in Father Goose's Year Book, 1907.


February

This is the month the bashful youth
Invests in valentines, forsooth -
All decked with cupids, hearts and lyres -
To send the girl he most admires.

She gives the precious things a glance
Of scorn - perhaps of arrogance -
And hands them to her little brother
To send some school-girl friend or other.

The valentine does double duty -
Or triple, if it is a beauty;
So lovers, heed this wise advice:
Don't buy the things at any price.

-----------------------------------------

The Father of his Country
This very month, they say,
Was born, by some rare streak of luck,
On Washington's birthday.

Abe Lincoln, too, that famous man,
(It's quite extraordinary!)
Decided to be also born
The month of February!

So, children, don't forget the dates -
This is the way they're reckoned:
The fourteenth day for Abraham,
For George the twenty-second.

-----------------------------------------

A dear Christian lady
Played bridge for a prize;
The way she reneged
Would cause you surprise.

When asked if she didn't
Think "bridge" was a sin
She answered: "Oh, no;
For I prayed I would win!"

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 24, 1918.

A Few Riddles to Crack With the Thanksgiving Nuts

I'm sure the Forgetful Poet must have sat up till almost 10 o'clock thinking of these riddles, and I confess that some of them I cannot guess. See what you can do with them:

Why is a shoe like you? Why is a tree like me?

To what piece of furniture is a potato related?

He says the next are words abbreviated. And I should say they were:
C 1492, D O, O P S, 4 A, 2 L, N 10 T.

Last week's answers: A street is like a crab because it has a sidewalk, and you keep the butter in the barn when it's a goat.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2009 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE STORY OF PETER LUDWIG VANDERVECHTEN PAM

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, October 1919.


This story was told to me by a bird. So it must be true! Once - there was a little bit of an orphan dutch boy whom nobody wanted. Perhaps his name was too long. You see it began with Peter Ludwig Vandervechten Hohenbrummer Pam - and went on for several minutes. One dark night his foster father carried him to the top of the tall wind mill and left him there.

"He will fall out," muttered the wicked old man. But the mill held its wings steady and called to the wind not to blow and morning found the little boy safe and sound asleep. THEN -

Who should come along but a friendly stork:

"Hello!" whistled he - "A lost bird!" So he took the band of Peter Ludwig's broad breeches in his bill. Off flew two little wooden shoes. Whack! Whack! right down on that wicked foster father's head. He had come out to look at his tulips. His best pipe crashed to the flags and away he clumped down the street as if goblins themselves pursued him. And may they! But up, up and up circled the stork carrying Peter to its nest in the chimney tops of one of the finest mansions imaginable.

The young storks obligingly made room for him and the mother stork stroked him kindly with her wing. Living in a nest is terribly cozy and when father stork found his new little bird would not eat the fish and frogs so delicious to his own family, he fetched a huge cheese from the market and bags of dutch bread from the doorsteps in the morning.

Peter learned the stork language in all of its branches and went to sleep on one leg with his head under his arm and everything was all right 'till mother stork tried to teach Peter to fly. (Oh I say!)

The baby storks managed famously but Peter stood on the edge of the chimney and refused to budge. Then mother stork gave him a push. "Flap your wings!" she cried excitedly. But Peter had disappeared down the tall chimney.

"Wife! Wife come quickly!" called Mynheer Van Veckt, "a great good fortune has come to us!" and what do you 'spose it was? Dear little Peter himself, and as the old couple had many golden guilders and no children of their own, he lived very happily ever afterward. But Peter had one habit that annoyed them vastly. He would stand for hours upon one leg.

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 17, 1918.

 Puzzles

With the Allies roasting Turkey and all the other exciting things going on this promises to be a record-breaking Thanksgiving. The Forgetful Poet says he supposes you are too busy to answer any difficult riddles, so he'll just put in a few easy ones.

Why don't little boys like pie?
Why don't little girls like turkey?
Why is a street like a crab?
Why is some butter kept in barns?

After that he says:

Pray, always know your a-b-c's,
And always dot your i's;
And if you mind your p's and q's
The world will count you y's!

Last week's answers were:
1.Ham. 2.Swallow. 3.Canary. 4.Robin. 5.Chicken.

Be not a procrastinator.
Study now means profit later!

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2009 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

HUMPTY DUMPTY JUNIOR

Adapted and Illustrated by W. W. Denslow
Author of The Scarecrow and the Tin-Man of Oz, and illustrator of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Dot and Tot of Merryland, Father Goose: His Book, etc.

Originally published in the New York Herald, December 14, 1902.


You all remember how Humpty Dumpty
Fell from a wall and was so much bumped he
Couldn't be possibly patched again
By all the King's horses and his men.
But maybe you never heard tell he left
A dear little son of his care bereft,
A round little chap with a smile so wide,
And a great gold heart in his little inside.

Of getting along his chance was slim,
Till an old hen mother adopted him.
She made him snug in a straw filled nest,
And covered him up with her feathered breast.
But he wanted to go, this adventurous lad,
And see the world, as his father had.


"All right," said the Hen, "If you wish to roam,
Take my advice ere you leave this home.
You'll probably climb on great high walls,
As your father did, and you may have falls;
And likely as not you'll break your leg,
Or get smashed up like a scrambled egg.

"I know a way to avoid all that.
Go to yon farm house, quick as "scat,"
And ask of the housewife if she's got
A kettle of water boiling hot.
And if she has, why, you jump right in,
Although the water will scald your skin.
Stay ten minutes and then jump out,
And you will find when you run about
You can tumble and roll to your fullest bent,
And never receive a crack or dent."



So Humpty Junior, as good as gold,
Took the advice as he was told,
And jumped right into a copper pot
Of water steaming and boiling hot.
And there he stayed, though it hurt at first
And he felt that his little skin would burst.
But courage to him the thought would lend
That he was dodging his pa's sad end.

After awhile he tumbled out
And started at once to run about.
He frolicked and leaped in ecstasy,
He rolled and he stumbled, just to see
If his head he'd break, or his skin be spoiled,
And he cried, "Oh, joy, I am quite hard-boiled!"



His heart, he found, wouldn't rattle 'round
When he fell from a table to the ground,
And he giggled to find he would not smash
When he jumped from the mantel with a crash.
Oh, tickled indeed was Humpty D.,
The happiest egg you'd ever see!

The last I heard of this hard-boiled chap
He was hardened to every knock or rap.
And tumbling 'round with a gladsome whoop
As acrobat in a circus troupe.
And he'd say, "I lay my success in life
To the good old Hen and the Farmer's Wife,
Who taught me early the only way
To get along, which I'm pleased to say,
Is good advice for both eggs and folks,
People with hearts, or eggs with yolks.



A fresh egg never can prosper 'steady.'
Don't leave home till you're good and ready."

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 3, 1918.

 
Puzzles

The Forgetful Poet stubbed his thumb and cannot send in any puzzles, but when his head is better he will send some. That's just what he said, so you needn't blame me if it sounds funny.

Last week's answers were: A potato has a jacket, but no vest; a wave has no family, yet a crest; mines are like peaches because they have pits, and battlefields like beaches because they are strewn with shells. The Kaiser is like a prune because he has a stone heart, and a Scotchman like a dune because he is full of sand. And here is a puzzle I made up my ownself:

What runs up and down and yet stands still;
Why is a man's face like a hill?

Copyright © 2008 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

PUSSY-CAT MEW

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Secret of the Lost Fortune, The Visitors from Oz, etc.

Originally published in Mother Goose in Prose, 1897, revised for L. Frank Baum's Juvenile Speaker, 1910.


"Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, where do you go?"
"To London, to visit the palace, you know."
"Pussy-cat Mew, will you come back again?"
"Oh, yes! I'll scamper with might and with main!"

Pussy-cat Mew now set off on her way,
Stepping quite softly and feeling right gay.
Smooth was the road, so she travelled at ease,
Warmed by the sunshine and fanned by the breeze.

Over the hills to the valleys below,
Through the deep woods where soft mosses grow,
Skirting the fields, with buttercups dotted,
Swiftly our venturesome Pussy-cat trotted.

Sharp watch she kept when a village she neared,
For mischievous boys our Pussy-cat feared.
Often she crept through the meadows so deep
To pass a fierce dog that was lying asleep.

Once, as she walked through a sweet-clover field,
Something beside her affrightedly squealed,
And swift from her path there darted away
A tiny field-mouse, with fur of soft gray.

"Here," thought our Puss, "is chance for a dinner;
If I outrun him, I'll be the winner!"
Quickly she started the mouse to give chase--
Over the clover they ran a great race.

Just as it seemed that our Pussy would win
The mouse spied a hole and quickly popped in;
Thus he escaped, for the hole was so small
Pussy-cat couldn't squeeze in it at all.

Softly she crouched, and with eyes big and round
Steadily watched that small hole in the ground.
"Mousie may think he's escaped me," she said,
"I'll get him sure if he sticks out his head!"

While she was watching the poor mouse's plight
The growl of a dog our Puss did affright;
She gave a great cry, then started to run
Swift as a bullet that's shot from a gun.

"Meow! Oh, meow!" our poor Puss did say;
"Woof!" barked the dog, who was not far away.
O'er fields and ditches they scampered apace,
O'er fence and hedge-row they kept up the race.

Then Pussy saw just before her a tree;
Safety she knew in its branches there'd be;
So up the tree with a bound did she go,
Leaving the big dog to growl down below.

Now, by good fortune, a man came that way,
Calling the dog, who was forced to obey;
But Puss stayed aloft until she well knew
Both dog and man had passed far out of view.

Pursuing her way, at nightfall she came
To London, a town you know well by name,
And wandering 'round in byway and street
A strange Pussy-cat she happened to meet.

"Good evening," said Pussy-cat Mew. "Pray tell
Where the good Queen and her family dwell.
Being a stranger I'm anxious to see
How a Queen looks and how fair she may be."

"Oh," said the other, "you really must know
Strangers are never permitted to go
Inside the palace, unless invited;
We're of a race persistently slighted!

"Still, I've discovered an excellent way
To enter the palace all times of day
In spite of the guards, so just come with me
If you're ambitious our good Queen to see."

Puss thanked her friend, and together they stole
Back of the palace and crept through a hole
Leading by devious ways to a stair
Which they ascended with praiseworthy care.

"Here I must leave you," the strange Pussy said.
"Don't be a 'fraid-cat, but go straight ahead.
Don't be alarmed if by chance you are seen;
People will think you belong to the Queen."

Pussy-cat Mew did as she had been told,
Crept through the palace so cautious and bold
Soon she arrived where the Queen sat in state,
Mid lords and ladies and counsellors great.

There in a corner our Pussy sat down,
Gazed at the sceptre and blinked at the crown,
Eyed the Queen's dress, all of purple and gold--
Surely a beautiful sight to behold!

But, of a sudden, she started, for there
Sat a gray mouse, crouched just under the chair
Where her Majesty sat, and Pussy well knew
'Twould frighten the Queen if it came into view.

So toward the chair our Pussy-cat stole--
Now the mouse saw her and ran for its hole
Pussy dashed after, and during the race
A terrible panic of fear took place!

Ladies all sprang on their chairs in alarm,
Lords drew their swords to protect them from harm;
The Queen gave a scream and fainted away--
An act quite undignified, I must say.

Some one yelled "Burglars!" and some cried "Treason!"
Some one howled "Murder!" none knew the reason;
Some one shrieked "Fire! they are burning the house!"
Some one said "Silence! it's only a mouse!"

Pussy-cat Mew was so awfully scared
By shouting and screams, she no longer dared
Remain in the room, so without delay
She rushed from the place and scampered away.

With fur bristling out and heart beating fast
Down the straight road that led homeward she passed.
"What business," she thought, "has a poor country cat
To visit a city of madmen like that?"

"Straight home will I go, where I am well fed,
Where mistress is kind, and soft is my bed;
Let other cats travel, if they would fain roam,
But as for myself, I'll now stay at home!"

So over the valleys and green hills she ran,
Jouneying fast as a Pussy-cat can,
Till, just as the dawn of day did begin,
She reached her old home and softly stole in.

There was the fire, with the pot boiling on it;
There was the maid, in her blue checkered bonnet;
There was the corner where Pussy oft basked;
There was the mistress, who eagerly asked:

"Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, where have you been?"
"Ive been to London, to visit the Queen."
"Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, what did you there?"
"Frightened a little mouse under the chair!"

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, October, 27 1918.

 
Some Nuts for the Puzzle Guessers to Crack

Puzzles are like nuts--easy to get at when you know how. Let's see if you do. (These sound rather like the Forgetful Poet, although no name was sent in with them.)

? ? ? ?

What has a jacket, yet no vest;
What has no family yet a crest?

Why do mines resemble peaches,
And battlefields resemble beaches?

Why is the Kaiser like a prune;
Why is a Scotchman like a dune?

Last week's answers were: A penny is like a book because it is read; a garden is like a cook because it is flowery (floury); a table like a tree because it has leaves and a mining camp like the sea because it has breakers; pins are rich because they have pin money; trains are like athletes because they run on tracks, and guns like pains because pains often shoot.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2008 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE KINGDOM OF BOXTOES AND HAMMERHEELS

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, December 1, 1918.


There was once a King whose foot was so large that he had to have special shoes measured and made for him! And yet no one dared so much as mention the fact. And worse, besides - to make his own less conspicuous every one in his kingdom was forced to wear shoes twice as long as he needed. You can imagine how they looked and how they felt and the noise they made galumping down the streets of the realm.

No wonder visitors called them the Boxtoes and Hammerheels, and no wonder they were cross and fretful. Wherever they went they put their foot in it, as the saying goes, and in no kingdom I have ever heard of were there so many tumbles and spills. They fell up stairs and they slid down; they sprawled upon the sidewalks. Really it was terrible! And they were so cross!

It was all the fault of the King, vain creature that he was. Time and again the Princess and the Queen begged him to repeal the shoe law, but he stubbornly shook his head and there was an end to it.

Poor little Princess! What a mortification to go humping about in slippers three feet long, especially when her own little feet were so small and shapely.

The Court dances were too funny for words, 'cause with such big shoes one simply couldn't be graceful, and one never knew whether he was treading on his partner's toes or not, for every one's slippers were stuffed with paper. Imagine! Not to mention the expense!

Well, things could but go so-so in such a kingdom as this; people shuffled through their daily tasks and pleasures with no joy whatever.

The King tried to make up for matters in other ways, but it was no use. People simply could not be cheerful with big feet. Among themselves it was not so bad, but when strangers passed through the kingdom it was mortifying to have them laugh. They really thought, of course, that all the people did have huge feet, and, as one would lose his head by stating otherwise, the poor subjects could not explain.

It was especially bad for the Princess. Her pictures in the foreign papers attracted great attention, and suitors came in scores to ask for her hand.

But always it was the same. One horrified look at those three-foot slippers and everything was over. With silk handkerchiefs stuffed in the their mouths to keep from laughing, the princes, dukes and lords would spring upon their horses and gallop away at top speed.

The Queen wept buckets of tears, but the Princess, who was a plucky little body, declared that if they did not love her well enough to take her shoes and all, then they might gallop away as fast as they pleased. Which was pretty fast!

The story spread and spread, and people from neighboring kingdoms came on pretended errands to see for themselves the big-footed people and the beautiful Princess with slippers three feet long.

The foolish old King thought they came to pay him honor and spent his whole evenings writing speeches of welcome.

Now one Prince was so charmed with the Princess's picture that he resolved to wed her - big feet or not - if she proved as amiable as she looked. Disguising himself as a fiddler he got into the kingdom and was pretty soon singing under the Princess's window. Day after day he came, and every day fell more and more in love.

As for the Princess, she thought she had never seen so handsome and gallant a suitor. He never even glanced at her disfiguring slippers when they met in the garden. "Here is a man lowly of birth, but still worthy of my love!" she reflected.

So without a word to any one, they decided to elope. One day when the King and court were having tea in the garden, they heard a clatter in the road and, looking over the hedge, beheld the Princess mounting behind the fiddler.

"Catch them, after them. My daughter is eloping with a rogue of a fiddler," roared the King A hundred started up, but they fell over their own feet and each other's feet, and not till the couple were far away did they manage to untangle themselves.

As for the King - he fell down the whole twenty flights of marble steps on his head, and from that time on was never the same. He could remember nothing , least of all, laws and such. It did not take his subjects long to kick off their huge shoes, and go skipping about in proper-sized ones, I can tell you.

As for the Princess and the Prince, they are happier than any royal couple you ever heard of, because he loved her well enough to overlook a three-foot slipper and she loved him well enough to marry him when she thought him a poor traveling musician, which is true love or I never have seen it!

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, October 20, 1918.

 
The Forgetful Poet's Riddles

The words which the old fellow left out of his verse last week came flying in on dozens and dozens of pieces of paper. "What's the use of finishing rhymes when the boys and girls can do it just as well!" he chuckled, when I turned them over to him. The right words were: Wise, Ground, Fence and Year.

This week he wants to know all of these things:

Why is a penny like a book?
Why is a garden like cook?

Why is a cable like a tree?
Why is a mining camp like the sea?

Why are pigs rich? And why are trains
Like athletes, and guns like pains?

Copyright © 2008 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE BAD LITTLE FAIRY

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 14, 1920.


One day a frog, who was invited to a party, took off his skin to mend a tear in the back. It was such a drowsy day that he fell fast asleep, and along came a bad little fairy.

Now, this little fairy had heard all about the big froggie party and wanted to go very much; but, of course, she had not been invited, so when she saw the frog's skin she gave a little chuckle, and then she flew away with it. The whirr of her wings awakened the frog, and when he found his skin gone you can imagine his state of mind. It's a terrible thing to sit around without any skin. Wrapping himself up in a damp leaf, he hurried home and told his family. But not being able to fly after the fairy, they could not help him, and so he was obliged to go to bed instead of going to the party.

The little fairy meanwhile slipped on the frog's skin and practiced hopping, and when 8 o'clock came she went leaping to the pond bank where the party was to be held. First they danced all round and the fairy just loved it, but next thing, while they were all in a big ring, they all dived under water, and before the fairy could let go hands she almost drowned. Wet and miserable, she managed to rise to the top of the water, but an old bullfrog ran after her and insisted that she eat a plate of worm salad, holding firmly to her hand until she finished. Then he serenaded her in a horrible voice. While he was singing, with his eyes closed and his head thrown back, she managed to slip away. Tearing off the frog skin, she threw it under a big weed and ran home as fast as she could patter. All of which leads me to observe that what is pleasing to a frog is extremely distasteful to a fairy. Never steal another's skin. The poor frog found his skin, but he never felt the same toward fairies, and he never took it off again, so far as I know.

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, October 13, 1918.

The Forgetful Poet Again

I am sure I do not know what the dear fellow will be up to next. For a man of his years he is surely active. These verses are interesting but incomplete. I can get them all but one - maybe you can guess them all.

Riding

I'm taking riding lessons -
I need the exercise;
In fact, the doctor recommended
Such a course as ------

Among a lot of other things
About it I have found,
As noted by an esteemed friend,
The hardest part's the ------

Quite suddenly I found this out
One day while going hence.
I was unseated violently
While trying to take a ------

Though many bruises I've sustained
I still will persevere,
An maybe will be expert
At the sport another ------

Copyright © 2008 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.