Part 23

“Of course,” said the Goblin. “For the Land of Nod is the land of wonderful dreams—dreams of things that really happen in this wonderful world. And come again,” added the Goblin, for Douglas was opening his sleepy eyes as it was bright daylight.

SEPTEMBER 23: The Homesick Chicken

“Now one of Mrs. Turkey’s children,” commenced daddy, “had been stolen by a great big rat. So Mrs. Turkey said to herself: ‘I think I will take a chicken and look after it. Mrs. Hen won’t mind. She has so many to look after as it is. It will probably be a great relief to her to have one less.’

“Mrs. Turkey talked on in this way and she called the chicken she liked best.

“‘Come here to me,’ she said, and she tried to make her voice sound as a Mother Hen’s would sound.

“The little chicken came running to the side of the turkey and seemed to be quite happy and contented. The turkey fed the chicken when she fed her own children and she looked after him all day long.

“But when evening came and the turkeys were ready to go up to the tree to roost as they always do when night-time comes, the poor little chicken wished he had not left his own mother.

“‘I was very bad to leave my mother,’ he whispered in a fretful little voice.

“‘Come on up the tree,’ said Mrs. Turkey, who had reached the topmost branch. ‘I am ready to go to sleep and all the turkeys are. We want to put our heads under our wings. We are very sleepy.’

“‘But I can’t get up there,’ said the chicken.

“‘Try,’ said Mrs. Turkey.

“The turkey children began to laugh at the poor little chicken who couldn’t fly to a branch of the tree.

“‘Gobble, gobble, gobble,’ they said. ‘Can’t you fly?’

“And the little chicken stayed on the ground below looking very unhappy.

“‘We can’t keep awake any longer,’ said the turkey children.

“‘Go to sleep, my loves,’ said their mother. ‘You are good children and know how to roost in a tree and have a good night’s rest.’

“‘I could roost and have a sleep too,’ moaned the chicken, ‘if you’d come down low.’

“‘Now this is annoying,’ said the Mother Turkey. ‘Didn’t I give you good things to eat and look after you all day?’

“‘Yes,’ said the chicken.

“‘And didn’t I let you play with my splendid children?’

“‘Yes,’ said the chicken again.

“‘Well, can’t you be grateful and come to bed like a good chicken. Show you are fine enough to belong to a turkey family.’

“‘But I don’t want to belong to a turkey family! I am a chicken and I am used to the ways of chickens. I wish I were back home.’

“‘Well, go home then, you little silly,’ said Mrs. Turkey. ‘It’s the last time I pay a compliment to a chicken by asking to bring him up as one of my own. You’re not able to fly up to this branch. Shame!’

“‘I’m very thankful for the pleasant day you gave me,’ said the chicken politely, ‘but I really must be going now. For I’m just a little bit homesick and I want my Mother Hen.’

“Here the chicken began to cry, and from a short distance away the turkeys heard a ‘cackle, cackle!’

“Along the ground half walking and half flying as best she could, came the Mother Hen.

“‘Ah, here you are, my naughty chicken,’ she said, but so happy was she to find her child that she didn’t scold any more.

“‘Oh, take me home to the chicken roost,’ said the little chicken.

“‘Yes,’ said the Mother Turkey. ‘I do not care for your child.’

“‘You had no right to take him away,’ said Mother Hen. ‘If you weren’t so high up I’d thrash you with my wings.’

“‘I’m afraid you couldn’t in the first place,’ said Mrs. Turkey politely, ‘and in the second place you should be glad I’m ’way up here, because your child couldn’t fly this far and so got homesick.’

“‘Oh, I’ll never leave home again,’ said the chicken as he reached the chicken roost, which was just right for him. And the Mother Hen cackled a happy ‘Good Night.’”

SEPTEMBER 24: Mrs. Duck’s Dinner

The Ducks settled themselves comfortably for Mrs. Duck’s dinner party. Mrs. Duck’s husband came forth from one end of the pond with an enormous tray and his tray was filled with bugs which the ducks love.

Oh, no, Mr. Duck didn’t carry the water-lily-leaf tray. He pushed it ahead of him through the pond with his long bill. And then all the Ducks gathered around and picked out the bug they liked the best. So altogether it was a most successful dinner party.

SEPTEMBER 25: Doll Children

“A little girl named Helen,” said daddy, “gave her dolls a wonderful tea party.

“She asked her four best friends to come and bring their dolls. Altogether there were twelve dolls at the party.

“The dolls had stiff little chairs to sit upon and they behaved very well indeed. In fact none of them fell on their faces as sometimes dolls are apt to do.

“And the little girls stood behind them and gave them make-believe things to eat on little dishes. Then when the dolls had finished their tea the little girls had cambric tea, bread and butter and sponge cake. And that was the best of all!”

SEPTEMBER 26: The Leaves

“The reason we are so glorious,” said the autumn leaves which had just turned into lovely colors, “is because we want to make a beautiful going-away bow of farewell.”

SEPTEMBER 27: The Dawn Fairies

“Once a little boy had heard of the dawn fairies,” said daddy, “and was so eager to see them that he got up long before day-break—in fact, before the fairies themselves were up, for they sleep when it is really dark. This little boy hid in the trunk of a tree. After what seemed a long time to him the lovely gray dawn fairies came out from their sleeping places, and he heard them laugh their low bell-like laughs. Suddenly one of them realized that some one was around and caught sight of the little boy. ‘Oh dear,’ shrieked the fairy; ‘there’s a huge person near us!’ at which all the fairies scattered.

“From that day the fairy queen has been careful that no one else should see the dawn fairies, and so they all dress in invisible costumes.”

SEPTEMBER 28: The Dream

“One night,” said daddy, “a little boy named Julius had a dream in which he joined a circus and so successful was he as a bareback rider that when he awoke he said, ‘When I grow up I shall join a circus. I’ll be a great rider.’ For his dream had seemed very real!”

SEPTEMBER 29: The Monkey’s Collar

“Gyp, the monkey,” said daddy, “was ill. He had hurt his right foot and it had been bandaged by the doctor.

“Gyp had been very good while this was done and had taken his medicine like a little man, or rather, I should say, like a little monkey.

“But how the bandage did annoy him! He had to stay quite still and not move his leg at all. That was so hard! He tried to keep still and yet he longed to play, for the nice liniment which had been put on the bandage quickly made the horrid foot feel so much better.

“Yes, he was quite sure that if he hadn’t the bandage on he would be better. And so he tugged at the bandage and got it off.

“Then how the foot did hurt! No longer was it protected by the soft rags and the soothing liniment! Whew, how it did hurt! And Gyp did not know what to make of it.

“He felt very sad to think that his foot was really no better, and there, he had thought it was just about well. He cried a little, for even though he was a very brave monkey the pain was so hard to bear.

“Now, his master came along and saw what had happened.

“‘You have taken off your bandage,’ he said.

“The monkey did not say anything, but he curled up by his master and tried with his eyes to say:

“‘The foot aches, the pain is very bad, master.’

“‘I understand,’ said the master. ‘But we must have a fresh bandage.’

“The master sent for the doctor again, and once more a bandage was put on Gyp’s foot, and once more the foot began to feel much much better.

“After a little while Gyp said to himself: ‘I am sure it must be really well this time. It feels better than ever. In fact, there is no horrid pain there now.’

“So he yanked off the bandage and once more the pain set in. This time he howled, and quickly his master came to him.

“‘Oh, Gyp,’ he said, ‘you’ve worked off that bandage again. Oh, Gyp, why did you do such a thing?’ And Gyp looked very sad. For he felt he had been naughty from the tone of his master’s voice, and yet he hadn’t meant to be. He just had thought his foot was all well, and the bandage did get in his way and made him stay so still—so awfully still for a monkey to stay.

“‘We’ll have to have another bandage,’ said his master.

“Pretty soon the doctor came again.

“‘What!’ he exclaimed. ‘You don’t mean to tell me that the monkey has taken off his bandage again? What a bad monkey.’

“Gyp hung his head in shame, but his master understood. ‘Gyp didn’t mean to be naughty,’ he said. ‘We must be patient with him, for he wants to get well.’

“And Gyp, who was watching the other monkey, his chief friend and companion, playing and jumping and swinging, would have told the master and doctor if he had known how, that he certainly did not want to be ill.

“‘Once more, doctor, just once more,’ said the master. ‘This time the bandage won’t come off.’

“‘How do you know it won’t?’ asked the doctor. ‘In fact, I don’t see why you don’t say that you know it is bound to come off.’

“‘You bandage it nicely, doctor,’ said the master, ‘and in a moment I will come back.’

“The doctor bandaged the foot and the monkey was very patient. The doctor was really kind and talked in gentle tones to Gyp while he was caring for the foot. That kept Gyp from being frightened. How fine the bandage and soothing liniment did feel! He knew he would be all well soon!

“Just then the master came back carrying a little round collar—it was rather wide and yet it was not at all heavy and rough. He put it around Gyp’s neck, just holding in Gyp’s arms enough so that he could not reach his bandage. The wide collar got in his way. But Gyp understood, and when the foot was all well, off came the collar which had helped so much.”

SEPTEMBER 30: Mr. Fox’s Marketing

“Mr. Fox was spending his time near a fine barnyard,” said daddy. “But one day when Mr. Fox was hovering near-by, the farmer spied him.

“‘Bang, Bang, Bang,’ went the farmer’s gun.

“‘Oh me, oh my,’ said Mr. Fox. ‘This is no place for me to hunt. There is a horrid man with a gun around here. How very inconsiderate of him when I want to do my marketing and when I like his chickens so much. He should be flattered to think I like his barnyard.’

“But the farmer wasn’t flattered in the least, and off went the gun again.

“Mr. Fox ran for all he was worth and got safely back to the woods.

“When he reached his home, Mrs. Fox said, ‘Well, and what luck to-day, my dear?’

“‘None at all,’ said Mr. Fox. ‘That marketing place is no good.’

“‘Why not?’ asked Mrs. Fox as she raised her head.

“‘Because, my dear,’ said Mr. Fox, ‘there is a man around with a gun.’

“‘Oh dear,’ shivered Mrs. Fox. ‘Did you hear the gun?’

“‘Indeed I just escaped being killed.’

“‘Oh, my love,’ said Mrs. Fox. ‘Well, we still have some chicken left, and to-morrow you’ll just have to find a new market—that’s all!’”

OCTOBER 1: Gypsy, the Cat

“Gypsy was a cat,” said daddy, “who had been so named because she had been picked up one night when she was all alone, and when she certainly looked as if she had had no home for weeks and months. She certainly looked as if she had led a gypsy’s life—wandering and homeless, and she seemed happy indeed to be taken by little Marian to her nice warm house.

“Marian got home just before dinner time. ‘Ah,’ she thought to herself, ‘Gypsy will have a nice dinner—not just a meal she has had to pick up as best she could. It will be a real meal, and she will have her milk in a fine saucer.

“‘I have brought a cat home,’ said Marian to her mother. ‘I have named her Gypsy as she is a poor little waif cat, quite homeless and friendless.’

“Right away Gypsy was given a nice warm bowl of milk. And then Marian’s family sat down for their dinner.

“Gypsy sat upon a bookcase. ‘Maybe she thinks she looks wise,’ said Marian. And Gypsy blinked her eyes and purred as if to say, ‘I am a wise cat. I know I have a good home. And I have the sense to look happy.’

“While Marian and her family were eating Gypsy would look at them from time to time, but every time any of them turned to look at her, she would put her head to one side and look off into space. She seemed to be saying, ‘Maybe I have been a waif but I’m very proud. And I will not appear to be a beggar.’

“So from that day on, Gypsy always had some milk before Marian began her dinner. She never begged for food, for she was a Gypsy cat with a great deal of pride!”

OCTOBER 2: The Make-Believe Elephant

“Lucy,” said daddy, “had her home in a big city apartment house.”

“Down in the main hallway, on a stand there, was an elephant. Not a real elephant, for of course a real elephant could hardly find room on a hallway stand, to say the least. This one was made out of stone and he was exactly the same color as a real, live elephant.

“Now often Lucy would come in from dancing class, or from play, or from school, and she would wonder what it would be like to be a stone elephant, and she used to feel very sorry for the elephant, always standing in the hall.

“‘I know,’ she would say, ‘that the elephant isn’t a real, live one, but just the same, it does seem funny to be always in the same place, day after day.’

“And then one evening when Lucy was asleep the Dream King sent the elephant to call on her.

“‘I know,’ the elephant began, without even waiting for Lucy to make a curtsy as she might have done if he had only given her time, ‘that you have often wondered about me.’

“‘I have,’ said Lucy, ‘it is true.’

“‘But,’ said the elephant, ‘you mustn’t, for I am very happy. The reason I am happy is because I haven’t the brains or the feelings to be unhappy because I am always in one place.

“‘If I were a real elephant I would want to go out in the sunshine, I would want to eat, I would even want to play baseball; perhaps I would march in parades. But I’m not a real elephant—I’m only a make-believe one, and I haven’t any feeling at all—no, not a scrap of feeling.

“‘And I haven’t any brains. I couldn’t even smile at you if you were awake. It’s the old Dream King who is helping me to smile now.’

“And Lucy noticed that the elephant was smiling, such a funny, droll, stone-elephant smile.

“‘No, Lucy,’ the elephant continued, ‘you need never feel sorry for me because I am always in one place. I am like a table or a chair or a bed—except I am made in the shape of an animal.

“‘It is nice to be a stone elephant if one has always been one,’ it said, ‘and I suppose it is nice to be a little girl if one has always been one,’ and it waved its trunk and was gone.”

OCTOBER 3: Canary Cloudy Wings

“Cloudy Wings thought he would like to see the world,” said daddy. “He had always had a good deal of freedom but he thought he would like more.

“So this little canary flew out of a window. He wandered about and flew from bush to bush. Soon it began to rain.

“Cloudy Wings stood under the tree but the rain dripped down over his little body and his bright yellow feathers were all wet.

“‘Oh, how cold it is,’ thought Cloudy Wings to himself. ‘I can’t shake off this water as I do my bath water, because it all comes on me again. And my little Master always puts me in the sun to dry after my bath. If there is no sun I am put near a stove or where I can slowly get good and dry. This is awful!’ And he gave miserable little sounds.

“Of course in the meantime, McLean, his Master, was almost frightened out of his poor wits. What could have happened to Cloudy Wings? He saw that a window had been left open, and he knew the bird must have gone out. He kept the window open hoping Cloudy Wings would come back, and he sat by the open window, shivering in the dampness, saying to himself, and trying hard to keep back the tears:

“‘Oh Cloudy Wings, come back! I want you so! Please come back, Cloudy Wings!’

“Poor Cloudy Wings, wet and miserable, saw a round glass house, and beat his wings against the panes of glass.

“An old man was inside looking after his flowers, for the glass house was a conservatory of flowers and plants. When he saw the poor little wet bird he opened the door and took him in. Cloudy Wings sat in his warm hands while the old man smoothed and dried the little wet feathers.

“‘You belong to the little boy down the road,’ he said to himself. ‘I’ve seen you in the window. I always could tell you by your gray wings.’ So back in the old man’s pocket Cloudy Wings went to his Master, and never again did he leave his home.”

OCTOBER 4: The Abused Pencil

“A boy named Gerald,” said daddy, “was finding it very hard to do his lessons. School had commenced and yet the days were so lovely it was hard to study.

“He could not draw a map and he was supposed to have one drawn for the next day. He found it so hard to remember just how the places looked on the map and he was supposed to do it from memory.

“He gave up trying the map after a few moments. Then he sat and chewed the end of his pencil. Perhaps in a moment or two he would think of all the places he was supposed to mark.

“He decided he would do his arithmetic but he could not manage the sums. They were all so extremely hard. Much worse than they had been in the spring, though in reality they were a little easier. The teacher had known the children had had a long summer and it would take them a little time to get back into their work.

“He tried to do the sums but couldn’t. What a pity the book had no answers in the back! And he began to chew the end of his pencil again while he tried to think.

“Before long he felt he could not do his lessons for he was too tired and they were entirely too hard. He was dreadfully afraid he would be put back with the boys a year younger than he was, and yet he couldn’t do such difficult lessons.

“How ashamed he would be to be put back! Oh dear, what could he do? He must simply tell the teacher the lessons were too hard. But then he felt sure she would tell him to go back into a class where they were easier.

“He put his head down on his arms. The soft autumn breeze was blowing. It had been a warm day and two bumble-bees were buzzing and talking very near him. They were having some sort of a talk about the sweetness of the honey in the honeysuckle vine.

“Just then he saw his pencil. The end of it was wrapped up in cotton wool and gauze.

“‘Gracious, pencil, what is the matter?’ asked Gerald.

“‘I shouldn’t think you would ask me what is the matter,’ said the pencil as it squeaked in a sad little voice.

“‘Why not?’ asked Gerald. But the moment he had asked the question he knew the answer.

“The pencil answered him just the same. ‘You know I am to do your work. I will work but I must be guided and directed. I cannot think. A pencil is not supposed to think. A boy is supposed to do that. I merely write down what you think is correct, and goodness only knows I often feel very badly when I have to write down all sorts of wrong answers.

“‘And when I won’t think for you,’ continued the pencil, ‘this is the way you abuse me. Think! Don’t bite me to pieces. And I’ll tell you another thing. You may bite me in two, but never, never will I do your thinking for you. I am not supposed to and I won’t.’ The pencil was certainly very emphatic, Gerald thought, and he decided he would not argue with it.

“‘I was a lovely red pencil with black lead,’ the pencil continued, in an injured tone, ‘and now I am all bitten to pieces. One of my ends is almost useless, and I will break when the lead is used very much further. Oh, dear! And I was such a nice pencil!’ It sighed and seemed very mournful.

“Just at that moment the cotton wool came off the pencil and Gerald saw that he had been sleeping. The pencil had been badly bitten, but Gerald, now wide awake, put his mind to his studying, and found the lessons were not so hard after all!”

OCTOBER 5: The Onions

“We are far more useful than you are,” said the seeds of the lettuce which were just peeping above the ground in a box, showing their little green heads. They were in a schoolroom.

“I can’t help that,” said the geranium plant. “I was never meant to be useful. I try to be bright and cheerful. I wish I could be useful but every one can’t be just the same as every one else. Neither can plants all be the same. Vegetables can’t be plants and plants can’t be vegetables. But we all have our own reasons for being here.”

“I don’t see,” said one of the onions. They were very small but were also coming up in a box of their own. And after the onion had said that, it kept quite still just as if it had completely finished talking.

“You commenced to say something,” said the lettuce. “Why not finish?”

“Sometimes I get too discouraged to finish,” said the onion. “We all feel that way at times.”

“And why?” asked the lettuce.

“For you it is different, little lettuce leaves,” said the onion. “You are a salad when you grow up. You are considered a luxury and a treat.”

“Don’t people enjoy eating you?” asked the lettuce.

“Yes,” said the onion, “they often enjoy eating us. But they won’t give us any praise for it. They eat us when they’re off by themselves as if they were a little ashamed of eating us.

“I have often heard folks say,” continued the onion, “‘Oh, I am ashamed to admit it, but I do like fried onions.’ Then another will say, ‘Just imagine, little Freddy likes to eat raw onions when they are small.’ Oh, things like that cut us so,” said the onion. “We like to be eaten. All vegetables do, but we would like to be appreciated.”

“If you weren’t appreciated and liked,” said the lettuce politely, “you wouldn’t be planted and grown. They use you all the time—to season food and to make things have a nice taste.”

“Ah,” said the onion, which was doing all the talking for the family, “that is true. But listen to what they always say. They explain that they like to put a little onion in the soup—not so the soup will taste of onion—oh, mercy, no—but just to give it a little flavor. That is what we do. We flavor many a dish, but we don’t get the credit. Life is full of trials,” ended the onion.

OCTOBER 6: Trixie’s Burglar

“It was night time and Trixie the parrot,” said daddy, “had her head under her wing. Sometimes she slept this way, just as a canary bird would sleep. But often she would huddle up on her perch and doze off with her head drooping down a little on her chest.

“All of the family were asleep when Trixie seemed to hear in her dream a strange sound. She pulled her head from under her wing and looked about her with sleepy eyes.

“Did she see some one way off in the corner? Trixie was frightened. She did not quite know why. She was never frightened of people, but this person stayed where it was so dark, and did not light a light—only a little one that flashed quickly and went right out again.

“When her master came downstairs late at night, he always turned on the light. But Trixie thought she had better be polite. This was probably some very queer guest and she must be nice, for all the family were asleep.

“‘Hello,’ said Trixie. The man grumbled to himself. ‘He didn’t answer me,’ thought Trixie. ‘I must speak again.’ And this time she shrieked, ‘Hello.’

“‘Will you keep quiet?’ said the man in a frightened, low voice.

“‘No,’ answered Trixie, ‘never still.’ Now Trixie had said this in a very loud voice, and from upstairs Trixie’s master heard the parrot. ‘She never says that except when some one is here,’ he said, and he went downstairs.

“As he reached the room where the parrot was he saw a man hurrying off—hurrying off before he had had a chance to get anything, for he had spent his time since Trixie had spoken putting a large coat over the parrot’s cage.

“The window had been left open and a burglar had come in, but Trixie, the parrot, had been the cause of his going out.”