Chapter 2

"As long as I've lived upon this mountain, tree and sapling," he shouted, "I've never known such a wind. I'm not so young as I used to be, and I fear that my end has come."

"Be brave! Oh, be brave!" implored the Little Red House. "Don't let him blow you down. I should be so sorry to lose you, What are you grunting for?"

"I'm not grunting," answered the Blue-gym in a pained voice. "Those are my roots giving way, one by one. I can't stand much more of this. Look out!"

The Little Red House looked up, and what he saw terrified him. The big Blue-gum, in the clutch of the wind, was bent right over him, so that the top branches seemed to be just above his roof; and the great tree appeared to be falling, falling, helplessly.

"Don't fall on me!" shrieked the Little Red House. "Oh, don't fall on me; because, if you do, you know you'll squash me! I don't want to be squashed!"

But the big Blue-gum said, "There is just one little root holding now. If that gives way we are both done for."

"Be brave! Oh, be brave!" shrieked the Little Red House.

Then slowly, very slowly, the big Blue-gum began to straighten up again, away from the Little Red House.

"I have stood upon this mountain, tree and sapling, for over a hundred years," he said when he had recovered; "but if it blows like that again, it is the end of me."

But it did not blow like that again; though the wind howled and shrieked all that day as if it was very angry and disappointed that it could not blow down the big Blue-gum.

Then, towards evening, the wind fell; the heavy clouds went away beyond the edge of the sky, and all became very calm and peaceful.

The birds came from their hiding places and sat in the branches of the Blue-gum and chattered away to him, until he began to feel quite cheerful once more, in spite of his trouble. And when a certain little Tree-creeper--a very wise bird--came and had a long, serious talk with the Blue-gum, he became very much interested indeed and quite happy.

But the Little Red House was miserable still; and the beauty of the evening didn't cheer him up one bit.

"Ah, well," said the Blue-gum, when the darkness came to the mountain, "I am going to have a good sleep tonight. I'm a match still for old Daddy Wind, in spite of all his noise and bluster. And there are ways of dealing with white-ants, too. I've lived upon this mountain, tree and sapling, for--"

But as he was talking he fell fast asleep.

The Little Red House did not sleep. How could he, with his eyes wide open? So he just stood there all night staring before him, lonely and wretched. And when an owl came and sat in the tree and began to call, "Mopoke," the Little Red House told him rudely to stop his silly noise and clear out. That will just show you how very miserable he was.

It was quite late next morning when the Blue-gum awoke. He stretched his big limbs, and began to wonder what he might say to comfort the Little Red House. But when the Blue-gum looked down, he saw that the Little Red House was smiling all over his face.

"Well, now!" cried the big Blue-gum cheerfully. "That's the kind of face I like to see in the morning! So you've decided to be sensible and forget your loneliness?"

But the Little Red House didn't say a word. He just went on smiling.

Then the big Blue-gum began to get uneasy.

"I do hope your troubles haven't turned you silly," he said. "You haven't lost your senses, have you?"

"I?" cried the Little Red House. "Why, look down the valley! See who's coming!"

Down, far down, the valley, just coming through the white gate, were two figures that looked like tiny specks. And much nearer was another speck, which was certainly a little dog.

"It's them--I mean those are they!" shouted the Little Red House happily. "Sym and Emily Ann! And here comes our little dog."

"Well, you certainly have sharp eyes," replied the Blue-gum. "But I suppose I'm getting old--over a hundred years, you know."

The two figures were through the white gate now, and had crossed the red road out on to the stony flat--getting bigger and bigger as they came; and the smile on the Little Red House seemed to grow broader and broader. On they came, under the tree-ferns, up by the big rocks, past the sign-post. And now the Little Red House could hear Sym singing his Tinker's song.

But it was not quite the same song this time:

"Kettles and pans! Ho, kettles and pans! Where's there a home like the tinkering man's? Weary of wandering, home is the place-- The Little Red House with the smile on his face-- Weary and hungry, my Emily Ann. Then put on the kettle! Ho, put on the pan!"

"Now THAT is the sort of song I DO like," said the Little Red House, as he watched them coming up the mountain.

On they came, growing bigger and bigger--through the sliprails, across the potato paddock, over the bridge, round by the bracken-patch, past the black stump, through the gate, and here they were, right at the front door.

"Oh, I AM glad to be home again," cried Emily Ann. "And do look at the Little House. He seems to be smiling."

"Of course he is smiling," answered Sym; "but he has a very dirty face."

"The storm did that," said Emily Ann. "Now hurry and get the fire alight, and I'll put the kettle on." And they went inside laughing and singing, while the little dog flew round the house, barking for dear life, and pretending he was very busy seeing everything was in order.

"Now I suppose you're happy," said the big Blue-gum to the Little Red House.

"Happy?" cried the Little House. "Of course I am. Why, I'm a home again!" But suddenly he remembered that his own happiness had made him forget all about his old friend's troubles; and he tried his best to look serious, as he said: "But what about YOU? Are the white-ants still troubling you?"

"Ah!" replied the Blue-gum. "Don't let that worry you. Yesterday I had a talk with the doctor--Doctor Tree-creeper, you know--a very clever little bird he is, and he knows all about white-ants. He examined me thoroughly all over. He says that they have hardly got under my skin yet, and he will have them all out in a couple of days. So THAT'S all right."

"Well, I am glad," shouted the Little Red House. "Now we are ALL happy!"

Then Sym got the fire started, and the smoke curled up, and the Little House had his gay blue feather once again. Sym began to sing his Tinker's Song louder than ever, and Emily Ann, who was getting the meal ready, joined in and sang too. Very soon the kettle also began to sing, and, when the pan heard that HE began to sing. Then Doctor Tree-creeper arrived to attend to the white-ants, and, as he walked round the trunk of the big Blue-gum, tapping it just like a doctor, HE began to sing. And two Kookaburras, who were sitting on the fence, were so tickled with it all, that they laughed and laughed till they made everyone else laugh with them.

"This is quite like old times," laughed the big Blue-gum. "Are you contented now?"

"Am I contented?" cried the Little Red House. "Am I contented? Well, what would you think?"

And then--well, most ordinary grown-up folk would tell you that just then Emily Ann drew down one of the front blinds. But all the big Blue-gum knew, and all you and I know, is that the Little Red House winked.

And when I saw him last, his smile was as broad as ever, and he was still winking.

THE PIEMAN

I'd like to be a pieman, and ring a little bell, Calling out, "Hot pies! Hot pies to sell!" Apple-pies and Meat-pies, Cherry-pies as well, Lots and lots and lots of pies--more than you can tell. Big, rich Pork-pies! Oh, the lovely smell! But I wouldn't be a pieman if . . . I wasn't very well. Would you?

THE TRIANTIWONTIGONGOLOPE

There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy, And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly; It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee, But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree. Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope. So try: Tri- Tri-anti-wonti- Triantiwontigongolope.

It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face; Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace. When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare, But when you look for it again, you find it isn't there. And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope. So try: Tri- Tri-anti-wonti- Triantiwontigongolope.

It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes; It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose. If you snear at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame, But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name, And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap. So try: Tri- Tri-anti-wonti- Triantiwontigongolope .

But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address. For there isn't such an insect, though there really might have been If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle green. It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I hope. Oh, try! Tri- Tri-anti-wonti- Triantiwontigongolope.

THE CIRCUS

Hey, there! Hoop-la! the circus is in town! Have you seen the elephant? Have you seen the clown? Have you seen the dappled horse gallop round the ring? Have you seen the acrobats on the dizzy swing? Have you seen the tumbling men tumble up and down? Hoop-la! Hoop-la! the circus is in town!

Hey, there! Hoop-la! Here's the circus troupe! Here's the educated dog, jumping through the hoop. See the lady Blondin with the parasol and fan, The lad upon the ladder and the india-rubber man. See the joyful juggler and the boy who loops the loop. Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Here's the circus troupe!

YOU AND I

They say the eagle is a bird That sees some splendid sights When he soars high into the sky Upon his dizzy flights: He sees the ground for miles around Our house, and Billy Johnson's; But we cannot be eagles, for That would, of course, be nonsense.

But you and I, some summer day, Providing we're allowed, Will go up in an aeroplane And sail right through a cloud. But, if they say we may not go, We'll stay upon the ground With other things that have no wings, And watch them walk around.

They say the bottom of the sea Is beautiful to view; They say the fish, whene'er they wish, Can sail and see it, too; The shining pearls, the coral curls, The sharks, the squids, the schnappers, And fish with fins (though not in tins) And fish with funny flappers.

But you and I, some sunny day, When weather's in condition, Will go there in a submarine, Providing we've permission.

But if they say we may not go We must respect their wishes; And you and I will just keep dry Because we are not fishes.

The earth is quite a jolly place, And we don't care for flying; And things that creep down in the deep Are sometimes rather trying. So, if they'll grant a holiday Or even only half, We'll lie upon some grassy place, And think of things, and laugh.

GOING TO SCHOOL

Did you see them pass to-day, Billy, Kate and Robin, All astride upon the back of old grey Dobbin? Jigging, jogging off to school, down the dusty track-- What must Dobbin think of it--three upon his back? Robin at the bridle-rein, in the middle Kate, Billy holding on behind, his legs out straight.

Now they're coming back from school, jig, jog, jig. See them at the corner where the gums grow big; Dobbin flicking off the flies and blinking at the sun-- Having three upon his back he thinks is splendid fun: Robin at the bridle-rein, in the middle Kate, Little Billy up behind, his legs out straight.

HIST!

Hist! . . . . . . Hark! The night is very dark, And we've to go a mile or so Across the Possum Park.

Step . . . . . . light, Keeping to the right; If we delay, and lose our way, We'll be out half the night. The clouds are low and gloomy. Oh! It's just begun to mist! We haven't any overcoats And--Hist! . . . . . . Hist!

(Mo . . . . . . poke!) Who was that that spoke? This is not a fitting spot To make a silly joke.

Dear . . . . . . me! A mopoke in a tree! It jarred me so, I didn't know Whatever it could be. But come along; creep along; Soon we shall be missed. They'll get a scare and wonder where We--Hush! . . . . . . Hist!

Ssh! . . . . . . Soft! I've told you oft and oft We should not stray so far away Without a moon aloft.

Oo! . . . . . . Scat! Goodness! What was that? Upon my word, it's quite absurd, It's only just a cat. But come along; haste along; Soon we'll have to rush, Or we'll be late and find the gate Is--Hist! . . . . . . Hush!

(Kok!. . . . . . Korrock!) Oh! I've had a shock! I hope and trust it's only just A frog behind a rock.

Shoo! . . . . . . Shoo! We've had enough of you; Scaring folk just for a joke Is not the thing to do. But come along, slip along-- Isn't it a lark Just to roam so far from home On--Hist! . . . . . . Hark!

Look! . . . . . . See! Shining through the tree, The window-light is glowing bright To welcome you and me.

Shout! . . . . . . Shout! There's someone round about, And through the door I see some more And supper all laid out. Now, run! Run! Run! Oh, we've had such splendid fun-- Through the park in the dark, As brave as anyone.

Laughed, we did, and chaffed, we did, And whistled all the way, And we're home again! Home again! Hip . . . . . . Hooray!

BIRD SONG

I am friendly with the sparrow Though his mind is rather narrow And his manners--well, the less we say the better. But as day begins to peep, When I hear his cheery "Cheep" I am ready to admit I am his debtor

I delight in red-browed finches And all birds of scanty inches. Willie wagtail is a pleasant bird, and coy. All the babblers, chats and wrens, Tits and robins, and their hens, Are my very special friends, and bring me joy.

THE MUSIC OF YOUR VOICE

A vase upon the mantelpiece, A ship upon the sea, A goat upon a mountain-top Are much the same to me; But when you mention melon jam, Or picnics by the creek, Or apple pies, or pantomimes, I love to hear you speak.

The date of Magna Charta or The doings of the Dutch, Or capes, or towns, or verbs, or nouns Do not excite me much; But when you mention motor rides-- Down by the sea for choice Or chasing games, or chocolates, I love to hear your voice.

THE BOY WHO RODE INTO THE SUNSET

Once upon a time--it was not so very long ago, either--a little boy, named Neville, lived with his people in a house which was almost in the country. That is to say, it was just at the edge of the city; and at the back of the house was a rather large hill, which was quite bald.

Neville, who was fond of playing by himself, would often wander to the top of the bald hill; and if he stood right on top of it and looked one way, toward the East, he could see right over the city, with all its tall buildings and domes and spires and smoking chimneys. But looking the other way, to the West, he could see for miles over the beautiful country, with its green fields and orchards and white roads and little farm houses.

One evening Neville was playing alone on the top of the hill when he noticed that one of the very finest sunsets he had ever seen was just coming on. The sky in the West, away over the broad country lands, was filled with little clouds of all sorts and shapes, and they were just beginning to take on the most wonderful colours.

Neville had often before amused himself with watching clouds and the strange shapes into which they changed themselves--sometimes like great mountain ranges, sometimes like sea-waves, and very often like elephants and lions and seals and all manner of interesting things of that sort. But never before had he been able to make out so many animal shapes in the clouds. The sky was almost as good as a Zoo. There were kangaroos and elephants and a hen with chickens and wallabies and rabbits and a funny man with large ears and all sorts of other peculiar shapes.

The sun was sinking behind a distant range of hills, where a golden light shone out as if through a gateway. It was so much like a great golden gateway that Neville fell to wondering what might be found on the other side of it.

Suddenly, right in the middle of all the coloured clouds, he saw one little cloud which was perfectly white, and, as he watched it, he noticed that it seemed to be shaped like a small horse. A very small horse it seemed at that distance; but, as Neville gazed, it grew bigger and bigger, just as if it were coming toward him very fast, and he was almost certain he could see its legs moving.

That startled him a little, and so he rubbed his eyes to make sure that they were not playing him tricks.

When he looked again he was more startled than ever; for the little white cloud was no longer a cloud, but a little white horse in real earnest. Besides, it had just left the sky and was galloping down the mountain range which he could see away in the West.

In two minutes it had left the range, and was coming across the fields towards him, jumping the fences, dodging under the trees, and racing across the plain with its white mane and tail tossing as it came. It seemed to be making straight for him.

He was not really frightened--you must not think that about him--but he was just beginning to wonder if it were not nearly time to go home to dinner, when he noticed that the white horse had stopped, just at the foot of the bald hill. It was looking up at him, tossing its head and pawing the ground--the most beautiful white horse that he had ever seen, even in a circus. Then it appeared to get over its excitement and began to trot quietly up the hill toward him.

I do not think anyone would have blamed Neville if he had decided then to go home to dinner at once. But he was rather a brave boy, and he was certainly very curious, so he just stood still and waited.

And here is where the most wonderful part of the story begins. The white horse trotted up to Neville and spoke to him. That would surprise most people; and Neville was certainly as much surprised as anyone else would have been.

"What are you frightened of?" asked the white horse in a loud voice.

Now, Neville WAS just a little frightened by this time; but he was not going to show it, so he just said, "Who's frightened?"

"YOU'RE frightened," said the white horse, louder than ever. "You're only a timid little boy. I thought when I saw you in the distance that you were one of the plucky ones; but I was mistaken. You're just a little cowardly-custard."

"You'd better be careful who you're talking to," said Neville, suddenly losing his fear. (Little boys do not always talk good grammar; otherwise he would have said "whom" not "who.") He hated to be called a "cowardly-custard." "You'd better be careful, or I'll give you a bang!"

"Ah ha!" cried the white horse. "Very brave all at once, aren't you? All the same, you're afraid to come near and stroke me."

"But I don't want to stroke you," said Neville.

"I thought not," replied the white horse. "I thought not, the moment I got close to you. You're one of the frightened ones, and I've been wasting my time."

"Who's frightened?" said Neville again.

"You asked that before," replied the white horse, "and I told you. If you're not frightened, come along and stroke me. There's nothing to be afraid of."

So Neville walked right up to the white horse and stroked his shoulder. And at once he felt that he had been foolish to hold back. For of all the smooth, soft, silky coats he had ever stroked, that of the white horse was certainly the smoothest, and the softest, and the silkiest. He felt that he could go on stroking it for hours.

"There now," said the white horse in a voice as soft and silky as his coat. "There was nothing to be afraid of, was there? And I think that perhaps I was mistaken about you. I rather think you might be one of those daring boys that one reads about in stories. What about jumping on my back for a little ride?"

Neville ceased to stroke the white horse and drew back a little.

"I'm afraid they'll be expecting me home for dinner," he said. "I'm very pleased indeed to have met you." Neville was always a polite little boy.

"The very thing!" cried the white horse. "Jump on my back and I'll take you home. You liked stroking me, didn't you? Well that's nothing to the ride you will enjoy--simply nothing. Why, all the boldest riders in the world would give their ears just for one little ride on my back. Now then! One, two, three, and up you go!"

Then before Neville quite knew what he was doing, he made a little run and leapt up astride of the white horse.

"I live just over there," said Neville, pointing towards his home.

But before he could say "knife", or even "scissors" (supposing he had wished to say either of these words), the white horse laughed a nasty hollow laugh, sprang upwards from the ground, and was soaring through the air toward the dying sunset, right away from home and dinner.

Neville clung on tightly, for he was so high above the earth that to fall off would mean the end of him. And far beneath him he saw the green fields and the white road, which now seemed like a mere thread.

"That's not fair! Whoa back! Whoa back!" he shouted to the white horse; but the white horse made no reply. Indeed, he seemed suddenly not so much like a white horse as like a white cloud shaped like a horse, and Neville saw that he no longer sat upon the horse's silky coat, but upon something soft and downy like a white fleece, and it was slightly damp. Then he knew that he was riding upon a cloud; and, as it was quite absurd to go on talking to a cloud, he ceased to cry out. He just sat tight and wondered what would happen next.

He was high over a farm-house now: one that he used to see from the bald hill. He knew it by the tall pine-trees that grew round it; and down in the farm-yard he saw a man with a bucket going out to feed the calves. Neville called loudly to him, but the man did not even look up. Now he was far beyond that farm-house and above an orchard, where he saw the fruit-trees standing in straight rows; and a few seconds later the mountain range was beneath him, and Neville knew that the cloud that looked like a horse was making straight for the golden gateway, which was now glowing dully in a grey sky. He was riding into the sunset.

Swiftly as the wind that drove it, the Cloud Horse drifted over the mountain range. There was a sudden glow of golden light all about him, and then a flash of colour so wonderful that Neville could not bear to look. He closed his eyes, and, as he did so, he felt that the Cloud Horse had come to a halt at last.

So Neville sat upon the cloud, not daring to open his eyes for quite a long time. When at last he did look again he almost fainted with the wonder of it. He was inside the sunset.

But scarcely had he begun to enjoy the wonderful sight, when he was startled by the sound of a funny, shrill little voice close by his side. Looking down, he saw a strange little man, no taller than a walking-stick, and dressed from top to toe in golden-yellow clothes. "My stars!" said the wee yellow man. "How did YOU manage to get in here? Don't you know this is private?"

"I'm very sorry," said Neville, "but I couldn't help it. The Cloud Horse brought me, you know."

"Ah!" said the wee yellow man. "He tricked you, did he? He's much too playful, that Cloud Horse; and, I must say, he's put you in a pretty fix."

"Excuse me," said Neville, "but do you mind telling me who you are?"