Chapter 2

But though it is stupid, And though it is slow, To fill such an humble position; To be a _good_ scarecrow Is better I know Than to scorn a lowly condition.

SILVER LOCKS AND THE BEARS.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Silver Locks was a little girl, Lovely and good; She strayed out one day And got lost in the wood, And was lonely and sad, Till she came where there stood The house which belonged to the Bears.

She pulled the latch string, And the door opened wide; She peeped softly first, And at last stepped inside; So tired her little feet Were that she cried, And so hungry she, sobbed to herself.

She did not know Whether to stay or to go; But there were three chairs Standing all in a row, And there were three bowls Full of milk white as snow, And there were three beds by the wall.

But the Father Bear's chair Was too hard to sit in it, And the Mother Bear's chair Was too hard to sit in it; But the Baby Bear's chair Was so soft in a minute She had broken it all into pieces.

And the Father Bear's milk Was too sour to drink, And the Mother Bear's milk Was too sour to drink; But the Baby Bear's milk Was so sweet, only think, When she tasted she drank it all up.

And the Father Bear's bed Was as hard as a stone, And the Mother Bear's bed Was as hard as a stone; But the Baby Bear's bed Was so soft she lay down, And before she could wink was asleep.

By and by came the scratch Of old Father Bear's claw, And the fumbling knock Of old Mother Bear's paw, And the latch string flew up, And the Baby Bear saw That a stranger had surely been there.

Then Father Bear cried, "Who's been sitting in my chair?" And Mother Bear cried, "Who's been sitting in _my_ chair?" And Baby Bear smiled, "Who's been sitting in my chair, And broken it all into pieces?"

Then Father Bear growled, "Who's been tasting of my milk?" And Mother Bear growled, "Who's been tasting of _my_ milk?" And Baby Bear wondered, "Who's tasted of my milk, And tasting has drank it all up?"

And Father Bear roared, "Who's been lying on my bed?" And Mother Bear roared, "Who's been lying on _my_ bed?" And Baby Bear laughed, "Who's been lying on my bed? O, here she is, fast asleep!"

The savage old Father Bear cried, "Let us eat her!" The savage old Mother Bear cried, "Let us eat her!" But the Baby Bear said, "Nothing ever was sweeter. Let's kiss her, and send her home!"

JACK AND THE BEAN-STALK.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

A lazy and careless boy was Jack,-- He would not work, and he would not play; And so poor, that the jacket on his back Hung in a ragged fringe alway; But 'twas shilly-shally, dilly-dally, From day to day.

At last his mother was almost wild, And to get them food she knew not how; And she told her good-for-nothing child To drive to market the brindle cow. So he strolled along, with whistle and song, And drove the cow.

A man was under the wayside trees, Who carried some beans in his hand--all white. He said, "My boy, I'll give you these For the brindle cow." Jack said, "All right." And, without any gold for the cow he had sold, Went home at night.

Bitter tears did the mother weep; Out of the window the beans were thrown, And Jack went supperless to sleep; But, when the morning sunlight shone, High, and high, to the very sky, The beans had grown.

They made a ladder all green and bright, They twined and crossed and twisted so; And Jack sprang up it with all his might, And called to his mother down below: "_Hitchity-hatchet, my little red jacket, And up I go!_"

High as a tree, then high as a steeple, Then high as a kite, and high as the moon, Far out of sight of cities and people, He toiled and tugged and climbed till noon; And began to pant: "I guess I shan't Get down very soon!"

At last he came to a path that led To a house he had never seen before; And he begged of a woman there some bread; But she heard her husband, the Giant, roar, And she gave him a shove in the old brick oven, And shut the door.

And the Giant sniffed, and beat his breast, And grumbled low, "_Fe, fi, fo, fum!_" His poor wife prayed he would sit and rest,-- "I smell fresh meat! I will have some!" He cried the louder, "_Fe, fi, fo, fum!_ I will have some."

He ate as much as would feed ten men, And drank a barrel of beer to the dregs; Then he called for his little favorite hen, As under the table he stretched his legs,-- And he roared "Ho! ho!"--like a buffalo-- "Lay your gold eggs!"

She laid a beautiful egg of gold; And at last the Giant began to snore; Jack waited a minute, then, growing bold, He crept from the oven along the floor, And caught the hen in his arms, and then Fled through the door.

But the Giant heard him leave the house, And followed him out, and bellowed "Oh-oh!" But Jack was as nimble as a mouse, And sang as he rapidly slipped below: "_Hitchity-hatchet, my little red jacket, And down I go!_"

And the Giant howled, and gnashed his teeth. Jack got down first, and, in a flash, Cut the ladder from underneath; And Giant and Bean-stalk, in one dash,-- No shilly-shally, no dilly-dally,-- Fell with a crash.

This brought Jack fame, and riches, too; For the little gold-egg hen would lay An egg whenever he told her to, If he asked one fifty times a day. And he and his mother lived with each other In peace alway.

LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

If you listen, children, I will tell The story of little Red Riding-hood: Such wonderful, wonderful things befell Her and her grandmother, old and good (So old she was never very well), Who lived in a cottage in a wood.

Little Red Riding-hood, every day, Whatever the weather, shine or storm, To see her grandmother tripped away, With a scarlet hood to keep her warm, And a little mantle, soft and gay, And a basket of goodies on her arm.

A pat of butter, and cakes of cheese, Were stored in the napkin, nice and neat; As she danced along beneath the trees, As light as a shadow were her feet; And she hummed such tunes as the bumble-bees Hum when the clover-tops are sweet.

But an ugly wolf by chance espied The child, and marked her for his prize. "What are you carrying there?" he cried; "Is it some fresh-baked cakes and pies?" And he walked along close by her side, And sniffed and rolled his hungry eyes.

"A basket of things for granny, it is," She answered brightly, without fear. "Oh, I know her very well, sweet miss! Two roads branch towards her cottage here; You go that way, and I'll go this. See which will get there first, my dear!"

He fled to the cottage, swift and sly; Rapped softly, with a dreadful grin. "Who's there?" asked granny. "Only I!" Piping his voice up high and thin. "Pull the string, and the latch will fly!" Old granny said; and he went in.

He glared her over from foot to head; In a second more the thing was done! He gobbled her up, and merely said, "She wasn't a very tender one!" And then he jumped into the bed, And put her sack and night-cap on.

And he heard soft footsteps presently, And then on the door a timid rap; He knew Red Riding-hood was shy, So he answered faintly to the tap: "Pull the string and the latch will fly!" She did: and granny, in her night-cap,

Lay covered almost up to her nose. "Oh, granny dear!" she cried, "are you worse?" "I'm all of a shiver, even to my toes! Please won't you be my little nurse, And snug up tight here under the clothes?" Red Riding-hood answered, "Yes," of course.

Her innocent head on the pillow laid, She spied great pricked-up, hairy ears, And a fierce great mouth, wide open spread, And green eyes, filled with wicked leers; And all of a sudden she grew afraid; Yet she softly asked, in spite of her fears:

"Oh, granny! what makes your ears so big?" "To hear you with! to hear you with!" "Oh, granny! what make your eyes so big?" "To see you with! to see you with!" "Oh, granny! what makes your teeth so big?" "To eat you with! to eat you with!"

And he sprang to swallow her up alive; But it chanced a woodman from the wood, Hearing her shriek, rushed, with his knife, And drenched the wolf in his own blood. And in that way he saved the life Of pretty little Red Riding-hood.

[Color Plate:]

Hark, hark The dogs do bark Beggars are coming to town; Some in jags, Some in rags, And some in velvet gowns.

CINDERELLA.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Poor, pretty little thing she was, The sweetest-faced of girls, With eyes as blue as larkspurs, And a mass of tossing curls; But her step-mother had for her Only blows and bitter words, While she thought her own two ugly crows, The whitest of all birds.

She was the little household drudge, And wore a cotton gown, While the sisters, clad in silk and satin, Flaunted through the town. When her work was done, her only place Was the chimney-corner bench. For which one called her "Cinderella," The other, "Cinder-wench."

But years went on, and Cinderella Bloomed like a wild-wood rose, In spite of all her kitchen-work, And her common, dingy clothes; While the two step-sisters, year by year, Grew scrawnier and plainer; Two peacocks, with their tails outspread, Were never any vainer.

One day they got a note, a pink, Sweet-scented, crested one, Which was an invitation To a ball, from the king's son. Oh, then poor Cinderella Had to starch, and iron, and plait, And run of errands, frill and crimp, And ruffle, early and late.

And when the ball-night came at last, She helped to paint their faces, To lace their satin shoes, and deck Them up with flowers and laces; Then watched their coach roll grandly Out of sight; and, after that, She sat down by the chimney, In the cinders, with the cat,

And sobbed as if her heart would break. Hot tears were on her lashes, Her little hands got black with soot, Her feet begrimed with ashes, When right before her, on the hearth, She knew not how nor why, A little odd old woman stood, And said, "Why do you cry?"

"It is so very lonely here," Poor Cinderella said, And sobbed again. The little odd Old woman bobbed her head, And laughed a merry kind of laugh, And whispered, "Is that all? Wouldn't my little Cinderella Like to go to the ball?

"Run to the garden, then, and fetch A pumpkin, large and nice; Go to the pantry shelf, and from The mouse-traps get the mice; Rats you will find in the rat-trap; And, from the watering-pot, Or from under the big, flat garden stone, Six lizards must be got."

Nimble as crickets in the grass She ran, till it was done, And then God-mother stretched her wand And touched them every one. The pumpkin changed into a coach, Which glittered as it rolled, And the mice became six horses, With harnesses of gold.

One rat a herald was, to blow A trumpet in advance, And the first blast that he sounded Made the horses plunge and prance; And the lizards were made footmen, Because they were so spry; And the old rat-coachman on the box Wore jeweled livery.

And then on Cinderella's dress The magic wand was laid, And straight the dingy gown became A glistening gold brocade. The gems that shone upon her fingers Nothing could surpass; And on her dainty little feet Were slippers made of glass.

"Be sure you get back here, my dear, At twelve o'clock at night," Godmother said, and in a twinkling She was out of sight. When Cinderella reached the ball, And entered at the door, So beautiful a lady None had ever seen before.

The Prince his admiration showed In every word and glance; He led her out to supper, And he chose her for the dance; But she kept in mind the warning That her Godmother had given, And left the ball, with all its charm. At just half after eleven.

Next night there was another ball; She helped her sisters twain To pinch their waists, and curl their hair, And paint their cheeks again. Then came the fairy Godmother, And, with her wand, once more Arrayed her out in greater splendor Even than before.

The coach and six, with gay outriders, Bore her through the street, And a crowd was gathered round to look, The lady was so sweet,-- So light of heart, and face, and mien, As happy children are; And when her foot stepped down, Her slipper twinkled like a star.

Again the Prince chose only her For waltz or _tete-a-tete_; So swift the minutes flew she did not Dream it could be late, But all at once, remembering What her Godmother had said, And hearing twelve begin to strike Upon the clock, she fled.

Swift as a swallow on the wing She darted, but, alas! Dropped from one flying foot the tiny Slipper made of glass; But she got away, and well it was She did, for in a trice Her coach changed to a pumpkin, And her horses became mice;

And back into the cinder dress Was changed the gold brocade! The prince secured the slipper, And this proclamation made: That the country should be searched, And any lady, far or wide, Who could get the slipper on her foot, Should straightway be his bride.

So every lady tried it, With her "Mys!" and "Ahs!" and "Ohs!" And Cinderella's sisters pared Their heels, and pared their toes,-- But all in vain! Nobody's foot Was small enough for it, Till Cinderella tried it, And it was a perfect fit.

Then the royal heralds hardly Knew what it was best to do, When from out her tattered pocket Forth she drew the other shoe, While the eyelids on the larkspur eyes Dropped down a snowy vail, And the sisters turned from pale to red, And then from red to pale,

And in hateful anger cried, and stormed, And scolded, and all that, And a courtier, without thinking, Tittered out behind his hat. For here was all the evidence The Prince had asked, complete, Two little slippers made of glass, Fitting two little feet.

So the Prince, with all his retinue, Came there to claim his wife; And he promised he would love her With devotion all his life. At the marriage there was splendid Music, dancing, wedding cake; And he kept the slipper as a treasure Ever, for her sake.

DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Dick, as a little lad, was told That the London streets were paved with gold. He never, in all his life, had seen A place more grand than the village green; So his thoughts by day, and his dreams by night, Pictured this city of delight, Till whatever he did, wherever he went, His mind was filled with discontent.

There was bitter taste to the peasant bread, And a restless hardness to his bed; So, after a while, one summer day, Little Dick Whittington ran away. Yes--ran away to London city! Poor little lad! he needs your pity; For there, instead of a golden street, The hot, sharp stones abused his feet.

So tired he was he was fit to fall,-- Yet nobody cared for him at all; He wandered here, and he wandered there, With a heavy heart, for many a square. And at last, when he could walk no more, He sank down faint at a merchant's door. And the cook--for once compassionate-- Took him in at the area-gate.

And she gave him bits of broken meat, And scattered crusts, and crumbs, to eat; And kept him there for her commands To pare potatoes, and scour pans, To wash the kettles and sweep the room; And she beat him dreadfully with the broom; And he staid as long as he could stay, And again, in despair, he ran away.

Out towards the famous Highgate Hill He fled, in the morning gray and chill; And there he sat on a wayside stone, And the bells of Bow, with merry tone, Jangled a musical chime together, Over the miles of blooming heather: "Turn, turn, turn again, Whittington, Thrice Lord Mayor of London town!"

And he turned--so cheered he was at that-- And, meeting a boy who carried a cat, He bought the cat with his only penny,-- For where he had slept the mice were many. Back to the merchant's his way he took, To the pans and potatoes and cruel cook, And he found Miss Puss a fine device, For she kept his garret clear of mice.

The merchant was sending his ship abroad, And he let each servant share her load; One sent this thing, and one sent that, And little Dick Whittington sent his cat. The ship sailed out and over the sea, Till she touched at last at a far country; And while she waited to sell her store, The captain and officers went ashore.

They dined with the king; the tables fine Groaned with the meat and fruit and wine; But, as soon as the guests were ranged about, Millions of rats and mice came out. They swarmed on the table, and on the floor, Up from the crevices, in at the door, They swept the food away in a breath, And the guests were frightened almost to death!

To lose their dinners they thought a shame. The captain sent for the cat. She came! And right and left, in a wonderful way, She threw, and slew, and spread dismay. Then the Moorish king spoke up so bold: "I will give you eighteen bags of gold, If you will sell me the little thing." "I will!" and the cat belonged to the king.

When the good ship's homeward voyage was done, The money was paid to Dick Whittington; At his master's wish 'twas put in trade; Each dollar another dollar made. Richer he grew each month and year, Honored by all both far and near; With his master's daughter for a wife, He lived a prosperous, noble life.

And the tune the Bow-bells sang that day, When to Highgate Hill he ran away,-- "Turn, turn, turn again, Whittington, Thrice Lord Mayor of London town,"-- In the course of time came true and right, He was Mayor of London, and Sir Knight; And in English history he is known, By the name of Sir Richard Whittington!

PUSS IN BOOTS.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

A miller had three sons, And, on his dying day, He willed that all he owned should be Shared by them in this way: The mill to this, and the donkey to that, And to the youngest only the cat.

This last, poor fellow, of course Thought it a bitter fate; With a cat to feed, he should die, indeed, Of hunger, sooner or late. And he stormed, with many a bitter word, Which Puss, who lay in the cupboard, heard.

She stretched, and began to purr, Then came to her master's knee, And, looking slyly up, began: "Pray be content with me! Get me a pair of boots ere night, And a bag, and it will be all right!"

The youth sighed heavy sighs, And laughed a scornful laugh: "Of all the silly things I know, You're the silliest, by half!" Still, after a space of doubt and thought, The pair of boots and the bag were bought.

And Puss, at the peep of dawn, Was out upon the street, With shreds of parsley in her bag, And the boots upon her feet. She was on her way to the woods, for game, And soon to the rabbit-warren came.

And the simple rabbits cried, "The parsley smells like spring!" And into the bag their noses slipped, And Pussy pulled the string. Only a kick, and a gasp for breath, And, one by one, they were choked to death.

So Sly Boots bagged her game, And gave it an easy swing Over her shoulder; and, starting off For the palace of the king, She found him upon his throne, in state, While near him his lovely daughter sate.

Puss made a graceful bow No courtier could surpass, And said, "I come to your Highness from The Marquis of Carabas. His loyal love he sends to you, With a tender rabbit for a stew."

And the pretty princess smiled, And the king said, "Many thanks." And Puss strode off to her master's home, Purring, and full of pranks. And cried, "I've a splendid plan for you! Say nothing, but do as I tell you to!

"To-morrow, at noon, the king And his beautiful daughter ride; And you must go, as they draw near, And bathe at the river side." The youth said "Pooh!" but still, next day, Bathed, when the king went by that way.

Puss hid his dingy clothes In the marshy river-grass. And screamed, when the king came into sight, "The Marquis of Carabas-- My master--is drowning close by! Help! help! good king, or he will die!"

Then servants galloped fast, And dragged him from the water. "'Tis the knight who sent the rabbit stew," The king said, to his daughter. And a suit of clothes was brought with speed, And he rode in their midst, on a royal steed.

Meanwhile Puss, in advance, To the Ogre's palace fled, Where he sat, with a great club in his hand, And a monstrous ugly head. She mewed politely as she went in, But he only grinned, with a dreadful grin.

"I have heard it said," she purred, "That, with the greatest ease, You change, in the twinkling of an eye, Into any shape you please!" "Of course I can!" the Ogre cried, And a roaring lion stood at her side.

Puss shook like a leaf, in her boots, But said, "It is very droll! Now, please, if you can, change into a mouse!" He did. And she swallowed him whole! Then, as the king and his suite appeared, She stood on the palace porch and cheered.

'Twas a grand old palace indeed, Builded of stone and brass. "Welcome, most noble ladies and lords, To the Castle of Carabas!" Puss said, with a sweeping courtesy; And they entered, and feasted royally.

And the Marquis lost his heart At the beautiful princess' smile; And the very next day the two were wed, In wonderful state and style. And Puss in Boots was their favorite page, And lived with them to a good old age.

GOLD-LOCKS' DREAM OF PUSSIE WILLOW.

By Clara Doty Bates.

One sunny day, in the early spring, Before a bluebird dared to sing, Cloaked and furred as in winter weather,-- Seal-brown hat and cardinal feather,-- Forth with a piping song, Went Gold-Locks "after flowers." "Tired of waiting so long," Said this little girl of ours.

She searched the bare brown meadow over, And found not even a leaf of clover; Nor where the sod was chill and wet Could she spy one tint of violet; But where the brooklet ran A noisy swollen billow, She picked in her little hand A branch of pussie-willow.

She shouted out, in a happy way, At the catkins' fur, so soft and gray; She smoothed them down with loving pats, And called them her little pussie-cats. She played at scratch and bite; She played at feeding cream; And when she went to bed that night, Gold-Locks dreamed a dream.

Curled in a little cosy heap, Under the bed-clothes, fast asleep, She heard, although she scarce knew how, A score of voices "_M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!_" And right before her bed, Upon a branching tree, Were kittens, and kittens, and kittens, As thick as they could be.