Part 4

"I wish I could swim," cried Puss; "it looks like great sport!"

HOW TO BE A DUCK

"LET me swim first," said old Mrs. Duck, "To this side, now to that; There, snap at those great brown-winged flies, They make young ducklings fat."

"See who can swim the fastest," cried Puss. "Why don't you have a race?" The nine little ducklings stopped.

"Line up in a row," cried Puss, "and when I cry 'Go!' swim as fast as you can, and the one who reaches this bank first wins. I'll give a bright penny to the winner."

All the ducklings arranged themselves in a row, and when Puss cried "One, two, three, go!" they paddled away as hard as they could. Back and forth went their little yellow feet. Such a splashing! Nearer and nearer they came. One little duck flapped his wings upon the water and in this way managed to get ahead. He was the first to land.

"Here is your penny," cried Puss.

"What can I do with it, mother?" he asked.

"You can get a stick of candy to-morrow," replied his mother. "Not this afternoon, for it is time now to go home to the farm.

"Now when you reach the poultry yard The hen-wife, Molly Head, Will feed you with the other fowls On bran and mashed-up bread."

Mrs. Duck came out of the water and shook herself well, sending quite a shower of water in little drops all about her. Puss jumped back to avoid a shower bath. The ducklings stood up on their toes and flapped their small wings. Then off they all went, Mrs. Duck in the lead. Puss followed behind, taking care not to step on the yellow toes of the last duckling.

As they neared the barnyard Mrs. Duck turned and said:

"The hens will peck and fight, but mind, I hope that all of you Will gobble up the food as fast As well bred ducks should do."

The woman who took care of the poultry yard was already there. From a well filled pan she was scattering handfuls of corn in all directions. There were a great many chickens, who darted hither and thither, picking up the grains of corn. When the corn was all gone she set down a dish of food. No sooner had she done this than Mrs. Duck exclaimed:

"You'd better get into the dish Unless it is too small; In that case, I should use my foot And overturn it all."

The ducklings did as they were bid, And found the plan so good That from that day the other fowls Got hardly any food.

"My, but she's a wise old duck," said Puss to himself with a grin.

"WHEN I WAS A LITTLE BOY"

IT was a queer looking house that Puss, Junior, saw in the distance. It seemed more like a box, with another little box tacked on, through the top of which rose a long piece of stove pipe, which, I suppose, served as a chimney, although chimneys are usually made of bricks in Old Mother Goose Country.

On the front porch sat a little old man, smoking a pipe, from which the smoke drifted away in little gray clouds, while the smoke from the stovepipe chimney stretched out like a long black feather.

"Good-day," said Puss, taking off his hat.

"Come and rest beside me," said the old man, pushing forward an armchair. So Puss sat down, and after wiping the perspiration from his forehead remarked, "A warm day, my good sir."

"Yes, indeed," replied the little old man, "but all days seem very much alike to me."

"Do they?" asked Puss. "Why?"

"Well, I'll tell you the story of my life," said the little old man, and, taking his pipe from his lips, he began:

"When I was a little boy I lived by myself, And all the bread and cheese I got I laid upon the shelf. The rats and the mice They made such a strife, That I was forced to go to town, And buy me a wife. The streets were so broad, And the lanes were so narrow, I was forced to bring my wife home In a wheelbarrow. The wheelbarrow broke, And my wife had a fall. Farewell wheelbarrow, wife and all."

"And have you lived alone ever since?" asked Puss.

"Yes," replied the old man, "and the mice and the rats give me no peace. They eat up all my cheese and flour."

"I'll help you," said Puss. "Let me stay here to-night, and I'll catch every rat and mouse that bothers you inside the house."

"You can make up poetry as well as I can," said the old man, with a laugh. "Why, that's the first laugh I've had in many a long year. I like you, Sir Cat. You are an obliging sort of person. You shall have the best that my small home affords. I only hope you will rid the place of rats and mice."

"Leave that to me," replied Puss, with a grin.

GOOD RIDDANCE

NOW, let me see. In the last story we left little Puss, Junior, in the house of the old man who brought his wife home in a wheelbarrow. Well, Puss heard him take off his shoes and get into bed, and then out went the light. I guess the old man leaned out of bed and blew it out. But Puss didn't go to bed. Oh, my, no! He slipped off his red-topped boots, so as not to frighten the rats and the mice and stole softly over to the window. The moon was bright and the stars were twinkling in the sky.

"It's a long time since I've been a mouser!" laughed Puss to himself. "I wonder if I have lost my cunning?" And he sat down by the window and crossed his leg over the other. "Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse," and it was not the night before Christmas, either. Pretty soon the sound of scampering feet caught his ear, and, turning his head, he saw a dozen mice or more running over the floor, and after that two big rats stole softly across the old rag rug in front of the fireplace. With a leap, Puss landed close to the rats, and with his right paw, laid hold of the nearest, and with his left paw caught the other. "Squeak, squeak! Oh, let us go!" they cried.

"Not unless you promise to leave this house," replied Puss, fiercely, his whiskers standing out straight and his eyes glaring like two balls of fire.

"We will, we will!" squeaked the rats.

"Then go!" cried Puss, "and don't you ever come back!"

"We won't, we won't!" cried the terrified rats.

And after that Puss softly crept into the kitchen, where on the table sat three little mice eating a piece of cake. In a second Puss had them fast in his claws.

"Squeak, squeak!" screamed the little mice.

"I'll spare you," said Puss, glaring at them with eyes as bright as automobile lamps. "I'll let you go if you'll promise to leave this house with all your sisters and brothers and cousins and aunts and fathers and mothers and grandmothers and grandfathers, and all your friends, and everybody else that I can't think of, for I'm so mad I could eat you."

"Oh don't," they cried; "we'll go, we'll go! We'll promise to leave."

And after that the little old man was never bothered with rats and mice.

MISTER FOX

IT was late in the evening as Puss, Junior, entered a gloomy forest. It was very dark beneath the big, tall trees, so by and by he stopped and looked about him, when all of a sudden--

"A fox went out in a hungry plight, And he begged of the moon to give him light, For he'd many miles to trot that night."

Well, as soon as the Fox had finished asking Lady Moon to show him the way Puss cried out:

"Oh, Mr. Fox, take me with you, for I'm lost in this forest." But goodness me! the Fox was so frightened at the sound of Puss, Junior's, voice that he jumped behind a tree.

"Who speaks to me?" he asked, faintly.

"Puss in Boots, Junior."

"Ah," replied the Fox, coming out from his hiding place, "now I'm not afraid. At first I thought you were a farmer; farmers don't like me!"

"Why should they?" asked Puss. "You steal their ducks and chickens."

"Softly, softly!" whispered the Fox; "someone may hear you."

"Very well," replied Puss, "I'll whisper if you'll show me the way."

"Come along," replied the Fox. So they walked along through the dark forest, and every now and then the moon peeped through the tree tops to help Mr. Fox find his way, but for all that, the forest was very gloomy and Puss nearly stumbled two or three times and so did Mr. Fox.

"At first he came to a farmer's yard, Where the ducks and geese declared it hard That their nerves should be shaken and their rest be marred By the visit of Mister Fox."

"Do you hear what they say about me?" asked the Fox in a whisper.

"They say you give them bad dreams," replied Puss; "that you keep them awake and ruin their nerves."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Fox, "what do they expect? Do they imagine I come here to sing them to sleep? To stand under the coop window and sing a lullaby? Ha, ha! I'm very fond of duck and very fond of goose, but not in that way. Oh, my, no!" And he grinned until all his long white teeth shone in the moonlight.

MR. SLIPPER-SLOPPER

WHEN Mr. Fox laughed he showed all his long, sharp teeth, and Puss was mighty glad he had his trusty staff with him in case Mr. Fox became ugly. But nothing unpleasant happened, and by and by they came to the hen-house.

Puss was peeking through a crack in the boards, but before he had time to utter a cry of warning, Mr. Fox,

Seized the black duck by the neck, And swung her across his back; The black duck cried out, "Quack! quack! quack!" With her legs hanging dangling down.

and away he went, out through the door, across the barnyard and up the hill. And I guess Lady Moon wished she hadn't shown that bad old fox the way through the dark forest.

And after that Puss pounded on the kitchen door and shouted, "The fox has run off with the black duck!"

"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Slipper-Slopper. "Who has taken the black duck?"

"Hurry up!" called Puss. "The fox has a good start; 'twill be hard to catch him."

So Mrs. Slipper-Slopper pulled in her head and pretty soon came thumping down the stairs and opened the door.

"Which way did the fox go?" asked Mr. Slipper-Slopper.

"Up the hill," said Puss.

"Where's my gun?" asked Mr. Slipper-Slopper, turning to his wife.

"Why, don't you remember, John?" she replied. "You lent it to old Neighbor Jones last week."

"So I did," said Mr. Slipper-Slopper. "Too bad!"

"Well, I'm going after him, anyway," cried Mr. Slipper-Slopper, picking up the broom. "If I catch him I'll hit him a whopper!"

"You wouldn't hit an old man like Neighbor Jones?" cried Mrs. Slipper-Slopper excitedly.

"No----the fox," cried Mr. Slipper-Slopper. "I mean the fox."

"You'd better put on your boots," said his wife. "You can't go in your slippers."

A DINNER INVITATION

GOODNESS me, Mr. Slipper-Slopper took so long to pull on his boots that Puss said, "Really, if you don't hurry the fox will be miles away, and you'll never get back your gray goose."

"Yes, John, you had better take this young cat's advice," cried Mrs. Slipper-Slopper.

"Then John, he went up to the hill, And he blew a blast both loud and shrill; Says the fox, 'This is very pretty music--still I'd rather be at my den.'"

"Gracious me!" exclaimed Puss to himself, "Mr. Slipper-Slopper is crazy. Why does he blow his horn? It's bad enough to hunt a fox with a broom!"

"Look here, Mr. Slipper-Slopper," he cried, "you have no boots--you've nothing but slippers. You have no gun--you've nothing but an old broom. And what's more, you have no sense. You deserve to lose your gray goose and your black duck. Good-by." And Puss ran off in disgust.

"I've no use for a man who can't protect his own," he muttered to himself. "I won't help catch that fox. Let him have a feast. He must eat as well as Mr. Slipper-Slopper. Probably Mr. Slipper-Slopper would have killed the gray goose for dinner in a few days, anyhow."

"Helloa, what are you talking about?" cried Mr. Fox, jumping out from behind a large stone.

"So you think old Slipper-Slopper would have killed the goose and eaten it himself, do you?" asked the fox with a grin.

"Well," answered Puss, startled at the sudden appearance of Mr. Fox, "I thought it pretty mean of you to steal his goose, but now that I've found out what a foolish man Mr. Slipper-Slopper is, I'm glad you have a good dinner in store for yourself and family."

"That's very nice of you," said Mr. Fox, with another grin.

"Neither have I forgotten that you helped me out of the forest," continued Puss, "and I feel very friendly toward you."

"If that's the case," said the fox in a kind voice, "you come home with me and Mrs. Fox will give you some of the best roast duck you ever tasted in your life."

ROAST DUCK

PUSS, JUNIOR, accepted the invitation of Mr. Fox to dine, for he was hungry, and the very thought of roast duck for supper made his mouth water.

"Thank you, Mister Fox," he answered. "Let me carry the duck for you--the goose is enough of a load!"

"You are right," replied the fox, handing the duck to Puss. "It was a hard run up that hill. If I had known the farmer better, however, I wouldn't have hurried so."

"Well, lead the way, and I'll follow," said Puss.

"At last the fox got home to his den; To his dear little foxes, eight, nine, ten, Says he, 'you're in luck, here's a good fat duck, With her legs hanging dangling down.'"

"This is Puss in Boots, Junior," he said, turning to his good wife, Mrs. Fox. "He has carried the duck for me, for I have a big fat goose."

Then Mrs. Fox asked Puss to sit down and rest while she cooked the supper, and the little foxes begged him to tell them a story.

"What kind of a story do you like?" asked Puss.

"Tell them how I crept into the hen-house and got away from old Mr. Slipper-Slopper," said Mr. Fox. "You keep them quiet and I'll pluck off the feathers while Mrs. Fox heats the oven. Then we'll lose no time in roasting the duck."

"All right," replied Puss, "I'll tell them about it," and as soon as Mr. Fox went out of the room Puss commenced.

"Your father and I crept softly into the barnyard and then your daddy tiptoed into the hen-house and said to Madam Goose: 'By your leave, I'll take you away and carry you home to my den Oh!' I'm not quite sure whether he or Madam Goose said 'Oh!' but that doesn't make any difference."

"I think it must have been Madam Goose," said a little fox. "I think she was frightened."

"Maybe you are right," said Puss, with a smile. "At any rate, when your father caught the black duck there was no mistake about what she said, it was 'Quack! quack! quack!'"

Well, just then Mr. Fox came in and said dinner was ready.

"He then sat down with his hungry wife. They did very well without fork or knife. They never ate a better goose in all their life; And the little ones picked the bones!"

And Puss, Junior, had all he could eat, too.

TAFFY

"TAFFY was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef; I went to Taffy's house, Taffy wasn't home, Taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone; I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed, I took the marrow-bone and beat about his head."

"Well, I guess you did what was right," said Puss, Junior, as he and Tom Thumb neared a butcher shop in a small village.

The butcher, who had just spoken in rhyme, shifted from one foot to the other in an uneasy sort of way. "But that isn't all," he went on to say, in rather an anxious tone of voice.

"Tell us the worst, then," laughed Puss, Junior, who didn't appear very sympathetic, although the name Taffy appealed to him and made him wonder what sort of a person Taffy was.

"The truth of the matter is," the butcher went on to say, "I hit him a bit too hard with the marrow-bone. His head is in bad shape, and the doctor says it will be some weeks yet before Taffy gets out of bed."

"Gracious me!" exclaimed Tom Thumb. "Why weren't you more careful?"

"That's just it," replied the butcher. "Why wasn't I more careful?" And then he gave a sigh and went into his shop to wait on a customer.

"Let's make a call on Taffy," said Puss, Junior. "Somehow, I can't help liking him. I don't know whether it's on account of his name, or not. But Taffy sounds awfully nice to me."

"It tastes awfully good to me," laughed Tom Thumb. "You must have him mixed up with candy. That's the reason you like him, I guess."

"Come on and we'll soon find out," cried Puss, Junior. "I'm curious to see what 'Welsh Taffy' is like." So they both walked up the street, inquiring on the way where Taffy lived. If the house Taffy owned was any indication that Taffy was a nice sort of person, it certainly spoke well for him, for it was the prettiest and most homelike little place Puss had ever seen.

"I like him already," said Puss, as he knocked on the door.

A KIND VISIT

OF course, Taffy didn't come to the door. But a little Welshwoman did, and dropping a courtesy, she invited Puss and Tom Thumb to come in.

"How is Taffy?" Puss asked.

"His head is still painful," replied the little Welshwoman, "but for that he feels quite well, thank you," and she dropped another courtesy.

"May we see him?" asked Tom Thumb.

"Well, that I don't know," she replied, "but I will enquire. Won't you step into the sitting room?" So our two small visitors walked in and sat down. The little canary bird hopped about in her cage and the flowers in the green boxes in the bay-window nodded in the sunlight, as the big old clock in the far corner ticked away the minutes.

"Come up and see Taffy," suddenly cried the voice of the little Welshwoman.

I guess Puss had almost fallen asleep listening to the drowsy tick of the old clock and the low twitter of the canary. Everything was so quiet and home-like it reminded him of his old home when he had prowled about in the garret and discovered the story book, "Puss in Boots." Yes, Puss, Junior, felt a little bit homesick, for "no matter how humble, there's no place like home."

Taking Tom Thumb by the hand, he followed the Welshwoman up the stairs, where they found Taffy sitting propped up in bed, his head done up in great bandages. But, oh, what pleasant blue eyes he had! And his red beard, big and soft, flowed down over the counterpane, and his big strong hand lay so quietly on his lap that Puss forgot he was Puss in Boots, Junior, son of the Seneschal to my Lord of Carabas, and jumped right up on the bed and nestled up to Taffy, purring away just like an ordinary cat!

And what did Taffy do? Did he say "Scat! You'll get the counterpane all dirty with your red-topped boots!" No, he didn't. He just stroked Puss, Junior, with his big, kind hand, and the little Welshwoman picked up Tom Thumb and cuddled him in her bosom, saying in a low voice, "Dearie me, but it's nice to have friends come to see you when everybody in town is calling my Taffy a thief."

And then a tear fell from her eye on little Tom Thumb's hat; but he didn't care, for somehow he felt there must be some mistake, and that Taffy wasn't to blame. And Puss felt the same way, for he kept on purring and rubbing his nose against Taffy's big red hand.

THE RED BEARD

BY and by Taffy stopped stroking Puss, Junior, and said in a kindly voice:

"Well, my fine little cat, what can I do for you?"

Puss, Junior, didn't know just what to answer. In fact, as he hadn't come for anything, he couldn't think of anything to fit the question. But little Tom Thumb, however, called over from where he was sitting in the Welshwoman's lap, that they had come to call, and that they were strangers in town, traveling through on a journey of adventure.

"Did you hear what they say about me?" asked Taffy.

"Yes, we did," replied Puss, "but, somehow, I didn't believe it then; and I'm very sure I don't believe it now."

"Bless you for that," cried the little Welshwoman, "my Taffy is no thief. There has been a great mistake about it all."

"Yes, that there has," said Taffy, "but how can I prove it? Someone with a red beard stole the piece of beef from the butcherman, and then they said it was I. But I was never near his place, nor did I lay hands on meat or marrow-bone."

At that moment there came a loud knocking at the front door, and when the little Welshwoman opened it, whom should she find but the butcherman himself!

"See what I have brought to you," he said, holding up a false red beard. "I found this to-day behind a barrel in my shop. It's like your Taffy's beard." At this the little Welshwoman opened her eyes very wide and tried to speak, but she was so surprised she couldn't.

When the butcher went to say that perhaps the man who wore this beard was the one who had stolen his beef, the little Welshwoman began to cry softly, and the big butcher, who had a kind heart, said, "Don't cry, my good woman, I don't think now your Taffy stole the beef, and that's the reason I've come all the way up here to show you this beard. So you tell Taffy that I shall tell everybody in town that it wasn't he who stole my beef, but some thief who wore a red beard: and then, I'll show them what I found in my shop, and that will prove what I say. Everybody will be glad to know that Taffy isn't to blame."

As soon as the butcher had gone, she flew upstairs to tell Taffy the good news. And it almost made Taffy cry. If he hadn't been a man, he would have. But it was hard work not to, just the same. "My head feels better already," he said with a laugh that had a big catch in it.

"Take off the bandages, little woman. I'll come down to supper, and these two small friends of ours shall spend the night with us, for they have brought us good luck to-day, that they have."

ROBINSON CRUSOE

AFTER leaving Taffy, the Welshman, Puss, Junior, and little Tom Thumb walked along for many a mile until they came to the seashore. Right there in a sheltered cove lay a beautiful sailboat, on the stern of which was painted in gold letters:

"Take, oh take me for a sail-- I can weather any gale."

"Shall we accept the pretty boat's offer?" asked Puss, Junior.

For answer Tom Thumb jumped in and, so without another word, Puss hoisted the sail and steered for the big blue ocean. All day and all night they sailed away, and when they woke in the morning they were surprised to find the little boat fast aground on a sandy beach.

"How did we get here?" asked Puss, sleepily, for it was still early in the morning, and the sun had just begun to climb up to the sky, and the dew dripped from the tall meadow grass that grew close to the water's edge.

"Through no fault of ours," replied little Tom Thumb, with a laugh.

"Captain Puss, Junior, fell asleep at the helm, and the first mate, Tom Thumb, did likewise," he added, running up to the bow and looking over the land. "Why, it's an island," he called out. "I can see water on the other side."

"You don't say so," said Puss. "Well, let's land." So they jumped ashore and walked up the beach towards a clump of trees.

"Pretty nice sort of a place," said Tom Thumb. "Let's play Robinson Crusoe! I'll be your black man Friday. We can build a house under these trees, and as we have lots to eat on board ship, we can spend some time here without danger of starving."

And just then, all of a sudden, a voice began to sing:

"Poor old Robinson Crusoe! Poor old Robinson Crusoe! They made him a coat Of an old Nanny Goat; I wonder how they could do so! With a ring-a-ting, tang, And a ring-a-ting, tang, Poor old Robinson Crusoe!"

"Who's that?" whispered Puss, Junior. But he needn't have asked the question, for just then a man dressed all in skins came toward them.

"Friends or enemies?" he asked.

"Friends!" cried Puss, Junior.

"Friends!" screamed Tom Thumb.

"Welcome, then, to my island. I am Robinson Crusoe!"