Part 6

But the old gobbler was saved his trouble, for in a few minutes he saw Gray Hen coming down the path toward him. As she came up to him he said: "What a miserable feeling morning this, Mrs. Hen; my feathers will none of them lie straight, and every worm that I have tasted for breakfast has been bitter."

"You are quite right," said Gray Hen. "It is just like all the mornings recently, uncomfortable and disagreeable, and there does not seem to be any promise of anything better."

"You are quite right," said the gobbler. "What the gander and the duck see in the present to be so satisfied with I don't understand, and as to the future, I don't know why we should expect any more of that than the past."

"I have always felt," said Gray Hen, "that you, Mr. Gobbler, never got half your deserts in this barnyard. Everybody seems to think that the rooster, because he crows every morning at sunup, is the wisest bird in the yard, but as for me, I have always held you in greater esteem and have often spoken of the nobility of your looks and the regal way in which you walk about the place. If I had any voice in the matter I should suggest that you be recognized as superior to the rooster. But, you see, the hens have nothing to say, although some day I feel sure that it will be different."

"You are very kind," said the gobbler, "and I feel as you do, while I have no wish to be ruler of the yard, that the hens should have more to say. You should at least have independence and do as you like."

"Oh, I have determined on that already," said Gray Hen, and she told him how she had decided to lay no more eggs and to scratch as little as she had to.

"Well," said the gobbler, "I must be off and see that none of those turkey hens get so far into the wood that they cannot find their way back again. I certainly gave the kind of advice she wanted," he said, when he had got out of her hearing, "and that was easier than getting into an argument. And, besides that, discontented people and animals are always so much more comfortable if they think others are just as unhappy as they are."

Old Gray Hen, however, was as good as her word. She stopped laying eggs and the amount of gravel that she scratched was scarcely worth mentioning. She stole worms from the younger chickens, who were too polite to punish a hen so old as she was, and, altogether, she became a general nuisance to all the rest of the barnyard flock.

They could not protect themselves, but Farmer Johnson, walking through the yard one day, noticed that the Old Gray Hen's toes had grown to a most unusual length. "I guess she doesn't do much scratching," he said as he passed along, "and I suspect she doesn't lay many eggs. I must ask mother about it when I get back to the house."

"No," said Mother Johnson, when he asked her, "I haven't found an egg in Gray Hen's nest for a month or more."

"She won't pay to winter, then," said Farmer Johnson. "We had better eat her." And the following Sunday, when Farmer Johnson sat down for dinner, they brought a big platter of steaming fricassee to the table and that was the end of Old Gray Hen.

A day or two after, when the gobbler happened to meet Madam Duck, she said: "I hear that Gray Hen has left us."

"Yes," said the gobbler, "and I hope she is happier than she was here, but her contentment was greatest when others were distressed."

*THE WORSTED DOLL*

Good Mother Munster and her husband Jacob had five daughters. Of course they loved them dearly, but they often wished for a son.

"Then he could help me in the shop," said Jacob, who was a maker of dolls. "Not that I would exchange one of our girls for a boy," he added, "but I wish we had a son as well as the five girls."

Whether the stork heard this talk between Jacob and his wife and took offense because they questioned his judgment, or whether he thought Jacob and his wife had their number of children, I do not know; but he never called again at their door and their daughters grew up to womanhood without a brother.

One day Jacob hurried in from his shop, which was back of his house. He was very much excited, and talked so fast that good Mother Munster could not understand half he said.

"They want worsted dolls," he explained at last, "two dozen worsted dolls to be sent across the water in time for Christmas."

Jacob raised his hands with a gesture of despair, for at his shop they did not make worsted dolls, and he could not understand why any one should want them.

"There is plenty of time to make them," Mother Munster said. "The girls and I can knit them, and we will make half of them girls and half of them boy dolls." And so the knitted dolls were begun by good Mother Munster and her daughters.

One day when Mother Munster was knitting on the last doll, which was a boy, she began to think how much she would miss them when they were finished and sent across the sea.

"I will make you extra large," she said as she added a few stitches to the length and breadth of the doll, "and if I could I would knit you a tongue so you could talk and legs that you could run on, and have you like a live boy."

Mother Munster knitted as she thought, and though she did not know it, she knitted all her wishes into the boy doll's body, so that when he was finished he could do all the things she had wished.

But he was a wise little fellow, and did not betray himself for fear he would not be shipped across the water with the other dolls, and he wanted to see the world.

It was a long journey to the other side of the ocean, and the boy doll thought it never would end. But by and by he was taken from the big packing-case and with other dolls placed in a window of a big shop.

"I wish some one would speak to me," thought the boy doll, but not a word did the other dolls utter, and as he did not wish to appear forward he kept silent also.

One day a lady came into the store and carried Boy Doll away with her, and then one night he was put on a tree trimmed with glittering ropes of tinsel.

A little girl came into the room after a while, and when she saw Boy Doll she exclaimed, "Oh, I hope the boy doll is for me!"

"So do I," thought Boy Doll, "for I am sure you will talk to me."

And sure enough he was given to the little girl. "I am so glad you were for me," she told him, "for I do need a father for my doll family."

"Dear me," thought Boy Doll, "what a responsibility to be forced upon me so suddenly!" And not a word could he speak in reply to the little girl, because he was so surprised.

The little girl took him into a large room, which was the home of her doll family.

"This is your husband, Rosamond," she said to a large French doll, "and his name is Theodore. And this is your father," she told a group of small dolls; "he has come to live with you.

"I hope you will be a good father to them," she said to Theodore. But Boy Doll was so overcome that his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth and he was silent.

Theodore, as we may call him now, was placed in a large arm-chair, and the little girl left him with his family.

His grand-looking wife held her head very high and cast a look of disdain at poor Theodore, for she was not pleased to have a worsted doll for a husband, and the children, following the example of their mother, looked at their new father and giggled.

"Oh, why did I leave good Mother Munster?" thought Theodore. "She wanted a son and she would have loved me."

He sat very still for a while. He was thinking what he should do; he knew that as the father of a family he should be respected, and here were his children laughing at him.

If it were not for the haughty French wife he might exert his authority, but Theodore was a little afraid of her.

"I'll begin with the children," he said at last, "and that may impress Rosamond."

So while the children were giggling and whispering Theodore suddenly jumped up from his chair.

Of course he was very stiff in his movements, as he did not have any joints, and the children laughed out and said, "Our father hasn't any joints in his legs."

The stern look on Theodore's face soon quieted them, however, and by the time he reached them they were quite afraid. Theodore cleared his throat and put his hands behind him.

"It is very evident," he said, "that you need a father, for your manners are shockingly bad. What is your name?" he asked, taking one of them by the shoulder.

"Etta," she answered.

"And yours?" he said, pointing to another.

"May," was the reply.

"And yours, and yours, and yours, and yours, and yours, and yours?" he asked, receiving in turn the names of Sally, Freda, Maude, Cora, Dora, and Ida.

"I shall divide you into two groups of four each," he said, after hearing the names. "One will be the Etta-May-Sally-Freda group, and the other will be the Maude-Cora-Dora-Ida group. That will simplify matters for me, and I can talk to four at one time. Ettamaysallyfreda," he called.

"Yes, father," answered all four at once.

"If I ever hear you giggle again as you did when I appeared I shall punish you severely."

"Yes, sir," answered the trembling dolls.

"Maudecoradoraida," said Theodore, in a stern voice.

"Yes, father," answered the second group.

"If you behave again in the manner you did when I first came to this house you will be punished in a way you will remember."

"Yes, sir," answered the four dolls.

Theodore turned away and with all the dignity he could muster walked toward his wife.

Rosamond's head was not held so high now, for her husband's manner with the children had shown her that he intended to be master in his home.

"When do we dine?" he asked.

"We have no regular hour," she answered.

"We will dine at seven," said Theodore; "breakfast at eight; the hour for lunch you may please yourself about, as I shall not be here. The children will not dine with us," he added. "And now I should like to see my room."

Rosamond, who was as completely subdued as the children, very meekly did as she was told, and Theodore found himself master without any further trouble.

But he could not forget good Mother Munster, and while he knew he should be content in the bosom of his family, he found his thoughts often with Mother Munster, across the water.

It was not an easy matter being the father of a family. If he felt like jumping or lying on the floor, there were the children, and he must not lose his dignity for a moment. "I would rather be a son," he said, "than be the father of a family. If I could get back to Germany and good Mother Munster I should be quite happy."

Of course this was not the proper feeling for a husband and father to have, but you must remember that Theodore had all this thrust upon him before he had any of the joys of boyhood.

One day he heard the family where he lived talking about going abroad, and saw the big trunks being packed.

"Oh dear," thought Theodore, "I wonder if they will take me with them. Perhaps they will go to Germany where the good Mother Munster lives."

And then Theodore thought a very wicked thought. "I will get into one of the trunks and hide," he said, "and if I can find the German village where Mother Munster lives I will not come back to be the father of a family, but I will stay with good Mother Munster and be her little boy."

Of course that was deserting his family, but Theodore did not know anything about how wrong that was, and so one day when he was left alone in the room with the trunks he climbed over the side of one of them and hid himself between the folds of a dress, without saying good-by to his wife or children.

Theodore did not feel safe until the men came for the trunks, and then his heart leaped for joy. After a long time the trunks were opened in a hotel, and Theodore wondered what they would say when they found him.

"Here is Theodore," said the mother to her little girl, when she found him inside her dresses. "I wonder how he got in my trunk."

The little girl had not brought any of her dolls and she was so pleased to see Theodore that she hugged him.

Theodore felt guilty when he thought of what he intended to do, but his love for Mother Munster was deeper than that for his family.

After many weeks of visiting different places, Theodore had almost given up hope of seeing Mother Munster again, when one day he heard them say, "We will go to Berlin to-morrow."

"Berlin, Berlin," repeated Theodore. "Where have I heard that name before?" Then all at once it came to him that it was in Germany and that not far from there was the village where Mother Munster lived.

He could hardly keep from jumping for joy.

One morning after they had been in Berlin for a week the father of the little girl said, "We are to visit a little village to-day where they make dolls."

"I will take Theodore," said the little girl, "for I want to get a girl doll just like him."

They rode quite a distance on the train, and then in a carriage, and stopped at a house that made Theodore's heart thump so loudly that he feared they would hear it, for the house was the home of good Mother Munster, and there standing in the doorway was the dear old lady herself.

They went into the kitchen and the little girl put Theodore on a chest which stood in the room.

In the excitement of seeing the doll-shop she forgot to take him with her, and as soon as Theodore found himself alone he slipped off the chest and hid behind it.

When the little girl came back from the shop she had a large doll in her arms and she quite forgot Theodore.

A few days after, when Mother Munster was cleaning her kitchen, she moved the chest, and there was Theodore with his arms stretched up toward her.

Mother Munster picked him up. "Why, it is my boy!" she said. "How ever did you get here?" she asked. Then she thought of the little girl. "I hope she does not send for you," she said, and she held Theodore tightly in her arms.

"So do I," said Theodore, and although he did not speak out loud Mother Munster seemed to understand.

"You'd rather live here, hadn't you?" she asked. "I will put you on this seat in the corner and you shall be my little boy. All the girls have gone to homes of their own, and Jacob and I are very lonely.

"Look, Jacob," she said as he came in the door, "here is the worsted doll I made to send across the water. He has come back to live with us, and so at last we have a son."

Jacob smiled. He didn't think much of worsted dolls, but he took Theodore by one hand. "You have traveled a long distance, son," he said, "since you left here, and can tell Mother Munster and me all about what you have seen as we three sit by the fire in the long winter evenings." And so Theodore found a mother and father and lived a happy and peaceful life undisturbed by the cares of a family.

But sometimes he dreams and awakens himself by calling, "Ettamaysallyfreda," or "Maudecoradoraida." And when he makes sure it is only a dream he turns over and goes to sleep again with a smile of contentment on his face which plainly says, "Theodore, you are a lucky man."

THE END

* * * * * * * *

Books by ABBIE PHILLIPS WALKER

Sandman's Christmas Stories The Sandman's Hour Sandman's Twilight Stories Sandman Tales Told by the Sandman Sandman's Rainy Day Stories Sandman's Stories of Drusilla Doll Sandman's Good-Night Stories Sandman's Might-Be-So Stories Sandman's Fairy Stories

Harper & Brothers _Publishers_