Boys and Girls Bookshelf; a Practical Plan of Character Building, Volume I (of 17) Fun and Thought for Little Folk

VIII (Part 2 of 8)

The luckless Frog’s tale closes in mock ceremony: bog friends gather—the Crane, the Curious Cricket, the Hare, the Hedgehog, Coon and Fox—while the Critical Owl takes a private box on a complimentary ticket. At eight, Signor Frog in state opens the exhibition, announcing “Ger-rump” as an original composition on the concert-stump. The Critical Owl rises with a guttural growl: the frog has sung it all summer, dusk to day—so why pay? The audience marches out in chilling rout, each demanding a shilling back from the Muskrat. Frog broods alone in the lonesome bog, singing his one selection in booming bass all night.

Stevens’s “The Musical Trust” rhymes of a man playing “Old Zip Coon” on a yellow flute—tootle-ti-toot, tootle-ootle-ootle—without a penny. He meets a tuba player tooting oom-pah-pah in vain, then drummers and cymbalists banging boom-b-b-boom-boom-zing-zing. Together they roam, ringing out Tootle-ootle! Oom-pah! Boom-zing-zing!, and pennies pour in.

In Stevens’s “The Cautious Cat,” a Cautious Cat, Reckless Rat, and Innocent Lamb sail a yawl stocked only with a sugar-cured ham. Wind blows high, low, and a little bit in between. The Cat proposes tacking back to send a Marconi-o-gram—even a Lima Bean wouldn’t mind high or low winds, but she cannot sail when the ocean gale blows in between. She warns balkers must walk; that’s her kitten-kind. They sail larboard back to the nearest port; the Rat accepts, the Lamb says nothing.

McNeill’s “Three Little Bears” features three sweet bears in town—one in a red coat, one in a soft down tippet, one a fiddler. Tommy Perkins offers lessons: sit up straight, mind stops, say “A, B, C.” They obey, count “One! Two! Three! Four!”, and gently remind the noisy crowd that in school one must be quiet. They explain manners aren’t needed in their wood, bow, hold out their paws, shake hands, dance away, and head home before nightfall while the crowd wishes them good day.

Ellsworth’s “The Snowman” tells of children who build a snowman all white from top to toe, pour water on him and freeze him legs and ears, and predict he’ll last two years. A warmer wind rises; by morning the snowman has “runned” away.

Sykes’s four-letter-word stories begin with “Tiny Hare and the Wind Ball.” Tiny wants his own way. Mama warns of Man, Dog, Hawk; Papa offers a moonlit walk when the big moon is high and it’s just like day, with all predators home. Tiny refuses. As Mama begins a cautionary tale of a hare who stepped through snow to the Red Fire, Tiny interrupts; both parents shut their eyes and nap. A Wind Ball—a fluffy dried weed-tuft that can roll like a ball and fly as fast as a bird—rolls by. Tiny chases, leap after leap, until his feet are sore. He hides from Man in a tree-hole, Dog in a wall-hole, Hawk in a bush. The Wind Ball returns; the wind is low and on Tiny’s side, both rolling slowly homeward. He confesses and naps.

In “How Tiny Hare Met Cat,” Mama adds Cat to warnings—soft fur, two big wild eyes, claws, swift runner. Tiny insists Cat is “just a Hare” and runs into rain to Man and Cat’s open door. Cat mourns her lost baby cats. Tiny, wet and weak, collapses on the step; Cat carries him in her soft lips to her box by the fire. Man and Dog arrive; Dog barks “Bow-wow-wow-wow!” but Cat claws his nose silent. Man asks if she’ll eat the hare; she purrs and bathes him vigorously, head to feet, ignoring his “Wee! Wee! Wee!” When they leave for tea, Tiny escapes through the now-dry woods with silk-soft fur. Mama, startled—‘“Oh, dear, this is a Cat’”—washes him with moss and hay until he’s her Tiny Hare, and they nap till dawn.

“The Wee Hare and the Red Fire” tells of a wise hare who ran from Man, hid from Dog, and jumped to the dark spot Hawk made—but craved a red bush from the dark. Mama warns it’s Fire, made only by Man, that can burn. He runs at noon while parents nap but never finds it; snow falls as the sun sinks red. The cruel wind blows him off the path. He glimpses Fire on the path with Man and Dog (“Wow!”), hides in a tree-hole, and learns to fear it. After Man smothers the flames with snow, Wind and Snow take pity—push, push, push—until he hops, skips, and jumps home. He confesses and naps; Tiny snuggles to his Mama.

“The Good King,” by Margaret and Clarence Weed, features a one-legged Good King of Spain running an Animal Farm for injured creatures. Little Half Chick, with one eye, one wing, one leg, is starved by her two-legged siblings. A Donkey guides her; she collects a Two-legged Cat on crutch (Hippity-hip), Three-legged Dog (Humpity-hump), One-legged Crow (Jumpity-jump), and legless Snake (Loopity-loop, tail in teeth). “Fall in behind,” says Chick. In Madrid, the King and daughter Margaret laugh at the funny procession and lead them to the Farm for a happy life.

Reed’s “Early and Late” contrasts rising early—cheerful, tall, healthy—with staying up late—cross, sickly, small.

Van Dresser’s “The Little Pink Pig and the Big Road” follows a piglet with five spotted siblings in a wood-lot home with a little white fence. He demands the big road; Mama refuses. The milkman leaves the gate open; the pig bolts out. A black-and-white dog (“Bow wow!”) bowls him in dust; a farmer scoops him from a cornfield and pens him, but he squeezes out, snagging his jacket. A red cow (“Moo!”) tosses him, a speckled hen (“Squawk!”) crosses, a white goose hisses and nips. Lost, he finds his own gate. Mama scrubs him in the wash-tub and names each creature.

Baum’s “Juggerjook” opens with white rabbit Fuzzy Wuz begging to walk with red squirrel Chatter Chuk. Mrs. Wuz warns: avoid Juggerjook’s den, watch the sun, ignore Chatter’s mischief. Chatter teases her caution; his kin chant “Squirrel red, Go ahead! See the world, so bright and gay.” They creep to the den; Chatter points through leaves to a clearing strewn with sun-bleached skulls. Fuzzy flees, deaf to his cautions. Later, lured by carrots, she creeps under a coverless box propped on a peg over juicy yellow carrots; pulling the string traps her. Chatter dashes home, sure Juggerjook has struck. Mrs. Wuz drags him back at dawn. The box sits on a flat stone; he gnaws frantically until Fuzzy’s nose fits—until a net drops and a man cries “Caught! and neat as a pin, too!” Fuzzy bolts straight into it. Man and boy Charlie deduce the rescue from the gnawed wood and laugh at their wisdom. Charlie murmurs he doesn’t want to keep them; the man replies they’ll make a good dinner.