The Joyous Story of Toto
“‘Well, Chimbo,’ said his father after tea, ‘I hear you have had a visit from your fairy godmother. What did she say to you, eh?’
“‘Oh, dear!’ said Chimborazo, ‘she said – oh, dear! I’ve said it again!’
“‘She said, “Oh, dear! I’ve said it again!”’ repeated his father. ‘What do you mean by that?’
“‘Oh, dear! I didn’t mean that,’ cried Chimborazo hastily; and again the inexorable bell rang, and he knew that another hole was punched in the fatal cardboard. He pressed his lips firmly together, and did not open them again except to say ‘Good-night,’ until he was safe in his own room. Then he hastily drew the hated bell-punch from his pocket, and counted the holes in the strip of cardboard; there were forty-three! ‘Oh, dear!’ cried the boy, forgetting himself again in his alarm, ‘only two more! Oh, dear! oh, 87 DEAR! I’ve done it again! oh – ’ ‘Ting! TING!’ went the bell-punch; and the cardboard was punched to the end. ‘Oh, dear!’ cried Chimborazo, now beside himself with terror. ‘Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!! what will become of me?’
“A strange whirring noise was heard, then a loud clang; and the next moment the bell-punch, as if it were alive, flew out of his hand, out of the window, and was gone!
“Chimborazo stood breathless with terror for a few minutes, momentarily expecting that the roof would fall in on his head, or the floor blow up under his feet, or some appalling catastrophe of some kind follow; but nothing followed. Everything was quiet, and there seemed to be nothing to do but go to bed; so to bed he went, and slept, only to dream that he was shot through the head with a bell-punch, and died saying, ‘Oh, dear!’
“The next morning, when Chimborazo came downstairs, his father said, ‘My boy, I am going 88 to drive over to your grandfather’s farm this morning; would you like to go with me?’
“A drive to the farm was one of the greatest pleasures Chimborazo had, so he answered promptly, ‘Oh, dear!’
“‘Oh, very well!’ said his father, looking much surprised. ‘You need not go, my son, if you do not want to. I will take Robert instead.’
“Poor Chimborazo! He had opened his lips to say, ‘Thank you, papa. I should like to go very much!’ and, instead of these words, out had popped, in his most doleful tone, the now hated ‘Oh, dear!’ He sat amazed; but was roused by his mother’s calling him to breakfast.
“‘Come, Chimbo,’ she said. ‘Here are sausages and scrambled eggs; and you are very fond of both of them. Which will you have?’
“Chimborazo hastened to say, ‘Sausages, please, mamma,’ – that is, he hastened to try to say it; but all his mother heard was, ‘Oh, dear!’
“His father looked much displeased. ‘Give the boy some bread and water, wife,’ he said sternly. 89 ‘If he cannot answer properly, he must be taught. I have had enough of this “Oh, dear!” business.’
“Poor Chimborazo! He saw plainly enough now what his punishment was to be; and the thought of it made him tremble. He tried to ask for some more bread, but only brought out his ‘Oh, dear!’ in such a lamentable tone that his father ordered him to leave the room. He went out into the garden, and there he met John the gardener, carrying a basket of rosy apples. Oh! how good they looked!
“‘I am bringing some of the finest apples up to the house, little master,’ said John. ‘Will you have one to put in your pocket?’
“‘Oh, dear!’ was all the poor boy could say, though he wanted an apple, oh, so much! And when John heard that he put the apple back in his basket, muttering something about ungrateful monkeys.
“Poor Chimborazo! I will not give the whole history of that miserable day, – a miserable day it was from beginning to end. He fared no better 90 at dinner than at breakfast; for at the second ‘Oh, dear!’ his father sent him up to his room, ‘to stay there until he knew how to take what was given him, and be thankful for it.’ He knew well enough by this time; but he could not tell his father so. He went to his room, and sat looking out of the window, a hungry and miserable boy.
“In the afternoon his cousin Will came up to see him. ‘Why, Chimbo!’ he cried. ‘Why do you sit moping here in the house, when all the boys are out? Come and play marbles with me on the piazza. Ned and Harry are out there waiting for you. Come on!’
“‘Oh, dear!’ said Chimborazo.
“‘What’s the matter?’ asked Will. ‘Haven’t you any marbles? Never mind. I’ll give you half of mine, if you like. Come!’
“‘Oh, DEAR!’ said Chimborazo.
“‘Well,’ said Will, ‘if that’s all you have to say when I offer you marbles, I’ll keep them myself. I suppose you expected me to give you all of 91 them, did you? I never saw such a fellow!’ and off he went in a huff.
“‘Well, Chimborazo,’ said the fairy godmother, ‘what do you think of “Oh, dear!” now?’
“Chimborazo looked at her beseechingly, but said nothing.
“‘Finding that forty-five times was not enough for you yesterday, I thought I would let you have 92 all you wanted to-day, you see,’ said the fairy wickedly.
“The boy still looked imploringly at her, but did not open his lips.
“‘Well, well,’ she said at last, touching his lips with her wand, ‘I think that is enough in the way of punishment, though I am sorry you broke the bell-punch. Good-by! I don’t believe you will say “Oh, dear!” any more.’
“And he didn’t.”
CHAPTER VI
THE rain continued for several days; and though Toto, mindful of the sad story of Chimborazo, tried hard not to say “Oh, dear!” still he found the time hang very heavy on his hands. On the fourth day, however, the clouds broke away, and the sun came out bright and beautiful. Toto snatched up his cap, kissed his grandmother, and flew off to the forest. Oh, how glad he was to be out of doors again, and how glad everything seemed to be to see him! All the trees shook down pearls and diamonds on him (very wet ones they were, but he did not mind that), the birds sang to him, the flowers nodded to him, the sunbeams twinkled at him; everything seemed to say, “How are you, Toto? Hasn’t it been a lovely rain, and aren’t you glad it is over?”
He went straight to the forest pool, hoping to find some of his companions there. Sure enough, there was the raccoon, sitting by the edge of the pool, making his toilet, and stopping every now and then to gaze admiringly at himself in the clear mirror.
“Good-morning, Coon!” said Toto; “admiring your beauty as usual, eh?”
“Well, Toto,” replied the raccoon complacently, “my view of the matter is this: what is the use of having beauty if you don’t admire it? That is what it’s for, I suppose.”
“I suppose so,” assented Toto.
“And you can’t expect other people to admire you if you don’t admire yourself!” added the raccoon impressively. “Remember that! How’s your grandmother?”
“She’s very well,” replied Toto, “and she hopes to see you all this afternoon. She has made a new kind of gingerbread, and she wants you to try it. I have tried it, and it is very good indeed.”
“Your grandmother,” said the raccoon, “is in many respects the most delightful person I have ever met. I, for one, will come with pleasure. I can’t tell about the rest; haven’t seen them for a day or two. Suppose we go and hunt them up.”
“With all my heart!” said Toto.
They had not gone far before they met the wood-pigeon flying along with a bunch of berries in her bill.
“Where are you going, Pigeon Pretty?” inquired Toto; “and who is to have those nice berries? I am sure they are not for yourself; I believe you never get anything for yourself, you are so busy helping others.”
“These berries are for poor Chucky,” replied the wood-pigeon. “Ah, Coon,” she added reproachfully, “how could you hurt the poor fellow so? He is really ill this morning in consequence.”
“What have you been doing to Chucky, you naughty Coon?” asked Toto. “Biting his nose off?”
“Oh, no!” said the raccoon, looking rather guilty, in spite of his assurance. “Dear me, no! I didn’t bite it off. Certainly not! I – I just bit it a little, don’t you know! it was raining, and I hadn’t anything else to do; and he was so sound asleep, it was a great temptation. But I won’t do it again, Pigeon Pretty,” he added cheerfully, “I won’t really. Take him the berries, with my love, and say I hope they will do him good!” and with a crafty wink, Master Coon trotted on with Toto, while Pigeon Pretty flew off in the opposite direction.
They soon arrived at the mouth of the bear’s cave, and looking in, saw the worthy Bruin quietly playing backgammon with his devoted friend Cracker. The latter was chattering as usual. “And so I said to him,” he was saying as Toto and Coon approached, “‘I think it is a mean trick, and I’ll have nothing to do with it. And what is more, I’ll put a stop to it if I can!’ So he said he’d like to see me do it, and flounced off into the water.”
“Humph!” said Bruin, “I never did think much of that muskrat.”
“What’s all this?” asked the raccoon, walking in. “Anything the matter, Cracker?”
“Good-morning, Coon!” said Bruin. “Morning, Toto! Sit down, both of you. Cracker was just telling me – ”
“It is that muskrat that lives in the pool, you know, Coon!” broke in the squirrel excitedly. 98 “He wants to marry the Widow Bullfrog’s daughter, and she won’t have him, because she’s engaged to young Mud Turtle. So now the muskrat has contrived a plan for carrying her off to-night whether she will or no; and if you will believe it, he came to me and asked me to help him, – me, the head squirrel of the whole forest!” and little Cracker whisked his tail about fiercely, and looked as if he could devour a whole army of muskrats.
“Don’t frighten us, Cracker!” said the raccoon, with a look of mock terror. “I shall faint if you look so ferocious. I shall, indeed! Hold me, Toto!”
“Now, Coon, you know I won’t have Cracker teased!” growled the bear. “He’s a good little fellow, and if he wants to help the Widow Bullfrog out of this scrape, he shall. I believe she is a very respectable person. Now, I don’t know whether I can do anything about it myself. I’m rather large, you see, and it won’t do for me to go paddling about in the pool and getting the water all muddy.”
“Certainly not!” said the squirrel, “you dear old monster. I should as soon think of asking the mountain to come and hunt mosquitoes. But Coon, now – ”
“Oh, I’m ready!” exclaimed the raccoon. “Delighted, I’m sure, to do anything I can. What shall I do to the muskrat? Eat him?”
“I suppose that would be the easiest thing to do,” said the bear. “What do you say, Cracker?”
“He is very hard to catch,” replied the squirrel. “In fact, you cannot catch a muskrat unless you put tar on his nose.”
“That is true,” said the raccoon. “I had forgotten that, and I haven’t any tar just now. Would pitch or turpentine do as well, do you think? They all begin with ‘A’, you know.”
“I’m afraid not!” said the squirrel. “‘Tar to catch a Tartar,’ as the old saying goes; and the muskrat is certainly a Tartar.”
“Look here!” said Toto, “I think we have 100 some tar at home, in the shed. I am quite sure there is some.”
“Really?” said the squirrel, brightening up. “Good boy, Toto! Tell me where I can find it, and I’ll go and get it.”
“No!” said Toto. “It’s in a bucket, and you couldn’t carry it, Cracker! I’ll go and fetch it, while you and Coon are arranging your plan of action.”
So away ran Toto, and the squirrel and the raccoon sat down to consult.
“The first thing to do,” said Coon, “is to get the muskrat out of his hole. Now, my advice is this: do you go to Mrs. Bullfrog, and borrow an old overcoat of her husband’s.”
“Husband’s dead,” said the bear.
“That’s no reason why his overcoat should be dead, stupid!” replied the raccoon. “It isn’t likely that he was buried in his overcoat, and it isn’t likely that she has cut it up for a riding-habit. Borrow the overcoat,” he continued, turning to the squirrel again, “and put it on. Old 101 Bullfrog was a very big fellow, and I think you can get it on. Then you can sit on a stone and whistle like a frog.”
“I can’t sit down in a frog’s overcoat!” objected the squirrel. “I know I can’t. It’s not the right shape, and I don’t sit down in that way. And I can’t whistle like a frog either.”
“Dear me!” said the raccoon peevishly. “What can you do? I am sure I could sit down in any coat I could wear at all. Well, then,” he added after a pause, “you can stand on a stone, and look like a frog. I suppose you can do that?”
“I suppose so,” said Cracker, dubiously.
“And Toto,” continued the raccoon, “can hide himself in the reeds on one side of you, and I on the other. Toto whistles beautifully, and he can imitate Miss Bullfrog’s voice to perfection. The muskrat will be sure to come up when he hears it, and the moment he pops his head out of the water, you can drop some tar on his nose, and then– ”
“Then what?” asked the squirrel anxiously.
“I will attend to the rest of it,” said Coon, with a wink. “See that I have cards to the Mud Turtle’s wedding, will you? Here comes Toto,” he added, “with tar enough to catch fifty muskrats. Off with you, Cracker, and ask the Widow Frog for the overcoat.”
The squirrel disappeared among the bushes, and at the same time Toto came running up with the tar-bucket.
“Well,” he said breathlessly, “is it all arranged? Oh! I ran all the way, and I am so tired!” and he dropped down on a mossy seat, and fanned himself with his cap.
Bruin brought a piece of honeycomb to refresh him, and Coon told him the proposed plan, which delighted the boy greatly.
“And I am to do the whistling?” he exclaimed. “I must practise a bit, for I have not done any frog-whistling for some time.” And with that he began to whistle in such a wonderfully frog-like way, that Bruin almost thought he must have swallowed a frog.
“How do you do that, Toto?” he asked. “I wish I could learn. You just purse your mouth up so, eh? Ugh! wah! woonk!” And the bear gave a series of most surprising grunts and growls, accompanied with such singular grimaces that both Toto and the raccoon rolled over on the ground in convulsions of laughter.
“My dear Bruin,” cried Toto, as soon as he could regain a little composure, “I don’t think – ha! ha! ha! – I really do not think you will ever be mistaken for a frog.”
“Ho! ho! ho!” cried the raccoon, bursting into another fit of laughter as he looked towards the mouth of the cave. “Look at Cracker. Oh, my eye! will you look at Cracker? Oh, dear me! I shall certainly die if I laugh any more. Ho! ho!”
Bruin and Toto turned, and saw the squirrel hobbling in, dressed in a green frog-skin, and looking – well, did you ever see a squirrel in a frog-skin? No? Then you never saw the funniest thing in the world.
Poor Cracker, however, seemed to see no fun in 104 it at all. “It’s all very well for you fellows to laugh,” he said ruefully. “I wonder how you would like to be pinched up in an abominable, ill-fitting thing like this? Ugh! I wouldn’t be a frog for all the beechnuts in the world. Come on!” he added sharply. “Let us get the matter over, and have done with it. I can’t stand this long.”
Accordingly the three started off, leaving Bruin shaking his head and chuckling at the mouth of the cave.
Arrived at the pool, they stationed themselves as had been previously arranged: the squirrel on a large stone at the very edge of the pool, with the tar-bucket beside him; the raccoon crouching among the tall reeds on one side of the stone, while Toto lay closely hidden on the other, behind a clump of tall ferns.
When all was ready, Toto began to whistle. At first he whistled very softly, but gradually the notes swelled, growing clearer and shriller, till they seemed to fill the air.
Presently a ripple was seen in the clear water, and the sharp black nose of a muskrat appeared above the surface. “Lovely creature!” exclaimed the muskrat. “Adored Miss Bullfrog, is it possible that you have changed your mind, and decided to listen to my suit?”
“I have,” said the squirrel softly.
“Oh, rapture!” cried the muskrat. “Come, then, at once with me! Let us fly, or rather swim, before your tyrannical parent discovers us! Leap down, my lovely one, with your accustomed 106 grace and agility, into the arms of your faithful, your adoring muskrat! Come!”
“You must come a little nearer,” whispered the squirrel coyly. “I want to be sure that it is really you; such a sudden step, you know! Please put your whole head out, my love, that I may be quite sure of you!”
The eager muskrat thrust his head out of the water; and plump! the squirrel dropped the tar on the end of his nose.
The muskrat gave a wild shriek, and plunging his nose among the rushes on the bank, tried to rub off the tar. But, alas! the tar stuck to the rushes, and his nose stuck to the tar, and there he was!
At that instant the raccoon leaped from his hiding-place.
Toto, still concealed behind the clump of ferns, heard the noise of a violent struggle; then came several short squeaks; then a crunching noise; and then silence. Coming out from his hiding-place, he saw the raccoon sitting quietly on a stone, licking his chops, and smoothing his ruffled fur.
He smiled sweetly at Toto, and said, “It’s all right, my boy! you whistled beautifully; couldn’t have done it better myself!” (N. B. Coon’s whistling powers were nearly equal to those of the bear.)
“But where is the muskrat?” asked Toto, bewildered. “What have you done with him?”
“Eaten him, my dear!” replied Coon, benignly. “It is always the best plan in any case of this sort; saves trouble, you see, and prevents any further inquiry in the matter; besides, I was always taught in my youth never to waste anything. The flavor was not all I could have wished,” he added, “and there was more or less stringiness; but what will not one do in the cause of friendship! Don’t mention it, Cracker, my boy! I am sure you would have done as much for me. And now let us help you off with the overcoat of the late lamented Bullfrog; for to speak in perfect frankness, Cracker, it is not what one would call becoming to your style of beauty.”
CHAPTER VII
ON account of the woodchuck’s illness, and at the special request of Pigeon Pretty, the story-telling was postponed for a day or two. Very soon, however, Chucky recovered sufficiently to ride as far as the cottage on Bruin’s back; and on a fine afternoon the friends were all once more assembled, and waiting for Toto’s story.
“I don’t know any long stories,” said Toto, “at least not well enough to tell them; so I will tell two short ones instead. Will that do?”
“Just as well,” said the raccoon. “Five minutes for refreshments between the two, did you say? My view precisely.”
Toto smiled, and began the story of
THE TRAVELLER, THE COOK, AND THE LITTLE OLD MANOnce upon a time there was a little old man who lived in a well. He was a very small little old man, and the well was very deep; and the only reason why he lived there was because he could not get out. Indeed, what better reason could he have?
He had long white hair, and a long red nose, and a long green coat; and this was all he had in the world, except a three-legged stool, a large iron kettle, and a cook. There was not room in the well for the cook; so she lived on the ground above, and cooked the little old man’s dinner and supper in the iron kettle, and lowered them down to him in the bucket; and the little old man sat on the three-legged stool, and ate whatever the cook sent down to him, with a cheerful heart, if it was good; and so things went on very pleasantly.
But one day it happened that the cook could not find anything for the old man’s dinner. She looked high, and she looked low, but nothing could she find; so she was very unhappy; for she knew her master would be miserable if he had no dinner. She sat down by the well, and wept bitterly; and her tears fell into the well so fast that the little old man thought it was raining, and put up a red cotton umbrella, which he borrowed for the occasion. You may wonder where he borrowed it; but I cannot tell you, because I do not know.
Now, at that moment a traveller happened to pass by, and when he saw the cook sitting by the well and weeping, he stopped, and asked her what was the matter. So the cook told him that she was weeping because she could not find anything to cook for her master’s dinner.
“And who is your master?” asked the traveller.
“He is a little old man,” replied the cook; “and he lives down in this well.”
“Why does he live there?” inquired the traveller.
“I do not know,” answered the cook; “I never asked him.”
“He must be a singular person,” said the traveller. “I should like to see him. What does he look like?”
But this the cook could not tell him; for she had never seen the little old man, having come to work for him after he had gone down to live in the well.
“Does he like to receive visitors?” asked the traveller.
“Don’t know,” said the cook. “He has never had any to receive since I have been here.”
“Humph!” said the other. “I think I will go down and pay my respects to him. Will you let me down in the bucket?”
“But suppose he should mistake you for his dinner, and eat you up?” the cook suggested.
“Pooh!” he replied. “No fear of that; I can take care of myself. And as for his dinner,” he added, “get him some radishes. There are plenty about here. I had nothing but radishes for my dinner, and very good they were, though rather biting. Let down the bucket, please! I am all right.”
“What are radishes?” the cook called after him as he went down.
“Long red things, stupid! with green leaves to them!” he shouted; and then, in a moment, he found himself at the bottom of the well.
The little old man was delighted to see him, and told him that he had lived down there forty years, and had never had a visitor before in all that time.
“Why do you live down here?” inquired the traveller.
“Because I cannot get out,” replied the little old man.
“But how did you get down here in the first place?”
“Really,” he said, “it is so long ago that I hardly remember. My impression is, however, that I came down in the bucket.”
“Then why, in the name of common-sense,” said the traveller, “don’t you go up in the bucket?”
The little old man sprang up from the three-legged stool, and flung his arms around the traveller’s neck. “My dear friend!” he cried rapturously. “My precious benefactor! Thank you a thousand times for those words! I assure you I never thought of it before! I will go up at once. You will excuse me?”
“Certainly,” said the traveller. “Go up first, and I will follow you.”
The little old man got into the bucket, and was drawn up to the top of the well. But, alas! when the cook saw his long red nose and his 114 long green coat, she said to herself, “This must be a radish! How lucky I am!” and seizing the poor little old man, she popped him into the kettle without more ado. Then she let the bucket down for the traveller, calling to him to make haste, as she wanted to send down her master’s dinner.
Up came the traveller, and looking around, asked where her master was.
“Where should he be,” said the cook, “but at the bottom of the well, where you left him?”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed the traveller. “He has just come up in the bucket!”
“Oh!” cried the cook. “Oh! oh!! o-o-o-h!!! was that my master? Why, I thought he was a radish, and I have boiled him for his own dinner!”
“I hope he will have a good appetite!” said the traveller.
The cook was a good woman, and her grief was so excessive that she fell into the kettle and was boiled too.
Then the traveller, who had formerly been an ogre by profession, said, “’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good! My dinner was very insufficient;” and he ate both the little old man and the cook, and proceeded on his journey with a cheerful heart.
“The traveller was a sensible man,” said Bruin. “Did you make up that story, Toto?”
“Yes,” replied Toto. “I made it up the other day, – one of those rainy days. I found a forked radish in the bunch we had for tea, and it had a kind of nose, and looked just like a funny little red man. So I thought that if there was a radish that looked like a man, there might be a man that looked like a radish, you see. And now – ”
