“Of course,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “all of you can tell better stories than I can, because you are larger. Being taller, you can see farther and talk louder; but I sometimes think that if I was to climb a tree, I’d see as far as any of you.”  
“Well, I hope your feelings are not hurt,” remarked Mr. Rabbit sympathetically. “It’s not the fault of your stories that I fall asleep when you are telling them. It’s my habit to sit and nod at certain hours of the day, and if you’ll watch me right close, you’ll see that I sometimes drop off when I’m telling a story myself. I’ll try and keep awake the next time you tell one.”
 
“I’m afraid I’ll have to prop¹ Mr. Rabbit’s eyelids² open with straws,” said Mrs. Meadows, laughing.
 
“I’ll just try you with a little one,” Mr. Thimblefinger declared. “I’ll tell you one I heard when I was younger. I want to see whether Mr. Rabbit will keep awake, and I want to see whether there’s a moral in the tale.”
 
So he took off his little hat, which was shaped like a thimble, and run his hand over the feather ornament³ to straighten it out. Then he began:—
 
“A long time ago, when there was a great deal more room in the country next door than there is now, there lived a man who had a wife, one son, a horse, a cow, and a calf⁴. He was a hard-working man, so much so that he had little or no time to devote to his family. He worked hard in the field all day, and when night came he was too tired to trouble much about his son. His wife, too, having no servant, was always busy about the house, sewing, washing, cooking, cleaning, patching, milking, and sweeping⁵. Day in and day out it was always the same. The man was always working, and the woman was always working. They had no rest except on Sunday, and then they were too tired to pay much attention to their son.
 
“The consequence was, that while the boy was a very bright lad, he was full of mischief⁶, up to all sorts of tricks and pranks⁷ that some people call meanness. By hook or by crook—or maybe by book—he had learned how to spell and read. But the only book he had to read was one with big pictures of men dressed in red clothes, and armed with yellow cutlasses. The book was called ‘The Pirooters of Peruvia.’”
 
“Maybe the name was ‘The Pirates of Peru,’” suggested Buster John.
 
“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “I don’t suppose any such country as Peru had been found on the map when that book was written. But never mind about that. The boy read only that book, and he became rather wild in his mind. He wanted to be a pirooter, whatever that was, and so he armed himself with old hoe helves and called them pikes, and he tied a shingle⁸ to his side and called it a cutlass, and he got him a broom-handle and called it a horse.
 
“This boy’s name was Johnny, but sometimes they called him Jack⁹ for short. Some people said he was mean as he could be; but I don’t say that. He was fonder of scampering¹⁰ over the country than he was of helping¹¹ his mother. Maybe he didn’t know any better because he wasn’t taught any better. But one morning his mother was so tired that she couldn’t get out of bed. She had worn herself out with work. The next morning she couldn’t get up, nor the next; and then the neighbors, who had come in to see what the matter was, said that she would never get up any more. So one day Johnny found everything very still in the house, and the neighbors who were there were kinder to him than they ever had been, and then he knew that his mother would never get tired any more.
 
“He felt so bad that he wandered off into the woods, crying as he went. His eyes were so full of tears that he couldn’t see where he was going, and he didn’t care. He went on and on, until, finally, when he took heart to look around, he found himself in a part of the country that was new to him. This caused him to dry his eyes, for he was perfectly¹² sure that he had traveled neither fast nor far enough to be beyond the limits of the numberless journeys he had made in all directions from his father’s house; and yet, here he was, suddenly and without knowing how he got there, in a country that was altogether new to him.
 
“It was just like when you came down through our spring gate,” said Mr. Thimblefinger. “The grass was different and the trees were different, and even the sand and the gravel¹³ were of a color that Johnny had never seen before. Suddenly, while he was wondering how he could have missed seeing all these strange things when he had journeyed this way before, a lady, richly dressed, came out of the woods and stood before him. She neither smiled nor looked severe, but pity seemed to shine in her face.
 
“‘What now?’ she said, raising her hand to her head. ‘You have come fast and come far. You are in trouble. Go back. When you want me, go to the Whispering Poplar that stands on the hill and call my name.’
 
“‘Who are you?’ asked Johnny, forgetting to be polite, if he ever knew how.
 
“‘The Keeper of the Cows that roam in the night,’ replied the lady. ‘When you go to the Whispering Poplar that stands on the hill, whisper this:—
 
O Keeper of Cows that roam in the night,
Come over the hill and lend me your light.’
“Johnny would have thanked the woman, but in the twinkling of an eye she was gone without making a sound, and not a blade of grass shook to show that she had been there. Johnny turned in his tracks and started home the way he came. Before he had gone far he stopped to look back, but the strange country was nowhere to be seen—only the old familiar hills and trees that he had always known.
 
“When he got home there was a strange woman cooking and fixing his father’s supper. The table was set, and everything was almost as neat and as tidy as it used to be when his mother was alive. Even his own little plate was in its place, and his mug, with the picture of a blue castle painted on it, was by the plate. But Johnny had no appetite. He went to the door and looked in, and then went to the stable. Once there, he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to drive the cow in from the pasture. He went running to get her, but found her coming along of her own accord, something she was not in the habit of doing.
 
“Johnny wondered a little at this, but it soon passed out of his mind, and he got behind the cow and made her go faster. He drove the cow into the lot, and waited awhile for the woman to come and milk. But she delayed so long that he went to the house and found his father eating supper. Instead of going to the table, he went and sat by the fire.
 
“‘Have something to eat?’ said the woman.
 
“‘I am not hungry,’ he replied.
 
“‘Have a glass of fresh milk, then?’ she said.
 
“‘Not to-night,’ he answered. ‘I have just driven the cow in from the pasture.’
 
“‘I brought her from the pasture myself,’ said the woman, ‘milked her, and turned her out again.’
 
“Johnny said nothing to this, but he knew the cow had not been milked, and he wondered where the woman got the milk that his father was drinking. He thought it over, and forgot all about his grief. He noticed that as soon as his father drank the milk he began to smile at the woman. He smiled at the woman, but was cross to Johnny.
 
“After supper the woman went out, and after a while Johnny went out, too, leaving his father sitting by the fire smoking his pipe. Johnny went to the lot, thinking the woman had gone there. He wanted to see whether she would milk the cow. He crept along the side of the fence, and soon he was near enough to peep through a crack without being seen. He saw the woman rubbing the cow on the back while the calf was getting all the milk.
 
“‘You see how good I am to you, sister,’ said she. ‘Now I want you to be good to me. When that boy Jack goes after you to the pasture, I want you to lead him a chase. I saw him beating your calf to-day. But see how good I am to your calf, sister. I give it all the milk.’
 
“The cow shook her horn and switched her tail, and Johnny, sitting in the fence corner, wondered what it all meant.
 
“‘I see,’ said the cow, after a while. ‘You want to marry............