So, when Mrs. Meadows had finished, she looked at Tickle-My-Toes to see what he wanted. The rest did the same. But Tickle-My-Toes blushed very red, and looked at his feet.
“You acted as if you wanted to say something,” said Mrs. Meadows, “and if you do, now’s your chance. What’s the matter? Have you run a splinter in your foot? You look as if you wanted to cry.”
“I did want to say something,” replied Tickle-My-Toes.
“What was it?” Mrs. Meadows inquired.
“Nothing much,” answered Tickle-My-Toes, putting his finger in his mouth.
“I declare, I’m ashamed of you,” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “Here you are mighty1 near as old as I am, and yet trying to play boo-hoo baby.”
“I don’t think you ought to talk that way,” said Tickle-My-Toes. “I thread your needles for you every day, and I do everything you ask me.”
“I know what’s the matter with you,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “You want me to take you in my lap and rock you to sleep.”
“Oh! I don’t!” cried Tickle-My-Toes, blushing again. “I wanted to tell a story I heard, but I’ll go off somewhere and tell it to myself.”
“There wouldn’t be any fun in that,” suggested Buster John.
“No,” said Mrs. Meadows. “Tell the story right here, so we can enjoy it with you.”
“You’ll laugh,” protested Tickle-My-Toes.
“Not unless there’s something in the story to laugh at.”
“This is no laughing story. It’s just as solemn as it can be,” explained Tickle-My-Toes.
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit. “If there’s anything I like, it is one of those solemn stories that make you feel like you want to go off behind the house and shake hands with yourself, and cry boo-hoo to the ell-and-yard and seven stars.”
Mr. Rabbit’s enthusiastic remark was very encouraging to Tickle-My-Toes, who, after scratching his head a little, and looking around to see if he could find a place to hide when the time came, began his story in this wise:—
“Once upon a time, and in a big town away off yonder somewhere, there lived a little boy who had no father nor mother. He was so small that nobody seemed to care anything about him. But one day a woman, the wife of a baker2, heard him crying in the streets, and carried him into the house, and gave him something to eat, and warmed him by the fire, and after that he felt better.
“The baker himself grumbled3 a great deal when he came home and found what his wife had done. He said he wouldn’t be surprised to come home some day and find his house full of other people’s children. But his wife replied that it would be well enough to complain when he found the house full. As for this little brat4, she said, he wouldn’t fill a milk jar if he was put in it, much less a great big house.
“The baker growled5 and grumbled, but his wife paid no attention to him. She sat in her chair and rocked and sang, and was just as good-natured as she could be. After a while the baker himself got over his grumbling6, and began to laugh. He told his wife that he had sold all his bread that day, and had orders for as much the next day.
“‘Of course,’ said she; ‘but if I had left that child crying in the streets your business would have been ruined before the year is out.’
“‘Maybe so,’ replied the baker.
“Well, the little boy grew very fast, and was as lively as a cricket. The baker’s wife thought as much of him as if he had been her own son, and the baker himself soon came to be very fond of him. He was very smart, too. He learned to watch the fire under the big oven, and to make himself useful in many ways. He played about the oven so much, and was so fond of watching the bread bake and the fire burn, that the baker’s wife called him Sparkle Spry.
“For many years the country where the baker and his wife and Sparkle Spry lived had been at peace with all the other countries. But one day a man from a neighboring country had his nose pulled by somebody in the baker’s country, and then war was declared by the kings and queens, and the people fell to fighting.
“Now, when people fight they must be fed, and the cheapest thing to feed them on is bread. A part of the army camped near the town where the baker lived, and there was a great demand for bread. The baker’s oven was not a large one, and by running it day and night he could only bake three hundred loaves.
“He and his wife baked until they were tired out. They told Sparkle Spry to watch the oven so that the bread wouldn’t burn, and to wake them when it was brown. They were so tired that Sparkle Spry was sorry for them, and he wondered why he wasn’t big enough to take their places, if only for one day and night. While he was thinking and wishing, he saw something moving. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and then he saw an old man, no bigger than a broomstick, and no taller than a teacup, peeping from behind the oven.
“‘Are they all gone?’ he whispered, coming forward a little way.
“‘All who?’ asked Sparkle Spry.
“‘The old ones—the big man and the fat woman.’
“‘They have gone to bed,’ said Sparkle Spry. ‘I can call them!’
“‘No, no,’ cried the old man. ‘They are such fools! They don’t know what is good for them. I have been waiting for years to get a chance to show them how to bake bread. Once I showed myself to the man, and he thought I was a snake; once to the woman, and she thought I was a rat. What fools they are!’
“‘Who are you?’ inquired Sparkle Spry. He didn’t like to hear his friends abused.
“‘Who—me? I’m the King of the Clinkers—twice plunged8 in the water and twice burned in the fire.’
“‘Well, to-night you can bake all the bread you want to,’ said Sparkle Spry. ‘The baker and his wife have been trying to supply the army that is camped here, but their oven is too small. They have worked until they can work no longer, and now they have gone to bed to rest.’
“‘Good!’ cried the King of the Clinkers. ‘Shut the door, so they can’t hear us! I’ll show them a thing or two about baking bread.’
“Then he walked close to the hot oven, tapped on it with a little poker9 that he carried in his belt, and called out: ‘Wake up! Get out! Come on! Hurry up! We’ve no time to lose! Show yourselves! Stir about! Be lively!’
“With that, hundreds of little men swarmed10 out of the ash heap behind the oven, some of them sneezing and some rubbing their eyes, but all jumping about with motions as quick as those of a flea
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading