Loading more
Page 3
The Adventures of the Little Silver Elephant
The little silver elephant lay on the hard, cold ground, staring up at the wintry moon. The little elephant had never been in quite so still a place before, and he felt very queer as he watched the dark tree quiver and creak above him.
“I suppose,” he said bitterly, “I shall have to lie here for ever and ever. I don’t suppose that my lady will ever find me now,” and the poor little elephant began to cry, for he was very fond of the lady who owned him.
Suddenly, a great black beetle pounced down on him. “Hi! Move on there.” He shouted, “Stop blocking up the pavement. Can’t you see you are stopping the passage? Move on!”
“Oh! Sir,” quivered the little silver elephant,” “who are you?”
“I! Who am I? Well, I’m P.C. B. O. Beetle,” he said, pompously, “and if you don’t move on I’ll commit you to prison. What is your name?”
“Oh! Sir! If you please, sir,” said the terrified elephant, “I’m Silverboy Elephant,”
“Well, then, Silverboy Elephant, please to move on,” said P.C. B.O. Beetle, giving Silverboy a poke. “Her Majesty Queen Sally Slow-Snail is coming home from the ball now and if she sees you in the way – goodness knows what will happen. Well, I declare, here she comes. Move out quick! Make way for the Queen Sally Slow-Snail,” and the excited B.O. Beetle waved his legs imperiously on all sides, lifting poor Silverboy right off his feet.
Up the pathway a long procession came very slowly. The Queen headed it; she was royally attired in purple. By her side trotted Georgie Grub, the most fashionable young spark in Garden-land. Behind came Caroline Caterpillar, with Cornelius Caterpillar, her cousin. Then came Florrie Fly, with our old friend Billie Bluebottle, who had left the service of Sammy Starling. Behind all these, in a state carriage, came a little silver elephant.
There, before Silverboy’s astonished gaze, he was reclining on the pansy-leaf cushions of his own private carriage, surrounded with footmen and servants.
“I say”, cried Silverboy to a microbe. “Who’s that?" pointing to the silver elephant.
“Oh! He’s a great man, that,” squeaked the microbe. “He’s going to marry Cissy Centipede next week.”
“Cissy Centipede!” exclaimed Silverboy. “Whoever is Cissy Centipede?”
“Oh my,” cried the microbe. “Don’t you know Cissy Centipede? Why, she’s the heiress to the throne, and will soon become queen, for I know Sally Slow-Snail won’t last long,” and with this piece of information the microbe hopped away.
Silveryboy stepped up to the carriage which held the other elephant, and there, by his side, he saw the famous Cissy Centipede. The carriage went on, and Silverboy, curious to know more about the elephant who was so exactly like himself, ran after it. By-and-by Cissy Centipede alighted and went into her house, and Silverboy, in hopes of finding some escape, followed her.
“Dear me,” cried Miss Centipede, “ I had no idea you were following me, Silverboy.”
“Well, I never!” said the little elephant, “she knows me”.
“Of course, you silly boy,” she said; “of course I know you.”
“Well, but really,” cried Silverboy, “I’ve never seen you before, you know.”
“What!” she cried, in amazement, “are you mad? Why! You’ve just been dancing with me. You must be mad!”
“No! no, said Silverboy, hurriedly, “of course I’m not mad. I say,” he thought to himself, “I wonder what I’ve done? I musn’t say anything wrong, or I’ll be taken to prison by that dreadful B.O. Beetle. Oh! No,” he said aloud; “I’m just a little dazed.”
“Perhaps you’re thinking about to-morrow.” She said gaily.
“To-morrow?” he said, with a puzzled air. “I wonder what is going to happen to-morrow?”
“Why! It is our wedding-day, Silverboy,” she cried. “Oh! Oh! Fancy, forgetting that. I’m sure you don’t want to marry me,” and the poor little insect began to cry.
Poor Silverboy, in terrible fear of B.O. Beetle, tried in every possible way to comfort her. At last he succeeded by promising to wait with her there and then until to-morrow, and “Goodness knows what will happen when to-morrow comes,” he said to himself. Anyhow, I’ll trust to luck.” By-and-by Cissy Centipede fell asleep, and somehow or other Silverboy fell asleep too, and dreamt of his own little lady.
Next morning Cissy Centipede dragged him off to be married. In vain he tried to explain that he was not HER Silverboy; but there was B. O. Beetle right in front of him, looking so terrible and bright in the sunlight that Silverboy could have died with fright. So the poor elephant had to submit, but he felt very miserable indeed, and his intended wife’s numerous legs worried him very much. Suddenly, when they were half-way through the ceremony, there was a great commotion, everybody ran hither and thither, shouting and talking as they could, and there, much to the relief of Silverboy, stood the OTHER silver elephant. He was stamping furiously. “How DARE you!” he screamed. “How dare you run off with my wife! Cissy – don’t you know me? I’ll kill you for this, you rascal,” and he rushed at Silverboy. Silverboy fell on his knees. “Oh! Sir, please sir, don’t kill me,” he sobbed. “I couldn’t help it, indeed I couldn’t.”
“Who are you? cried the amazed bride.
“Please, I’m Silverboy Elephant, I belong to a little lady’s chain. She lost me yesterday, and I didn’t know where I was. Oh, please, spare me!” he cried.
“Well, I declare said the other elephant. “My name’s Silverboy, too, and I belonged to a little lady’s chain. She lost me too. I never heard anything like it before. Just to think that –“ Here footsteps were heard coming down the path. Immediately all the insects and the other elephant disappeared, leaving Silverboy alone on the garden bed.
“Oh! Silverboy,” cried someone, and in a moment he was lying in a little hand. “I’m so glad I’ve found you, Silverboy. I must fasten you on safe now.” So saying, the little child fastened the happy little elephant on to her chain.
Oh, how happy little Silverboy was to back with his little mistress, and how he pitied that other poor elephant who had married the wife with all those legs! But, oh, how very, very glad he was to have escaped from the clutches of the fearful B. O. Beetle
The Blackburn Weekly Telegraph, 27th February 1909
Away down in the hard, cold ground the little crocuses were fast asleep. They did not feel the cold: they were as cosy and warm as could be, tucked away in their winter beds, waiting for spring. One morning, very early, a little crocus awoke. “It is not time to get up yet?” she asked crossly of the old snail who was their nurse. “No, no; not just yet, my dear,” said the snail. “Go to sleep again; spring will soon be here.”
“I can’t, I won’t,” cried the little crocus. “I hate being down here in the dark. I want to see the sun and the birds and the pretty sky. I must wake up,” she cried, “I can’t wait any longer.”
She spoke so loudly that the other little flowers woke up too. “What’s the matter,” they asked, sleepily. “I am going to grow up out of this dark place. I’m going to see the bright, warm sun and the blue sky. You come, too. Don’t stay down here, it is so dull and dark.” But the other little flowers shook their heads. “Spring hasn’t come yet,” they said, as they dropped asleep again. “The world is dark and oh so cold.”
“Rubbish!” cried the crocus; “you know nothing about it. I say spring HAS come, and I’m going to see. I shall be the first crocus. How everybody will admire me! How nice I shall look all alone in the garden!”
“I wouldn’t go, miss, if I were you,” said the old snail. “There will be snow and frost and rain and wind and ____ “ “Oh! You don’t know anything about it,” snapped the crocus, rudely. And straight away she began to unfold her tender, pale leaves and push slowly through the hard dry earth.
It took such a long time to reach the top, but the crocus was in such a flutter of excitement, thinking about all the admiration and notice her appearance would create, that she forgot to be tired and impatient.
At last, after three whole days of hard work, her long green leaves stood erect over the brown earth. By-and-by the proud crocus unfolded her pale heliotrope flower. “Now,” she thought to herself, “ everybody will be looking at me! Oh! how jealous those silly stay-a-beds would be if they only knew!”
But alas! For the crocus’s hopes, no one came near her at all, and the world felt very cold and dreary to the little flower.
Not far away from her there drooped a very late snowdrop. “How poor and sickly that thing looks beside me,” thought the crocus. “I suppose I must speak to her though.” So raising her voice, she called “At what hour does the sun rise, you in the corner there!” “He never rises,” answered the snowdrop, gently. “I have not seen the sun yet ----”
“Never seen the sun!” exclaimed the crocus. “Why, you must be blind! For spring has come. He’ll be sure to rise to-morrow.”
“I don’t think spring has come,” said the snowdrop in her, sweet low voice. “It was snowing yesterday; I’m afraid it is going to snow again.”
“Oh! you know nothing about it,” said the crocus rudely. “Spring HAS come.”
“Very soon the sky began to grow dark, the wind howled through the garden, and a few very cold snowflakes began to fall. The crocus shivered as she watched them.
“Little flower,” said a kind voice over her head, “may I shelter you from the storm.” And turning round, she saw a rhododendron tree with its big leaves waiting to spread over her head. “No, thank you,” said the crocus. “The storm will soon pass. Spring has come and the sun will be out soon.”
“Excuse me,” said the friendly rhododendron, “but I’m afraid you are mistaken. There is going to be a heavy snowstorm.”
“I don’t think so,” returned the little flower, nodding her delicate head obstinately.
“Very well,” said the tree, and turned away from the rude flower. The sky grew darker and darker, and the snow began to fall very fast. The crocus shivered – she was very cold. Still, she would not give in. “Spring has come!” she cried obstinately, over and over again. The fierce wind bent her slender stem, and the cruel snow beat against her petals.
The poor little flower began to cry bitterly. “Oh! I am so cold – so cold,” she sobbed. “It is so wet and dark up here. I thought the world would be lovely. I want to go to sleep again. Oh! it is cold!”
The snow had covered up all the ground and had almost buried her leaves.
Suddenly the kind voice spoke again – “Will you let me shelter you now?” It was the rhododendron again.
“Oh! how kind you are!” sobbed the crocus. “I don’t deserve it. Indeed, I don’t.”
So the tree bent his big leaves over her. They were so warm and sheltering, and by-and-by the flower stopped crying and told the rhododendron all about the home down in the earth, and how naughty she had been.
“Cheer up!” said the kind tree. “It will be all right soon. If I shelter you like this till the spring does come, you will be able to see your sisters again before you go to sleep.”
And so she waited patiently until her sisters awoke in the bright sunshine. Then, after saying good-bye to them, the old rhododendron tree, the sun, and the birds, the sadder but wiser little flower settled down to sleep till next spring. And you may be sure she did not try to push herself before anyone else again or think that she knew better than her elders.
The Blackburn Weekly Telegraph, Saturday 27th March 1909
Transcribed by Philip Crompton
Transcribed by Philip Crompton
Jeremiah Bob-tail sat at the door of his snug little hole, waiting for the sun to go down. The sun took a very long time to get into bed this particular night, and it aggravated Jeremiah very much. The sun seemed to know that Jeremiah was in a hurry for it to be dark, for just as he seemed to be dropping into a doze he would flare up again as bright as ever. But, still, even the sun can't keep awake for ever, and by-and-bye he retired behind his purple bed-hangings, leaving the world dark and cold.
The Jeremiah got up with a broad smile of content on his face, and went inside. There the little rabbit took a bag and a spade, and a few minutes later was walking along the road towards Sir Frederick Fox's garden. Night after night Jeremiah Bob-tail went to Sir Frederick's garden. At first he was very frightened for Sir Frederick was a fearful person to deal with. But after a little while, finding that nothing came of his nightly visits, Jerimiah grew bolder, and began to boast about his exploits to his bosom friend Tommy Tuftie. It happened on this particular night that Tommy Tuftie saw Jerry on his way to the garden. Now, Tommy was jealous of Jerry's fine white fur and long whiskers, and, besides, didn't Winnie Whitetail admire Jerry? This was more than Tommy could stand, for didn't he admire Winnie White-tail himself? Tommy determined to have his revenge. He set off in a hurry after Jerry, who was calmly trotting along the road.
Suddenly, an idea struck Tommy. He would go and tell Sir Frederick Fox that Jerry was coming to steal his carrots. What a fine idea! Jerry would be put in prison. Tommy would have Miss White-tail all to himself. Oh! What splendid chance. Away bounded Tommy, scurrying over hill and down dale – on, on, through hedges, gardens, falling into burrows and ditches; up again, panting and puffing; on, on – sliding down banks, leaping over streams, pushing through ferns, dashing against trees.
At last he arrived – breathless, tired, wet, but triumphant, for Jerry had not come yet.
He stole cautiously into the garden and made his way to the carrot-rows. Suddenly he was seized by his little tail, and a harsh voice shouted, 'Ha! Ha! Ha! Caught you now. Would you steal? – would you? would you? More tugs. 'I'll teach you to steal my carrots, young gentle rabbit, I will.'
'Oh, sir' cried Tommy, struggling vainly, 'Jerimiah Bob-tail's coming to steal your carrots.'
'Hey,' cried the Fox hoarsely, tugging harder than ever. 'There's another, is there?' Well, well! We must see to this.' He saw to it by tugging poor Tommy violently into his hole. The little rabbit howled and bawled to be set free, declaring, between the tugs that he 'never – no, never-stole any turnips or carrots -no, never, never-.' His protestations were cut short by his being forcibly hurled into Sir Frederick Fox's dungeon, thinking that Jeremiah would soon share the same fate.
Meanwhile Jeremiah had strolled into the garden with his bag and his spade. He felt particularly brave this night, and even went so far as to whistle a tune softly to himself as he started over the carrot beds.
He sorted out the finest carrots and slowly threw them into his bag. Then he sat down and leisurely proceeded to light his pipe.
Sir Frederick slowly crept out of the shade of the trees and stealthily crept towards the contented Jerry. Nearer and nearer he crept -slowly, slowly, slowly. Suddenly, Jerry turned round. He caught sight of the Fox's evil face. With one yell he bounded over the hedge, and was off over the fields, flying for his life. The Fox dashed after him. Full speed they went - bounding, leaping, scurrying. now Jerry was away in front - now the Fox was at his heels. Jerry's little heart was going mad inside his little body; the Fox's breath came hard and fast. All at once Jerry dashed into a burrow -safe-safe at last. Sir Frederick was thwarted. jerry was safe. But oh! what a sad state he was in. His whiskers were all broken, his fur clotted with dirt and blood, and his legs refused to hold him up.
By a strange coincidence he had darted into Winnie White-tail's burrow. Miss Winnie cried over him, bandaged him, and promised to marry him on the spot.
Jeremiah is slowly recovering now, under his little wife's care. But he is much wiser, though I can't say he is a sadder , little rabbit.
Tommy Tuftie went to the wedding. He was very dejected and miserable, having only escaped from prison the day before. He, too, is wiser - and sadder. But it is to be hoped that his spirits will revive a little under the strong influence of the charms of Mrs J. Bobtail's younger sister.
The Blackburn Weekly Telegraph, Saturday 15th May, 1909
There was a rush and a swirl of the waters – a horrid sucking sound – and the Baby and the ship lost sight of the wild, storm-tossed sea.
Down, down, the Baby went, very slowly and very steadily. Not far away the wrecked ship was swirling down too, but not nicely and easily like the Baby, who was enjoying himself very much. “It’s like the elevator,” he said, as he went down in the clear blue water. The Baby had been very frightened, oh! Very frightened indeed, when the storm came and the great waves had snatched his little muddie away from him. But now he was quite happy, for was he not going to the little muddie? (‘Muddie’ was the Baby’s way of saying ‘mother’)
Down, down he went, and the further he went down the prettier everything became. There were little coral castles, all overgrown with bright seaweeds, and little bright-eyed mermaids peeped out of the windows, and smiled and looked as if they expected him.
Down, down he went, till all at once he found himself at the bottom. Yes, there he was, right at the very bottom of the sea!
And oh! You have no idea how lovely everything is down there. There are little pinky-white castles, and little baby mermaids and mermen, and heaps of other lovely things. The Baby was delighted. He walked down the little coral paths, stared at the little mermaids, pulled the sea-flowers, and was enjoying himself thoroughly, when all at once he saw a little old man coming towards him. He was such a very queer old man. His great green eyes glared from behind great horny spectacles. Little pieces of coral and seaweed hung on his hair and on his long, green beard. The Baby felt very frightened and began to cry for the little muddie. But the old man came up and very gently took his hand. “Now, now, now!” he said, in such a gentle little voice that it quite startled the Baby, who was expecting something like a foghorn to belong to such a terrible looking person.
“Now, now, now!” said the little old man again. “Don’t cry! Don’t cry! You come along with me. I’ll show you, my horses.”
So, the Baby dried his eyes and went with the little old man of the sea. “If you please,” said the Baby, very politely. “If you please, could you tell me where the little muddie is?”
“What?” shouted the little old man, in such a terrible voice that the Baby nearly jumped out of the sea. “Now, now, now!” he said in his little voice, when he saw how he had frightened the Baby. “It’s all right, quite all right. But you see, I brought you here to be king ___”
“To be king!” Cried the Baby.
“Now, now, now.” Said the old man, pleadingly. “Just let me finish, like a good boy. I said to be king. You are going to be king of the sea. I am a king,” and the little old man drew himself up and glared through his horny spectacles.
“But ______” began the Baby.
“Now, now, now,” said the little man. “Wait a bit! Wait a bit! If you are going to be king, you must never mention the people up there. Never mention them! Do you hear? Never mention them!” His big voice grew to a great roar and the Baby trembled very much indeed.
“Now, now, now,” said the little old man quietly. “You mustn’t be frightened of me. I’m all right – quite all right. And now, here we are at my stables.”
They were the prettiest stables the Baby had ever dreamed of. They were all pink coral, and the prettiest little goldfish were swimming about in their loose boxes. The little wee grooms were polishing the seaweed and reins.
The Baby was introduced as the Prince. It was very nice to be a real live prince, he thought: but, oh! If only the little mudd__ Oh dear! He was forgetting; but still, if only the little ‘Don’t -say—it’ was there, how lovely it would be!
The Baby was getting sleepy now, and it felt very confused inside his little curly head, with the old man’s frequent, “Now, now, nows.” So, he went to bed in a coral cot, feeling very miserable at not having any ‘Don’t-say-it’ to kiss him goodnight. But he felt better when a pretty little mermaid peeped over the cot-curtains and kissed her little hand to him.
The bottom of the sea looked lovelier than ever the next morning, and when the Baby had breakfasted on sea muffins and cream, he set off with the little mermaid who had said good night to him. Merry – that was her name, she told him – led him down the cunningest little paths and through the prettiest little woods. The Baby grew quite confidential and told her all about the little ‘Don’t-say-it’.
“Course,” he said, loftily, “you don’t understand. I don’t suppose you ever had a ‘Don’t-say-it’, had you?
“No,” said poor Merry, wistfully; “but I’d like one.” “Oh! Oh!” she cried, suddenly. “I know where she is! I know where she is!”
The Baby went pale. “Quick – tell me,” He cried, breathlessly.
“Oh! Oh! I mustn’t.”
“Oh! Oh! You must. Do! Do! I’ll never tell,” the Baby begged, eagerly.
After many pleadings and with many cautions, Merry whispered, “In the Garden of Sleep, on the other side of the coral grove.”
This was Greek to the Baby, but he cried, stoutly, “I’m going!”
“Oh! You can’t! You mustn’t!” cried Merry in great terror. “Oh! The king would kill me. Oh! Baby, dear, dear Baby, don’t! You can’t! You mustn’t! Oh, what shall I do? What
shall I do?” And the poor little mermaid sank on the ground, crying as if her little heart were broken.
The Baby was very distressed and puzzled. He put his arms round her and tried to comfort her.
“Don’t cry, Merry dear!” he kept pleading. “Don’t cry, Merry dear!”
At last, the sobs ceased, and when Merry had wiped her eyes on her little tail they both set out for home.
That night when the Baby had gone to bed, Merry came again.
“Please,” she whispered, “may I be your little ‘Don’t-say-it?”
“Yes,” the Baby agreed, sleepily, “until I find my own.”
The next day the two went out again.
“I say,” said the Baby to his new little ‘Don’t-say-it’, “won’t you take me somewhere near that garden, just so I can think about it sometimes?”
At first Merry refused stoutly. But when the Baby said that his own ‘Don’t-say-it’ did everything he asked her to do, the poor little mermaid gave in, and they set out for the garden. On the way the Baby noticed that the sea grew dark and black. It was colder too, and the pretty weeds had changed to black, slimy things that clung to his legs. There were horrid, spiky fishes that flapped rudely in the Baby’s face.
“When I’m king,” he said, boastfully, “when I’m king I’ll put those rude, nasty things in prison; and when I’m king____”
“Hush,” whispered Merry, touching his lips with her little, trembling hands. “This is the garden.”
A great fear crept over the Baby. It was all so still, so very still, and almost dark. There in front of them rose a great white gate. The black weeds twined round it, and the black water swished through the bars. The Baby held Merry’s cold hands very tightly.
“Oh! Oh!” he cried, chokingly, “is my little muddie in there? Muddie! Muddie! I want you, little muddie.” He was calling out loud now, with his little arms stretched out to the cold, white gate. The weeds began to wave threateningly; the waves began to roar.
“Muddie! Muddie!” he called above their roaring. “Little muddie!”
Suddenly the white gate clanged open. A mass of black water heaved out. “Muddie! My muddie!” She came out of the darkness, very pale, with the golden hair the Baby loved floating round her.
“Muddie!” In an instant he was in her arms. There he did not fear the dark, dashing water, nor the clanging gate, nor the lashing of the weeds. He clung to her, sobbing with joy, until they reached the calm water, and then -not till then- he remembered Merry. But there she was, swimming behind them, her little face pale with fear and awe.
“Oh, muddie!” he cried, “this is Merry. She wants a muddie: she hasn’t got one.”
The little muddie held out her arms and a few moments there soon set Merry’s fears at rest. Then they went gaily off down the gardens, talking happily, when all at once they saw the little old man of the sea rushing at them. His green eyes looked greener than ever as they glared from behind the old horn spectacles. His big voice came like thunder.
“Ho! Ho!” he shouted. “Ho! Ho!”
The Baby and Merry hid behind the little muddie and trembled very hard.
“Ho! Ho!” he roared again. “Ho! Ho!”
Then the Baby grew brave. He stepped boldly out in front of the terrifying old king.
“I’ve got my muddie,” he shouted, defiantly. “Yes, I will say muddie! I will! I will! I will!! I don’t care about being a king. I won’t be king! I’ll have my little muddie! I__ I___ I____”
“Now, now, now!” said the little voice of the old man. “Now, now, now, my brave young gentleman. I’m all right – quite all right.”
Here Merry, much relieved, peeped out boldly.
“Ho! Ho!” roared the big voice, when he spied her. “Ho! Ho!”
“Oh! Please dear little funny king,” cried the Baby again, “it wasn’t Merry’s fault; it was all mine.”
“Ho! Ho!” said the old man, more mildly.
“Oh, please forgive us!” cried Merry.
“Ho! Ho!” he said again, and this time his voice had faded to the little one. “Now, young gentleman,” he said to the Baby, and with difficulty keeping to his little voice, “you’ll have to go on land again.” His voice was rumbling into a roar. “You can’t stay here. You have visited the forbidden garden. You can’t be king here! You must go!” His voice was terrific. The Baby and Merry had promptly disappeared behind the little muddie.
Now, now, now!” he said, suddenly mild. “It’s all right – quite all right. I suppose I must be king myself.”
Here they heard a far-off clapping, as if many, many tiny hands were applauding this statement.
“But, oh!” cried the Baby, “I can’t leave Merry.”
“And, oh!” cried Merry, “I can’t leave the Baby.”
“Wait a bit! Wait a bit!” he said. “You keep your eye on Merry’s tail.”
They watched eagerly, and there, if Merry’s silver tail didn’t slip right away and leave her standing on two legs, like the Baby’s. They were all delighted; the Baby and Merry could hardly stop hugging each other. But they had to stop soon, for the old man bundled them away to the top of the sea, and the little muddie, too.
They are very happy now- Merry and the Baby, and the little muddie. They often go to see the old man of the sea.
The Blackburn Weekly Telegraph, Saturday June 5th, 1909.
Transcribed by Shazia Kasim
Transcribed by Shazia Kasim
The Youngest Peggy White-throat
Right down in the middle of an old holly bush there was a round, cosy nest. It was Mrs Peggy White-throat’s nest, and two Peggy White-throats had four very young Peggy White-throats in it. They were very fine young children – at least, so Mrs Peggy thought. And if great heads, staring eyes, and bald bodies are marks of beauty, then certainly these children were remarkably lovely. They were all very good too – except one. This one had a bigger head, bigger eyes, and a balder body than any of them. He was the youngest Peggy White-throat, and was the most obstinate and self-confident little bird that ever was seen.
One bright spring morning Mrs Peggy set off, as usual, to find some breakfast. ‘Now, my dears,’ she had said, ‘I hope you will be very good, and do take care of your youngest brother,’ and she left them snug and cosy but ravenously hungry.
No sooner had she gone than that youngest Peggy White-throat began to be troublesome. He kicked all his sisters, picked holes in the nest, and then declared that he couldn’t wait for breakfast any longer, and was going to find some for himself. Oh! how frightened his sisters were! They begged him to sit still. They promised him pickled caterpillar and grilled grub if only he would be good. But he was determined to go. Then they tried to frighten him, and said that all the bogey-cats were waiting to eat him up. But he only laughed. Then they all sat on him and tried to keep him down. But he had big feet, and kicked them off.
Then he scrambled up the sides of the nest, his three sisters hanging on to his one feather. He struggled vainly, for they would not let go. He hung over the edge, kicking and screaming, when -suddenly – the feather gave way, and the youngest fell through the prickly holly-bush to the ground.
Oh! how frightened he was! What was he to do? He had never been out of the nest before. Oh! how he cried to be back! But his sisters could not help him – they could only stare with their big eyes.
There he lay – on his back, his claws waving weakly in the air, and his little heart beating frantically.
He lay still for such a long time, and was hoping that his mother would come back soon when all at once he saw something shining from out of the grass a pair of great green eyes, then a great black head. ‘Oh! Oh!’ he screamed. ‘The bogey-cats!’ In a second he was on his feet – how he did it he never knew. Away he wobbled screaming. ‘The bogey-cats!’ Oh! oh! oh! The bogey-cats!’ Slowly, silently after him went those great green eyes.
Sobbing, gasping, hurrying on went the poor little bird, and on went the great green eyes. His little wings fluttering, his little bald body heaving painfully, on he went over stones, through grass, on and on, and nearer, still nearer came those great green eyes. At last he could go no further. He turned round and faced the bogey-cat, his little neck stretched out, his eyes nearly starting out of his head. The bogey-cat smiled a cruel smile, and tapped the youngest with her paws. The youngest nearly died with fright, and the bogey-cat was just going to pat him again when, all at once, a great dog flew up, yelping and growling. The bogey-cat was off like the wind, with the dog at her heels, and the little bird was left alone, gasping and trembling on his back. In a little while, when he had recovered, he struggled to his legs again, and slowly wobbled off over the stones. Oh! how he longed to be home again. Oh! he was so lonely and frightened. Oh! he did wish that Mrs Peggy would come to him.
He was tottering along, sobbing and falling, when he stopped suddenly – there was a great rough hand in front of him. In a second the hand had grabbed him and tied him up in a handkerchief. The youngest lay there among the birds’ eggs, quite unconscious. But the birds’ eggs would not let him be unconscious for long. They bumped him and jostled him about till he nearly went mad, and stuck his claws through the handkerchief and struggled wildly. Then the great hand took him out of the handkerchief and put him into a deep, dark pocket. There it was worse than ever. So dark and oh! so hot. The youngest was terrified. He was sure that he could see the great green eyes of the bogey-cat staring at him from one of the dark corners. Oh! the bogey-cat was coming again! The poor little bird dashed wildly to the other end of the pocket, and to his great terror dropped right through a hole and onto the grass.
Oh! would the frights never stop? Up the youngest got and hobbled away in great fear lest the hand should follow him. But it did not come and, and the youngest hurried on over stock and stone. He sobbed so hard that every now and then he knocked himself down, and was just in the act of falling with a very big sob when down flew Mrs Peggy, and in a trice had him safely back in the nest again. The youngest was too exhausted to speak. He shut his big eyes, and his bald body shook like a leaf.
Mrs Peggy, very much alarmed, gave him cowslip wine through a blade of grass, and by-and-bye the youngster recovered so far as to eat a little fricasseed worm – his favourite dish.
That night, when he fell asleep, cosy and warm under his mother’s wing, he vowed that he would never go out again without his mother, and even in his dreams saw the great green eyes of the bogey-cat.
The Blackburn Weekly Telegraph, Saturday 3rd July 1909
“I’ve come back,” he murmured weakly. “I’ll be the youngest again – it’s rather hard on Sally,” and straightaway went into such ramblings that Mrs. Blun and all the other Bluns began to think that the real Billy Blun would never come home again. But he recovered by-and-by and soon got well enough to relate his adventures to his sympathetic family as he ate his supper of porridge, for which he did not fetch the water
Certainly, my friends, on my cradle shone an unlucky star. I am sure I don’t know why I, so handsome, so talented, and so agreeable should be so unlucky. But, there, I suppose I must have something to balance my splendid appearance – though I don’t think even my and luck is as great as my beauty, and I’m quite certain that you would agree with me, though the rest of those senseless members of my race refuse to recognise my charms, but, there, they are only jealous -oh!, very jealous! But I must go on with my story. Well, after that awful night, when I was locked out of that undesirable residence – I speak, my dear friends, of the lodging-house. I roamed about all night singing my most pathetic songs to move the stony-hearted people. But, it seemed to me, that they became more stony-hearted than ever, for several old boots and tin cans were most rudely thrown at me; but perhaps they were jealous of my lovely voice. Yes, that must have been it!
In the morning I was strolling in the garden of a great houses, looking, as usual, very handsome. I was just thinking what a sight the people were missing (for I really had quite a military air, with my fine, furry tail waving loftily over my handsome head) when I saw a Lord – yes! A real, live Lord; my aristocratic instincts told me that it was a Lord, and a little girl watching me from a window. Were my dreams to be realised at last! I put on my most dignified air and hummed a plaintive song. That brought them to my feet immediately, for the little girl came rushing out with some milk, which – clumsy things – she spilt over my beautiful coat. I would like to have reproved her with my paw, but did not, as it was a first offence. I carefully washed my fur before I took the milk. Then the little girl carried me into the house. There I found someone to appreciate my beauty. The Lord gave me a blue ribbon and a bell and I had shrimps and cream every time I began to sing, though I must say I thought it very rude of them to interrupt my songs every time.
But oh! alas this good fortune was not to last long.
For one night when I returned from my usual airing I found the door locked. I asked politely, as I always do when speaking to an inferior, to be let in. I heard the cook, a most unfortunate acquaintance, I assure you say: “There’s that blessed cat; well, it won’t do no ‘arm to stay out all night! The thieving rascal, just wait till I catch hit – a ‘arf a chicken gone indeed!”
I suppose she was alluding to the fact that instead of troubling her, I had taken a little fowl myself. Anyhow, I asked a little more loudly to be let in. No notice was taken. I cried louder still. Then the kitchen window opened. I went to see what was the matter. Suddenly a great piece of wet soap struck me full in the face. Oh! The agony of feeling the soap in my eyes, nose and mouth. I flew out of the yard, sneezing, gulping, and gasping all in one breath. I don’t know where I went: I don’t know what I did. I went stumbling on, for I could not see out of my smarting eyes. Oh, that mean, degraded creature! Oh, what a punishment awaits that cook! What remorse will gnaw that wretched being’s heart. She threw soap at me! At ME! The beautiful, talented Tommie Tomkins, whom a Lord admired, and all the world, to, though they are too jealous to own up.
But I must go on.
Well, I was bounding along, still full of soap, when all at once I discovered it was hailing.
Great hailstones came pelting down on me, dashing into my eyes, bobbing and skipping on my nose, bumping like marbles on my back. Some one behind me cried: “Good-ness! its raining (I lost the first word) – and dogs.”
“Dogs!” I thought. “Dogs!”. I was terrified; it would never do to meet a dog in my weakened state. So I set off at a fearful rate. Away I rushed down street after street. Dashing up against houses, slipping into gutters, stumbling over stones, on, on I went.
Suddenly I saw a dazzling light. I felt my tail flare into flame, then I fell unconscious. After a very long time I awoke. It was quite light now. I felt very queer, but was queerer still when I caught of a long thin, bald string waving over my head where, alas! “my tail once was!” I was so terrified that I set off again, but after bumping myself severely against every house in the street I was obliged to stop and view the awesome object over my head. Oh, I was upset. I was very unhappy indeed at the thought of my majestic tail. But I comfort myself with the thought that I always notice my own defects and see them much more than others do, and I am sure that my tail is scarcely noticeable to others though the vulgar mob jeer at it most rudely, but then (need I repeat it?) it is only their jealousy.
Well, I went back home. The kitchen door was open, and I strolled in as usual. The cook was there, and she saw me. At first she could only stare (to show her ill manners), then went off in fits of laughter, and called the other maids. The rude, unmannerly creatures stood laughing – nay, roaring – at me. I turned my back on them, and with a dignified wave of my tail, which made them laugh more than ever, I stalked out of the kitchen. I met the little girl in the hall. She set up an awful scream when she saw me, and shouted to the cook to put me out. Accordingly that cook -oh! for vengeance – prodded me out of the yard and along the street with the yard brush. There a mob of boys started running after me. Tin cans, old shoes, bad oranges, apples, and all sorts of rubbish were dashed at my poor tail. On I flew with those hooligans at my heels. I felt very weak. I could hardly run. But luckily (for once!) I was able to doge my foes. I dashed into a little house and flew upstairs. There I sank down utterly exhausted and slept for many hours.
Now, my friends, I will not continue my history further, and I will bid you good-bye.- Yours, &c. TOMMIE TOMKINS.
P.S. Let me remind you of the moral, i.e., “Put not your trust in princes.”-T.T.
The Blackburn Weekly Telegraph, Saturday 7th August, 1909
The Blackburn Weekly Telegraph, Saturday 7th August, 1909
On the banks of the broad, green meadow, under the shady trees, there lived a little fairy in a harebell. Wild pink roses, tall dog daisies and meadow sweet grew on all sides; yet, no flower, no fairy, was too dainty and gentle as the little fairy Dewdrop and her harebell. Life was very pleasant down there in the meadow; and Dewdrop loved to watch the dawn creeping over the dark hills and the great sun sinking in the glowing sky. She liked the evening best. Then she sat in her slender blue flower, and talked and laughed with all the other fairies, and they watched the queer creatures flitting over the top of the waving meadow-grass.
One evening, when Dewdrop was watching in her nodding harebell, a queer Daddy Longlegs made his clumsy way over the meadow towards the fairies.
Oh! How they laughed at his long awkward legs and queer bobbing body. The poor creature was getting along very slowly, and many a time fell right through the grass to the ground and only struggled up again very painfully after a long time.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the fairies. “Did you ever see such a clumsy, absurd old creature?”
“Oh! Do look at his legs,” cried one. “Why he has only two whole ones,” cried another.
Poor Daddy became more flurried than ever at these rude remarks and made more ridiculous attempts to get along more quickly. The fairies laughed more than ever; but Dewdrop sat silent in her harebell watching Daddy Longlegs with pitying eyes. The fairies were laughing heartily at his antics, when all at once an angry voice came from the harebell.
“How dare you laugh! Can you not see he is lame? Shame! Shame! How could you laugh?”
There was dead silence for a moment. Then the fairies hugged their little shoulders, and with an air of indifference began to talk of other things. But Dewdrop darted from her flower and flew to poor Daddy, who was just struggling up from one of his falls.
“May I help you?” she asked.
Poor Daddy looked up gratefully. “Thank you very much,” he stammered, “but___”
“Oh! I am quite strong,” she cried. “I can pull you easily if you will sit on this leaf,”
After much hesitation, Daddy Longlegs got slowly onto the leaf, and Dewdrop set off with him.
“I’m lame, you see,” he explained as they went along, “or else I could fly very quickly. I’m going to Dr. Grasshopper. I think it’s very good of you not to laugh at me and help me like this.”
Dewdrop went home feeling very happy, leaving the grateful Daddy Longlegs at Dr. Grasshopper’s. After this, the days went quickly by, and Dewdrop had almost forgotten about Daddy.
But very early one morning, Dewdrop and the other fairies were awakened by a loud “whirr?” as if a great machine were near. A few minutes later Daddy Longlegs flew swiftly up.
“Quick!” he cried breathlessly, to Dewdrop. “The moving machine. See -the meadow, - no time to be lost! Quick! Quick! Flowers going down in hundreds!”
“What shall I do?” cried poor Dewdrop. “Oh! Where shall I go?”
“Quick! Come with me!” he cried. “Wait, I’ll tell the others,” and away he went, rushing from one startled fairy to another. In a moment all had heard the dreadful news. The terrified fairies darted hither and thither in the greatest confusion, wringing their hands and crying most pitifully.
Daddy, with Dewdrop at his side, had to lead them away over the meadow. But many dropped off, many flew their own way, and by-and-by Dewdrop and Daddy were left alone. Dewdrop was very tired. Her little bright wings dropped, and she could hardly fly.
“Dewdrop,” said Daddy, “I’m quite strong now, get on my back!” At first, she would not, for his poor legs were still broken. “Quick!” he cried, as the whirr of the mowing-machine came nearer. She clambered up on his slender back, and away he went, with his long thin legs and tall wings. He could not fly very high from the ground and could go but slowly with his broken legs.
On came the awful whirr, and on went Daddy before it. Whatever happened, he must save the gentle little fairy. On, on he struggled before the nearing whirr. Nearer and nearer, it came. Whirr-rr, whirr-rr. Dewdrop, crying with terror, clasped Daddy with trembling arms. On it came- he could see it now. He raised his broken legs, and with one tremendous, painful effort, dashed to the side. The great knife and plodding horse went by. Dewdrop was safe, and with this happy thought, Daddy fell unconscious in the short grass.
After a long time, he awoke to find the little fairy giving him water and honey on the bank, and he soon recovered sufficiently to walk home with Dewdrop. Daddy is very happy now, for Dewdrop stays with him always. They live together in quite a grand house – a tall, red foxglove by a little river.
The Blackburn Weekly Telegraph, Saturday 4th September, 1909
Transcribed by Shazia Kasim
Transcribed by Shazia Kasim
Billy Blun, of the tall ears and short tail, took the water-pails down from the hook and betook himself to the spout. His mother, Mrs. Blun, wanted water to make the porridge for supper, and as Billy was the youngest, of course he had to fetch it. So away he went, the empty pails jingling on his shoulders, to the little spout in the field. He fixed the first pail under the water, and was complacently watching it fill, when he suddenly caught sight of his old enemy the Bully Calf making towards him, head low down, heels high up, and tail swishing from side to side.
But Billy Blun determined to be brave and watched with outward calmness the terrible gambols of the Bully Calf. On came the Bully Calf, careering madly over the little hillocks and lashing his brown-and-white sides with his tail. Billy Blun stood courageously by his water-pail, but his bob of a tail was visibly agitated, and his legs trembled very much. Suddenly, with a fearful bellow, the Bully Calf bounded at him, and Billy Blun scampered over the field for his very life.
He crouched in the grass and watched the Bully Calf anxiously. After gambolling a little longer, the Bully Calf drank up Billy’s pailful of water and amused himself by butting at the buckets for half an hour or so, just to put himself in practice. At last, the Bully Calf gambolled away to another part of the field and Billy Blun crept out to his pails. The Bully Calf’s horns, being as yet very short, had not done much damage, but Billy trembled exceedingly as he eyed the scratches and dings on the brand-new pails.
However, he filled them and staggered home. There, at the door of the burrow, Mrs. Blun, with the determined look on her face that Billy knew meant “Bed-and no supper,” He began, in a dismal voice, to explain as he was within hearing distance, but was cut short with, “Now Billy Blun, I know where you have been – playing with the Bobby Bobtail, when you ought to have been doing your duty. Oh, my pails! My pails. Oh! You bad, bad, wicked boy! Come in! Oh, my pails! Go to bed – no supper.” Away poor Billy was bundled with many raps on his poor head. He lay down on his bed of heather and hay and cried loud and long.
“I wish they could have a turn with the Bully Calf themselves,” he sobbed. “Why don’t they believe me- they always blame me and punish me, just because I am the youngest.”
But it was not until the family was snugly asleep and night had closed in that a brilliant idea came to Billy Blun.
“I’ll run away,” he said, creeping out of bed. “I’ll not be the youngest anymore. Sally shall be. He! He! I hope she’ll enjoy it!” In a moment he was out of the burrow, in the fresh night air, under a sky lit by thousands of stars. He sprang away over the bramble bushes and down the path to the spout. The great honey-coloured moon was rising over the dark hills and by its light Billy could see the Bully Calf asleep in the field. He ran up to him. Why, he looked quite peaceable in the moonlight. Billy Blun felt brave enough to hit him - but he didn’t.
He sprang away down the field and pushed through the hedge and came into a meadow. How cool it was there, and how sweet the young grass tasted as he nibbled away to his heart’s content. Still, it would not do to stay her forever so Billy Blun, with a sigh of reluctance, bounded out of the meadow into the lane. He ambled quietly along for a little, and by and bye he came to a big gate, showing distinctly in the light of the moon, now high in the starry sky.
It was a lovely night and Billy Blun, smiling contentedly, caught the odour of cabbages. In a second, he was through the big white gate and among the rows of fresh green cabbages. He began steadily nibbling away at the first row, but as first one and then another especially fine cabbage caught his eye, he drifted farther and farther into the field. He had just taken his greedy little mouth out of the juicy heart of a huge cabbage and was wondering down the row in search of another such specimen, smiling broadly all the time, when all at once his smile changed to a shriek of pain. He was dragged to the ground by a grip fastening round his fore legs. Oh, the agony! His legs were drawn tightly together by stout string- so tightly that Billy could not move them in the least. The string cut through his fur and into his skin, and for a long time Billy lay in terrible pain. He was caught in a trap of some sort. It was a good thing, he thought, that his neck had not been caught.
He began to gnaw at the string, in the hope that it would break, but the string was strong and thick. So Billy lay still again, and began to wonder what was to become of him; he began to long for his mother and the nice heather and hay bed at home in the little burrow, and by and bye he got so desperate that he began to wish that it had been his neck instead of his legs and then that would have been the end of it all.
The moon went down in the sky, and Billy’s hopes went lower too. It was cold lying there and his legs hurt intolerably. He began to gnaw the string again, merely for something to do. Soon he had the great satisfaction of feeling the string loosen round his legs. He worked harder after that, and after a little, he was able to draw his legs out. Oh, how delighted he was! How he leapt and jumped in spite of his wounded limb.
He set off gaily out of the cabbage field. He wasn’t going home, not he! He would build a burrow for himself – he wasn’t going to be the youngest anymore. He ran down the lane and came to a quick running beck. His legs hurt him very much, so Billy chose a nice, cool, mossy stone and sat down; but the cool, mossy stone was also a slippery one, and landed Billy Blun in the water. He fell with a loud splash; the water surged up over his ears and carried him along.
Poor Billy Blun really thought he was drowned, and so he would have been had he not been swirled into a shallow pool, from which he was able to scramble out to the bank. Half dead and wholly drenched he lay there, blinking helplessly under the rising sun. A little while after he struggled to his feet and wandered feebly in the direction of home. He had no idea where he was going. The water was still dripping from his fur. He wandered into a field and lay down again. But, hearing a thud, thud on the ground, he raised himself, and who should he see but the Bully Calf gambolling nearby.
Shaking with cold and terror, but with a glad feeling at his little heart that he was so near home, Billy Blun staggered out of his way and made for the path.
It was a cold and feeble Billy Blun who cast himself into the Blun burrow about an hour later.
“I’ve come back,” he murmured weakly. “I’ll be the youngest again – it’s rather hard on Sally,” and straightaway went into such ramblings that Mrs. Blun and all the other Bluns began to think that the real Billy Blun would never come home again. But he recovered by-and-by and soon got well enough to relate his adventures to his sympathetic family as he ate his supper of porridge, for which he did not fetch the water
The Blackburn Weekly Telegraph, Saturday 16th October, 1909
Transcribed by Shazia Kasim
Billy Blun Goes Christmas Shopping
The Swallow
"Coo": A Fairytale
In The Tree Top
Billy Blun Again
A Strange Night
Bay and the Honourable Theophilus
More About Billy Blun