THE STORIES OF THE FOURTH DAY
W
WHEN all the Story People were assembled, the Story King in his place, Mary Frances in the blue velvet chair beside the Story Queen, the Ready Writer with pen upraised, the Story Lady began:
“To-day we have six short stories. The first is about a school boy named Bob, and how he conquered his worst enemies.”
* * * * * *
Thud! thud! thud! “Hit him in the eye!” “Knock the pipe out of his mouth!” “Ha! ha! there goes his nose! I hit him that time!”
These dreadful sounds seemed to say that some barbarous piece of cruelty was going on; but the victim was only a snow-man, which the boys of Strappington School had set up in their playground. Truth to tell, the snow-man did not like it much, but boys cannot be expected to understand the feelings of a snow-man, so he bore it very patiently, and when one snowball came in each eye, and a third in his mouth, he never spoke a word or flinched a muscle.
But how was the schoolmaster to know that it was only a snow-man? And what was more natural than that he should peep over the playground wall to see what was going on? And how was little Ralph Ruddy to know that the schoolmaster was there?And how was he to know that the snowball which was meant for the snow-man’s pipe would land itself on the schoolmaster’s nose? Oh, the horror that seized upon the school at that dire event! and the dead silence that reigned in that playground! For those were the good old times of long ago when anything that went wrong was set right with a birch rod. Little Ralph Ruddy knew only too well what was coming when the angry schoolmaster ordered him into the schoolroom.
The snow-man, of course, was left in the playground all alone. He saw the boys troop indoors and heard some angry words and some cries of pain and saw poor little Ralph thrust into the cold playground, and heard the door slam behind him, and stared without once turning his head or blinking his eyes, while the little fellow sat on the snowy doorstep, with a knuckle screwed into each eye; and indeed the good snow-man himself felt half inclined to cry, only the tears froze inside before they got out of his eyes. So he couldn’t.
When the bell rang at four o’clock, the boys came out, and among them Bob Hardy, the son of a poor farm laborer.
“A cruel shame I call it,” muttered Bob, “to whip a little chap like that, and then shut him out in the cold. I told him Ralph Ruddy never meant to do it, and then he caned me as well. A real brute I call him, and I’ll pay him out, too. I declare I’ll break his bedroom windows this very night, and let him try how he likes the winter wind!”
And Bob meant to do it, too. He climbed out of the cottage window when all were asleep, and made his way down to the schoolhouse by moonlight, with a pocketfull of stones, and climbed the wall of the playground, and stood there all ready to open fire, when a voice startled him, a sort of shivering whisper.
“Better not, Bob! Better wait a bit!” said the voice.
Bob dropped the stone and looked about, but there was no one near except the snow-man shining weirdly in the pale moonlight. However, the words, whoever spoke them, set Boba thinking, and instead of breaking the schoolmaster’s windows, he went home again and got into bed.
That was in January, and when January was done February came, as happens in most years. February brought good fortune—at least Bob’s mother said so, for she got a job as charwoman at the squire’s, for which she was well paid.
It did not turn out so very well, though, after all, for the butler said she stole a silver spoon, and told the squire so; and if the butler could have proved what he said, the squire would have sent her to prison; only he could not, so she got off, and Bob’s mother declared that she had no doubt the butler took the spoon himself.
“All right,” said Bob to himself, “I’ll try the strength of my new oaken stick across that butler’s back.”
And he meant it, too, for that very evening he shouldered his cudgel and tramped away to the big house. And when he got there the door stood wide open, so in he walked.
Now there hung in the hall the portrait of a queer old lady in a stiff frill and a long waist, and an old-fashioned hoop petticoat; and when Bob entered the house what should this old lady do but shake her head at him! To be sure there was only a flickering lamp in the entry, and Bob thought at first it must have been the dim light and his own fancy, so he went striding through the hall with his cudgel in his hand.
“Better not, Bob!” said the old lady. “Better wait a bit!”
“Why, they won’t let me do anything!” grumbled Bob; but he went home without thrashing the butler, all the same.
That was in February, you know. Well, when February was done, March came, and with it came greater ill-fortune than ever; for Bob’s father was driving his master’s horse and cart to market, when, what should jump out of the ditch but old Nanny Jones’s donkey, an ugly beast at the best of times, and enough to frighten any horse; but what must the brute do on this occasion but set up a terrific braying, which sent Farmer Thornycroft’s new horsenearly out of his wits, so that he backed the cart and all that was in it—including Bob’s father—into the ditch. A pretty sight they looked there, for the horse was sitting where the driver ought to be, and Bob’s father was seated, much against his wish, in a large basket full of eggs, with his legs sticking out one side and his head the other.
Of course Farmer Thornycroft did not like to lose his eggs—who would?—for even the most obliging hens cannot be persuaded to lay an extra number in order to make up for those that are broken; but for all that Farmer Thornycroft had no right to lay all the blame on Bob’s father, and stop two shillings out of his week’s wage. So Bob’s father protested, and that made Farmer Thornycroft angry, and then, since fire kindles fire, Bob’s father grew angry too, and called the farmer a cruel brute; so the farmer dismissed him, and gave him no wages at all.
We can hardly be surprised that when Bob heard of all this he felt a trifle out of sorts, but the desire for vengeance which he felt could hardly be justified. He went pelting over the fields, and all the way he went he muttered to himself:
“A cruel shame I call it, but I’ll pay him out; I mean to let his sheep out of the pen, and then I will just go and tell him that I’ve done it.”
Now, the field just before you come to Farmer Thornycroft’s sheep-pen was sown with spring wheat, and they had put up a scarecrow there to frighten the birds away. The scarecrow was very much down in the world—his coat had no buttons and his hat had no brim, and his trousers had only a leg and a half—his well-to-do relations in the tailors’ windows would not have cared to meet him in the street at all. But even the ragged and unfortunate have their feelings, and the scarecrow was truly sorry to see Bob scouring across the field in such a temper; so just as Bob passed him, he flapped out at him with one sleeve, and the boy turned sharply round to see who it was.
“Only a scarecrow,” said he, “blown about by the wind,”and went on his way. But as he went, strange to say, he heard, or thought he heard, a voice call after him, “Better not, Bob! Better wait a bit!”
So Bob went home again and never let the sheep astray after all, but he thought it very hard that he might not punish either the schoolmaster, or the butler, or the farmer.
Now the folk that hide behind the shadows thought well of Bob for his self-restraint, and they determined that they would work for him and make all straight again; so when Bob went down to the river side next day, and took out his knife to cut some reeds for “whistle-pipes,” Father Pan breathed upon the reeds and enchanted them.
“What a breeze!” exclaimed Bob; but he knew nothing at all of what had in reality happened.
Bob finished his pan-pipes, and trudged along and whistled on them to his heart’s content. When he got to the village he was surprised to see a little girl begin to dance to his tune, and then another little girl, and then another. Bob was so astonished that he left off playing and stood looking at them, open-mouthed, with wonder; but so soon as ever he left off playing, the little girls ceased to dance; and as soon as they had recovered their breath they began to beg him not to play again, for the whistle-pipes, they were sure, must be bewitched.
“Ho! ho!” cried Bob, “here’s a pretty game; I’ll just give the schoolmaster a turn. Come, that will not do him any harm, at any rate!”
Strange to say, at that very moment the schoolmaster came along the street.
“Toot! toot! toot! tweedle, tweedle, toot!” went the pan-pipes, and away went the schoolmaster’s legs, cutting such capers as the world never looked upon before. Gayly trudged Bob along the street, and gayly danced the schoolmaster. The peoplelooked out of their windows and laughed, and the poor schoolmaster begged Bob to leave off playing.
“No, no,” answered Bob; “I saw you make poor little Ralph Ruddy dance with pain. It is your turn now.”
Just then the squire’s butler came down the street. Of course he was much puzzled to see the schoolmaster dancing to the sound of a boy’s whistle, but he was presently more surprised to find himself doing the very same thing. He tried with all his might to retain his stately gait; but it was all of no use, his legs flew up in spite of himself, and away he went behind the schoolmaster, following Bob all through the village.
The best sight was still to come; for the tyrannical Farmer Thornycroft was just then walking home from market in a great heat, with a big sample of corn in each of his side-pockets, and turning suddenly round a corner, went right into the middle of the strange procession and caught the infection in a moment. Up flew his great fat legs, and away he went, pitching and tossing, and jumping and twirling, and jigging up and down like an elephant in a fit.
How the people laughed, to be sure, standing in their doorways and viewing this odd trio! It was good for them that they did not come too near, or they would have been seized with the fit as well. The schoolmaster was nearly fainting, the butler was in despair, and the perspiration poured down the farmer’s face; but that mattered not to Bob; he had promised himself to take them for a dance all round the village, and he did it; and, at length, when he had completed the tour, he stopped for just one minute, and asked the schoolmaster whether he would beg Ralph Ruddy’s pardon, and the schoolmaster said he would if only Bob would leave off playing. Then he asked the farmer if he would take his father back and pay him his wages, and the farmer said he would; and finally he asked the butler if he would give up the spoon that he had stolen, and confess to the squire that Bob’s mother had nothing to do with it, but the butler said, “Oh, no, indeed!”
Away Went the Schoolmaster’s Legs, Cutting such Capers as the World Never Looked Upon Before
Away Went the Schoolmaster’s Legs, Cutting such Capers as the World Never Looked Upon Before
So Bob began to play again, and they all began to dance again, till at last the schoolmaster and the farmer both punched the butler until he promised; and then Bob left off playing. The three poor men went home in a terrible plight; and the schoolmaster begged little Ralph’s pardon, and the butler cleared the stain from Bob’s mother’s character, and Bob’s father went back to work, and Farmer Thornycroft soon afterwards took Bob on too, and he made the best farm-boy that ever lived.
* * * * * *
The Story Lady rested a minute while the Story People were laughing and talking about what they had heard. As she began again, there was instant silence.
“The next story,” she said, “is that of a brave girl who lived in the work-a-day world.”