scorpioScorpioIt was a queer October place—No house, you’d say, at all!A wide brown wood with leaves for a floor,And timbers straight and tall.The little creatures that lived in there—Fairies and furry things—Scurried away when the children came,With bashful scamperings.October placeIt was a queer October placeAs the travelers entered the woods, they heard funny little clicking sounds everywhere.“It’s the sound a watch makes when you shut it,” Ann said.“Maybe they have watches here instead of clocks,” remarked Amos.“Not at all,” said a voice behind them. The voice came from a fat Brownie, who was sitting on a stone with his legs dangling. “They have clocks everywhere in Zodiac Town,” the Brownie resumed, “even out here in the suburbs. That noise is the Chestnut Chaps unbuckling their belts and throwing off their overcoats.”The children looked as if they did not know whether he was serious or joking.“It’s the honest truth,” said the Brownie. “Listen.“Every little wing of wind,Every tilt of breeze,Stirs a sound of frolickingIn the tallest trees:Scuffling, shuffling, shouldering,Nudges, nips, and taps,Watch and wait a moment, child—It’s the Chestnut Chaps!“Elbow crowding elbow hardIn their breeches brown,If one comrade takes a leap,Ten come bouncing down;When the crackle of a leafShakes one lad to laughter,Till he tumbles from his perch,Twenty tumble after.“Frisky with the silver frost,Wild with windy weather,Half the autumn-tide they spendGiggling all together.Rough of coat but sweet of heart,Jolly, glad—perhapsNever finer fellows livedThan the Chestnut Chaps!”As he finished, there came a series of clicks overhead, and seven Chestnut Chaps landed suddenly at the travelers’ very feet. As they fell, two gray squirrels darted out to the end of a limb, their tails jerking with excitement; but the Brownie waved them back.“In this wood,” he said, “squirrels are not allowed to feed on chestnuts.” He turned to the squirrels,who were scowling at him from a high branch. “And you know that very well,” he added.The squirrels merely looked sulky, and so the Brownie addressed himself to Amos. “What,” he asked, “is your candid opinion about the wood-folk, anyway?”“The wood-folk?” Amos said. He had not known that he had any opinion about the wood-folk, but just then a clock struck four, and suddenly he formed an opinion on the spot.“The wood-folk scamper to and fro;They have no tasks to do.It’s here and there and high and lowFor them, the whole day through;Up to the tops of highest trees,In holes and caves, and where they please.“They have no clothes to guard with care,No shoes upon their feet,—For fur and feathers never tear,And claws are always neat,—No hooks to hook, no strings to tie.Small wonder that they skip and fly!“The wood-folk frolic everywhere,With all the sky o’erhead,A swaying bough for rocking-chair,A hollow trunk for bed.And yet, for all this woodland joy,Who would not rather be a boy?”“Well, everyone to his taste,” remarked an odd-looking elf, who appeared suddenly from nowhere in particular. “For my part, I prefer to be just exactly what I am. Once a witch changed me into a boy for ten minutes, and I give you my word I never was so uncomfortable in my life.”“Are witcheshere?” cried Ann, as she fixed her big eyes on the elf.“Certainly,” said the elf and the Brownie briskly, in one breath. “Don’t you have witches up your way?”“Only at Hallowe’en,” Amos told them.The elf looked thoughtful. “Oh, at Hallowe’en,” he said. Then his eyes began to twinkle, and he spoke as follows:—“Suppose this year at Hallowe’en, without a bit of warning,The roly-poly pumpkin heads we cut and carved that morningShould grow slim bodies, legs, and feet,And quick, from post and steeple,Come skipping ’mongst us, pert and fleet,Real, frisky pumpkin people!Suppose that you and I had just completed one that minute,As day grew late, down by the gate, and set a candle in it,So that its eyes were deep and wide,Its mouth a grinning yellow,Then turn to find him at our side,A living pumpkin fellow?Suppose we ran with twinkling heels and met a throng advancing,Their teeth a-row, their eyes aglow, all whirling, pranking, prancing;Suppose they twirled us merrily,The whole dark landscape lighting—This Hallowe’en, I think, would beA little too exciting!”NOVEMBERXINOVEMBERSagittariusSagittariusThe next house stood just back from the street,In a gray little narrow lane.A table loaded with things to eatThey saw through the window-pane.A cozy old lady came out to the doorAnd said, “There is turkey in here,Potatoes and rice, and cake with spice,And no one to dine, oh, dear!”The next houseThe next house stood just back from the streetAmos and Ann looked at the Journeying Man. “It must be very hard on her, J. M.,” they said.“What’s hard on her?” returned J. M. “Having turkey and potatoes and all that?”Amos and Ann turned red. “Having no one to eat them,” they said in a low voice.It had been some hours since they left the gypsy camp, and they were beginning to be very hungry indeed.The little old lady stood at the door and waited.“We might help her out if there’s time,” J. M. said suddenly.“Oho!” cried Amos. “There’s plenty of that, you know, in Zodiac Town!”Two minutes later they were seated round the table.“It’s like Thanksgiving,” Ann said in delight.“Just think—” J. M. replied—“Just think, the little Pilgrim boysThat came ashore, you know,From off the good Mayflower shipThat wild day long ago,“They had no roasted turkey-breastFor dinner; not a scrapOf gravy, stuffing, and the restSaw any hungry chap.“No apple sauce, no pumpkin pies,No nuts and raisins plump,No oranges and gingersnaps,No taffy in a lump.“I’m glad that things are different now—’T would give me quite a shockTo see our dinner-table lookAs bare as Plymouth Rock.“And yet, those little Mayflower ladsWere thankful to be living—A splendid reason, after all,For anyone’s thanksgiving!”“I think I’m thankfulest of all,” Ann said—and a little clock tinkled and sent her into rhyming.“I think I’m thankfulest of allFor that old house of ours;The maple by the garden wall,The borders full of flowers;“The front doorsill that’s hollowed outBy many passing feet;The different pictures hung about,With faces kind and sweet.“The firewood’s flame is red and goldAnd makes a spicy smell;There’s nothing half so clear and coldAs water from our well;“And through the window, sleepy nights,Just at the stairway’s head,A white star like a candle lightsMe safely up to bed.“So brightly all my blessings shineThat many thanks I give—But mostly for that home of mineWhere I was put to live.”The old lady was delighted with all this rhyming, and on the spur of the moment she made up a very good rhyme of her own. Amos and Ann thought it was the best of all that they had heard that day—and goodness knows they had heard a great many!“Suppose you lived in a gingerbread house,With a roof of jujube paste,And sugar shutters, and peppermint pipes,And doors that you could taste;In a land where weather could do no harm,Absurd as that may seem,With chocolate ground and lemonade rainAnd plenty of snow ice-cream?“Plenty of snow ice-cream for you,And a soda-water pump,And a little garden where gumdrops grew,And taffy all in a lump.Taffy all in a lump, hurrah!And tarts and cookies and all.If ever you move to a house like that,I’ll make an early call!”DECEMBERXIIDECEMBERCapricornusCapricornusThe house of December was all aglow,Each room was jolly and red;There were bulgy stockings ranged in a row,And holly hung overhead.A silver star hung fair and far,A silver bell rang clear;And some Christmas children came out and cried,“Come in to the Christmas Cheer!”house of DecemberThe house of December was all aglowThe children had a glorious time at the December house. There was a beautiful tree there, all lighted and ready.“But we can’t take the things off, you know,” one Christmas child told Amos and Ann, “until somebody says a rhyme.”A clock chimed two a minute later, and caught Amos in the middle of a sentence, at the words, “it was.” So he went on and said:—“It was crammed and laden and bent with fruit,The tree that bore in a night;Rich with treasure from tip to root,A very goodly sight.Dim in the parlor’s gloom it showed,When a tiny gleam at the window glowed;When over the hills a rooster crowed,It thrilled through all its height.“A rubber doll on a distant limbStretched with a sleepy word;A little lead soldier answered him,And a big stuffed elephant stirred.A quiver flickered the pop-corn strings,Fluttered the tinsel angel’s wings,Tinkled the silver balls and things,Till all of the company heard.“A jack-in-the-box with a frisky eyeSuddenly jumped his lid,And a white-rag rabbit that hung close bySqueaked with fright when he did;A dog from London began to bark;The animals in the Noah’s arkStruggled and scuffled in the dark,Back in the branches hid.“The large French doll (she was very vain)Settled her silk and lace;The rocking horse of the tawny maneStruck up a gentle pace;And hither and thither the boughs among,Sampling the goodies, tooth and tongue,A mechanical monkey slid and swungWith agile monkey grace.“All was still when the children cameWith candle-stars adorning;Somebody heard and hissed a name,Whispered a sudden warning.Now don’t get curious, people, please.It’s generally known that things like theseOnly happen to Christmas treesQuite early Christmas morning.”“I like that poem, Amos,” said Ann, “though I must say I don’t know how you found out all that.” Then she asked the little Christmas girl to repeat a poem.“I know one about a different kind of Christmas tree,” the little girl said.“Not a prettier tree than this one here in the room—surely!” cried Amos and Ann.The Christmas child reflected. “Yes,” she said, “prettier, in a way, than this—because it was such a surprise. Listen.”Then she told them about it.“A little bird told a squirrel,And a squirrel told a jay,That a poor child lived in a cityNot very far away,Who never at any ChristmasHad a Christmas tree in her home;And the jay bird told a rabbit next,And the rabbit told a gnome.The gnome blew thrice on his fingersFor half a dozen elves,And he told them the sorrowful rumor,And he said, ‘Now stir yourselves!’“Then Tip and Twinkle and TonyAnd Pete and Chipper and ChaseHurried and scurried the whole day through,Till they’d put the tree in place.They trimmed it with moss and holly,And odd little colored stones,And seeds and chestnuts and apples,And feathers and leaves and cones.And icicles hung upon it,And crystals of snow gleamed white;And soon as the sun rose on it,It sparkled and flamed with light.Then two birds perched in the tree top,And half a dozen elvesClimbed gayly into the branchesAnd safely hid themselves.“And the little girl came to the window,And wide her shutters flew.She cried, ‘I dreamed of a Christmas tree,And here is my dream come true!’”Then the presents were taken from the Christmas tree and given round among the little girls and boys who were present.Just as the last gift was handed down, the last candles went suddenly out, and, at the same time, clocks began to strike all over the house.The Journeying Man picked up his stick. “Time to go to bed!” he cried.Amos and Ann were astonished. “To bed?” they repeated, unbelieving. “To bed, in Zodiac Town?”“No, in your own home,” replied J. M. “Come along, Amos and Ann!”And when they still held back, he gave them a funny little scolding all in rhyme, which pleased them so that they followed him out into the dusk with never a word!“It’s strange how things can differ so!Now, take two kinds of fruit—Banana chap and Orange—And watch each doff his suit.“Banana’s swift and nimble,His way is safe and slick;He gets out of his trouser-legWith a wiggle and a kick.“But Orange makes a big to-do;Indeed, it is distressingTo happen by quite suddenlyAnd see that lad undressing.“He clings to every single ragWith obstinacy and vim;It takes ten fingers and a willTo part his clothes from him.“And when he feels the poor clothes go,All raggedy and mussy,He sheds an acid tear or two,And keeps on being fussy.“It’s strange how things can differ so!To be quite frank and truthful,It isn’t only things, you know,But people, chiefly youthful,“Who show these different traits and tricksWhen bedtime hour comes duly—Banana-kind and Orange-kind;Now which kind are you, truly?”“Banana-kind!” cried Amos and Ann, as well as they could for laughter.“Don’t betooquick. Don’t be Grape-kind,” said the Journeying Man.“Grape-kind?” they echoed.“And jump out of your skins,” said J. M.At that Amos and Ann laughed so hard that they had to sit down on the ground. But all at once a clock began to strike fast and furiously. It had struck a hundred before the children could scramble to their feet.“Oh, how late it is!” they cried. “Take us home, J. M.!”It surely was late when they started home,But they took the trail with a laugh,Little Ann clinging to Amos’s coat,And Amos to J. M.’s staff.And through the meadows and over the hills,Happily up and down,With hurry and scurry and skip and hop,And talking in verse the live-long time,(For they’d got in the habit and couldn’t stop,)They traveled the scallopy road of Rhyme,The wandering road of much renownThat leads from Zodiac Town.They traveled on till they came in sightOf a couple of windows shining bright.Then J. M. stopped and held up his stick.“Yonder’s your house,” he said. “Be quick!I’ll count very slowly, but you must beAs far as the gate by twenty-three;And when I have counted twenty-fourYou must be inside the door.”“Come with us, do!” the children cried,But he only shook his head.“I can’t, for I am a Journeying Man,And I must be off,” he said.Then he started to count—and away at lastThey went on twinkling feet;Never did squirrels move more fast,Or rabbits run more fleet.And just as they touched the latch of the gate,They heard, far down in the hush,“Twenty-three!” as plain as could be;And they scurried through with a rush.There on the porch, its covers bent,The book with the poem lay.They picked it up as they fled through the door(Just as the voice called, “Twenty-four!”).“Why,thiswasn’t hard!” said they.They stared at the poem and hung their heads—“Why did we run away?”They said to each other, “It seems sometimesThere really is lots of good in rhymes.”“Perhaps it would be a very good planTo study them more,” said wise little Ann.And Amos answered: “I’m going to knowWhole pages up and down,Then find J. M., in a hurry, and goStraight back to Zodiac Town.”They fled upstairs like swift little hares,And burrowed into their beds,With numberless tunes and rhythms and runesA-ringing in their heads.And they dreamed all night of a scallopy roadAnd of clocks with a curious chime,And talked in their sleep—and every wordWas a rhyme, a rhyme, a rhyme!McGRATH-SHERRILL PRESSBOSTON, MASS.
scorpioScorpio
It was a queer October place—No house, you’d say, at all!A wide brown wood with leaves for a floor,And timbers straight and tall.The little creatures that lived in there—Fairies and furry things—Scurried away when the children came,With bashful scamperings.
October placeIt was a queer October place
As the travelers entered the woods, they heard funny little clicking sounds everywhere.
“It’s the sound a watch makes when you shut it,” Ann said.
“Maybe they have watches here instead of clocks,” remarked Amos.
“Not at all,” said a voice behind them. The voice came from a fat Brownie, who was sitting on a stone with his legs dangling. “They have clocks everywhere in Zodiac Town,” the Brownie resumed, “even out here in the suburbs. That noise is the Chestnut Chaps unbuckling their belts and throwing off their overcoats.”
The children looked as if they did not know whether he was serious or joking.
“It’s the honest truth,” said the Brownie. “Listen.
“Every little wing of wind,Every tilt of breeze,Stirs a sound of frolickingIn the tallest trees:Scuffling, shuffling, shouldering,Nudges, nips, and taps,Watch and wait a moment, child—It’s the Chestnut Chaps!
“Elbow crowding elbow hardIn their breeches brown,If one comrade takes a leap,Ten come bouncing down;When the crackle of a leafShakes one lad to laughter,Till he tumbles from his perch,Twenty tumble after.
“Frisky with the silver frost,Wild with windy weather,Half the autumn-tide they spendGiggling all together.Rough of coat but sweet of heart,Jolly, glad—perhapsNever finer fellows livedThan the Chestnut Chaps!”
As he finished, there came a series of clicks overhead, and seven Chestnut Chaps landed suddenly at the travelers’ very feet. As they fell, two gray squirrels darted out to the end of a limb, their tails jerking with excitement; but the Brownie waved them back.
“In this wood,” he said, “squirrels are not allowed to feed on chestnuts.” He turned to the squirrels,who were scowling at him from a high branch. “And you know that very well,” he added.
The squirrels merely looked sulky, and so the Brownie addressed himself to Amos. “What,” he asked, “is your candid opinion about the wood-folk, anyway?”
“The wood-folk?” Amos said. He had not known that he had any opinion about the wood-folk, but just then a clock struck four, and suddenly he formed an opinion on the spot.
“The wood-folk scamper to and fro;They have no tasks to do.It’s here and there and high and lowFor them, the whole day through;Up to the tops of highest trees,In holes and caves, and where they please.
“They have no clothes to guard with care,No shoes upon their feet,—For fur and feathers never tear,And claws are always neat,—No hooks to hook, no strings to tie.Small wonder that they skip and fly!
“The wood-folk frolic everywhere,With all the sky o’erhead,A swaying bough for rocking-chair,A hollow trunk for bed.And yet, for all this woodland joy,Who would not rather be a boy?”
“Well, everyone to his taste,” remarked an odd-looking elf, who appeared suddenly from nowhere in particular. “For my part, I prefer to be just exactly what I am. Once a witch changed me into a boy for ten minutes, and I give you my word I never was so uncomfortable in my life.”
“Are witcheshere?” cried Ann, as she fixed her big eyes on the elf.
“Certainly,” said the elf and the Brownie briskly, in one breath. “Don’t you have witches up your way?”
“Only at Hallowe’en,” Amos told them.
The elf looked thoughtful. “Oh, at Hallowe’en,” he said. Then his eyes began to twinkle, and he spoke as follows:—
“Suppose this year at Hallowe’en, without a bit of warning,The roly-poly pumpkin heads we cut and carved that morningShould grow slim bodies, legs, and feet,And quick, from post and steeple,Come skipping ’mongst us, pert and fleet,Real, frisky pumpkin people!Suppose that you and I had just completed one that minute,As day grew late, down by the gate, and set a candle in it,So that its eyes were deep and wide,Its mouth a grinning yellow,Then turn to find him at our side,A living pumpkin fellow?Suppose we ran with twinkling heels and met a throng advancing,Their teeth a-row, their eyes aglow, all whirling, pranking, prancing;Suppose they twirled us merrily,The whole dark landscape lighting—This Hallowe’en, I think, would beA little too exciting!”
SagittariusSagittarius
The next house stood just back from the street,In a gray little narrow lane.A table loaded with things to eatThey saw through the window-pane.A cozy old lady came out to the doorAnd said, “There is turkey in here,Potatoes and rice, and cake with spice,And no one to dine, oh, dear!”
The next houseThe next house stood just back from the street
Amos and Ann looked at the Journeying Man. “It must be very hard on her, J. M.,” they said.
“What’s hard on her?” returned J. M. “Having turkey and potatoes and all that?”
Amos and Ann turned red. “Having no one to eat them,” they said in a low voice.
It had been some hours since they left the gypsy camp, and they were beginning to be very hungry indeed.
The little old lady stood at the door and waited.
“We might help her out if there’s time,” J. M. said suddenly.
“Oho!” cried Amos. “There’s plenty of that, you know, in Zodiac Town!”
Two minutes later they were seated round the table.
“It’s like Thanksgiving,” Ann said in delight.
“Just think—” J. M. replied—
“Just think, the little Pilgrim boysThat came ashore, you know,From off the good Mayflower shipThat wild day long ago,
“They had no roasted turkey-breastFor dinner; not a scrapOf gravy, stuffing, and the restSaw any hungry chap.
“No apple sauce, no pumpkin pies,No nuts and raisins plump,No oranges and gingersnaps,No taffy in a lump.
“I’m glad that things are different now—’T would give me quite a shockTo see our dinner-table lookAs bare as Plymouth Rock.
“And yet, those little Mayflower ladsWere thankful to be living—A splendid reason, after all,For anyone’s thanksgiving!”
“I think I’m thankfulest of all,” Ann said—and a little clock tinkled and sent her into rhyming.
“I think I’m thankfulest of allFor that old house of ours;The maple by the garden wall,The borders full of flowers;
“The front doorsill that’s hollowed outBy many passing feet;The different pictures hung about,With faces kind and sweet.
“The firewood’s flame is red and goldAnd makes a spicy smell;There’s nothing half so clear and coldAs water from our well;
“And through the window, sleepy nights,Just at the stairway’s head,A white star like a candle lightsMe safely up to bed.
“So brightly all my blessings shineThat many thanks I give—But mostly for that home of mineWhere I was put to live.”
The old lady was delighted with all this rhyming, and on the spur of the moment she made up a very good rhyme of her own. Amos and Ann thought it was the best of all that they had heard that day—and goodness knows they had heard a great many!
“Suppose you lived in a gingerbread house,With a roof of jujube paste,And sugar shutters, and peppermint pipes,And doors that you could taste;In a land where weather could do no harm,Absurd as that may seem,With chocolate ground and lemonade rainAnd plenty of snow ice-cream?
“Plenty of snow ice-cream for you,And a soda-water pump,And a little garden where gumdrops grew,And taffy all in a lump.Taffy all in a lump, hurrah!And tarts and cookies and all.If ever you move to a house like that,I’ll make an early call!”
CapricornusCapricornus
The house of December was all aglow,Each room was jolly and red;There were bulgy stockings ranged in a row,And holly hung overhead.A silver star hung fair and far,A silver bell rang clear;And some Christmas children came out and cried,“Come in to the Christmas Cheer!”
house of DecemberThe house of December was all aglow
The children had a glorious time at the December house. There was a beautiful tree there, all lighted and ready.
“But we can’t take the things off, you know,” one Christmas child told Amos and Ann, “until somebody says a rhyme.”
A clock chimed two a minute later, and caught Amos in the middle of a sentence, at the words, “it was.” So he went on and said:—
“It was crammed and laden and bent with fruit,The tree that bore in a night;Rich with treasure from tip to root,A very goodly sight.Dim in the parlor’s gloom it showed,When a tiny gleam at the window glowed;When over the hills a rooster crowed,It thrilled through all its height.
“A rubber doll on a distant limbStretched with a sleepy word;A little lead soldier answered him,And a big stuffed elephant stirred.A quiver flickered the pop-corn strings,Fluttered the tinsel angel’s wings,Tinkled the silver balls and things,Till all of the company heard.
“A jack-in-the-box with a frisky eyeSuddenly jumped his lid,And a white-rag rabbit that hung close bySqueaked with fright when he did;A dog from London began to bark;The animals in the Noah’s arkStruggled and scuffled in the dark,Back in the branches hid.
“The large French doll (she was very vain)Settled her silk and lace;The rocking horse of the tawny maneStruck up a gentle pace;And hither and thither the boughs among,Sampling the goodies, tooth and tongue,A mechanical monkey slid and swungWith agile monkey grace.
“All was still when the children cameWith candle-stars adorning;Somebody heard and hissed a name,Whispered a sudden warning.Now don’t get curious, people, please.It’s generally known that things like theseOnly happen to Christmas treesQuite early Christmas morning.”
“I like that poem, Amos,” said Ann, “though I must say I don’t know how you found out all that.” Then she asked the little Christmas girl to repeat a poem.
“I know one about a different kind of Christmas tree,” the little girl said.
“Not a prettier tree than this one here in the room—surely!” cried Amos and Ann.
The Christmas child reflected. “Yes,” she said, “prettier, in a way, than this—because it was such a surprise. Listen.”
Then she told them about it.
“A little bird told a squirrel,And a squirrel told a jay,That a poor child lived in a cityNot very far away,Who never at any ChristmasHad a Christmas tree in her home;And the jay bird told a rabbit next,And the rabbit told a gnome.The gnome blew thrice on his fingersFor half a dozen elves,And he told them the sorrowful rumor,And he said, ‘Now stir yourselves!’
“Then Tip and Twinkle and TonyAnd Pete and Chipper and ChaseHurried and scurried the whole day through,Till they’d put the tree in place.They trimmed it with moss and holly,And odd little colored stones,And seeds and chestnuts and apples,And feathers and leaves and cones.And icicles hung upon it,And crystals of snow gleamed white;And soon as the sun rose on it,It sparkled and flamed with light.Then two birds perched in the tree top,And half a dozen elvesClimbed gayly into the branchesAnd safely hid themselves.
“And the little girl came to the window,And wide her shutters flew.She cried, ‘I dreamed of a Christmas tree,And here is my dream come true!’”
Then the presents were taken from the Christmas tree and given round among the little girls and boys who were present.
Just as the last gift was handed down, the last candles went suddenly out, and, at the same time, clocks began to strike all over the house.
The Journeying Man picked up his stick. “Time to go to bed!” he cried.
Amos and Ann were astonished. “To bed?” they repeated, unbelieving. “To bed, in Zodiac Town?”
“No, in your own home,” replied J. M. “Come along, Amos and Ann!”
And when they still held back, he gave them a funny little scolding all in rhyme, which pleased them so that they followed him out into the dusk with never a word!
“It’s strange how things can differ so!Now, take two kinds of fruit—Banana chap and Orange—And watch each doff his suit.
“Banana’s swift and nimble,His way is safe and slick;He gets out of his trouser-legWith a wiggle and a kick.
“But Orange makes a big to-do;Indeed, it is distressingTo happen by quite suddenlyAnd see that lad undressing.
“He clings to every single ragWith obstinacy and vim;It takes ten fingers and a willTo part his clothes from him.
“And when he feels the poor clothes go,All raggedy and mussy,He sheds an acid tear or two,And keeps on being fussy.
“It’s strange how things can differ so!To be quite frank and truthful,It isn’t only things, you know,But people, chiefly youthful,
“Who show these different traits and tricksWhen bedtime hour comes duly—Banana-kind and Orange-kind;Now which kind are you, truly?”
“Banana-kind!” cried Amos and Ann, as well as they could for laughter.
“Don’t betooquick. Don’t be Grape-kind,” said the Journeying Man.
“Grape-kind?” they echoed.
“And jump out of your skins,” said J. M.
At that Amos and Ann laughed so hard that they had to sit down on the ground. But all at once a clock began to strike fast and furiously. It had struck a hundred before the children could scramble to their feet.
“Oh, how late it is!” they cried. “Take us home, J. M.!”
It surely was late when they started home,But they took the trail with a laugh,Little Ann clinging to Amos’s coat,And Amos to J. M.’s staff.And through the meadows and over the hills,Happily up and down,
With hurry and scurry and skip and hop,And talking in verse the live-long time,(For they’d got in the habit and couldn’t stop,)They traveled the scallopy road of Rhyme,The wandering road of much renownThat leads from Zodiac Town.
They traveled on till they came in sightOf a couple of windows shining bright.Then J. M. stopped and held up his stick.“Yonder’s your house,” he said. “Be quick!I’ll count very slowly, but you must beAs far as the gate by twenty-three;And when I have counted twenty-fourYou must be inside the door.”
“Come with us, do!” the children cried,But he only shook his head.“I can’t, for I am a Journeying Man,And I must be off,” he said.
Then he started to count—and away at lastThey went on twinkling feet;Never did squirrels move more fast,Or rabbits run more fleet.And just as they touched the latch of the gate,They heard, far down in the hush,“Twenty-three!” as plain as could be;And they scurried through with a rush.
There on the porch, its covers bent,The book with the poem lay.They picked it up as they fled through the door(Just as the voice called, “Twenty-four!”).“Why,thiswasn’t hard!” said they.They stared at the poem and hung their heads—“Why did we run away?”They said to each other, “It seems sometimesThere really is lots of good in rhymes.”
“Perhaps it would be a very good planTo study them more,” said wise little Ann.
And Amos answered: “I’m going to knowWhole pages up and down,Then find J. M., in a hurry, and goStraight back to Zodiac Town.”
They fled upstairs like swift little hares,And burrowed into their beds,With numberless tunes and rhythms and runesA-ringing in their heads.And they dreamed all night of a scallopy roadAnd of clocks with a curious chime,And talked in their sleep—and every wordWas a rhyme, a rhyme, a rhyme!
McGRATH-SHERRILL PRESSBOSTON, MASS.