Mr. Rabbit at Home by Joel Chandler Harris (feel good books to read .txt) 📕
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- Author: Joel Chandler Harris
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“So I went, taking good care to go galloping by Brother Fox’s house. He was sitting on his front porch, and I could see he was astonished, but I neither said howdy nor turned my head. I knew he would follow along after.
“When I got to Brother Lion’s house everything was very quiet, but I knew Brother Lion was awake, for I heard him groan every time he tried to turn over. So I rapped at the door and then walked in. Brother Lion watched me from under his tousled mane for some time before he said anything. Then he says, says he:—
“‘What’s this I hear?’
“Says I, ‘Not having your ears, I can’t say.’
“‘My ears are as good as anybody’s ears,’ says he.
“‘But I can’t hear through them,’ says I.
“He grunted and grumbled a little over this, because he didn’t know what reply to make.
“‘You haven’t been to see me until now,’ says he.
“‘No,’ says I; ‘I knew you were pretty bad off, and so I had no need to come and ask you how you were. I knew I was partly to blame in the matter, and so I went off to see if I couldn’t find a cure for you.’
“Says he, ‘Don’t talk about cures. Everybody that has come to see me has a cure. I’ve tried ’em all, and now I’m worse off than I was at first.’
“Says I, ‘I could have come as often as Brother Fox did, and my coming would have done you just as much good.’
“‘I don’t know about that,’ says he. ‘Brother Fox has been mighty neighborly. He has lost sleep on my account, and he has told me a great many things that I didn’t know before.’
“‘Likely enough,’ says I. ‘I’ve known him to tell people a great many things that he didn’t know himself. But Brother Fox,’ says I, ‘was the least of all things in my mind when I found out that you had been scalded by water that was not more than milk-warm. I didn’t need to be told that when milk-warm water scalds the hair off of anybody, something else is the matter beside the scalding.’
“At this Brother Lion seemed to quiet down a little. He didn’t talk so loud, and he began to show the whites of his eyes.
“‘Yes,’ says I, ‘Brother Fox is famous for talking behind the door, but I’ve noticed that he never says anything nice about anybody. You know what he’s said about me, but do you know what he’s said about you? Of course you don’t, and I’m not going to tell you, because I don’t want you to be worried.’
“‘But I’d like to know,’ says Brother Lion, says he.
“‘It wouldn’t do you any good,’ says I. ‘I could have come here and jowered and made a good deal of trouble, but instead of that I knew of an old friend of mine who knows how to cure hot burns and cold burns, and so I’ve been off on a long trip to see the witch doctor, old Mammy-Bammy Big Money.’
“‘And did you see her?’ says Brother Lion, says he.
“‘I most certainly did,’ says I, ‘and furthermore I laid the whole case before her. I had to travel far and wide to find her, but when I did find her I asked her to tell me what was good for a person who had been scalded by milk-warm water. She asked me three times the name of the person, and three times I told her. Then she lit a pine splinter, blew it out, and watched the smoke scatter. There was something wrong, for she shook her head three times.’
“‘What did Mammy-Bammy Big Money say?’ says Brother Lion, says he. His voice sounded very weak.
“‘She said nothing,’ says I. ‘She watched the smoke scatter, and then she put her hands before her face and rocked from side to side. After that she walked back and forth, and when she sat down again she took off her left slipper, shook out the gravel, and counted it as it fell. Once more she asked me the name of the person who had been scalded in milk-warm water, and once more I told her.’
“‘Wait!’ says Brother Lion, says he. ‘Do you mean to tell me the water I fell in was only milk-warm?’
“Says I, ‘It seemed so to me. I had just washed my face and hands in it.’
“‘Well, well, well!’ says Brother Lion. ‘What else did she say?’ says he.
“‘I don’t like to tell you,’ says I; and just about that time Brother Fox walked in.
“‘But you must tell me,’ says Brother Lion, says he.
“‘Well,’ says I, ‘if I must I will, but I don’t like to. When Mammy-Bammy Big Money had counted the white pebbles that fell from her slipper, and asked me the name of the person who was scalded in milk-warm water, she told me that he could be cured by poulticing the burns with the fresh hide of his best friend. I asked her the name of this friend, but she shook her head and said she would call no names. Then she said that your best friend had short ears, a sharp nose, keen eyes, slim legs, and a bushy tail.’
“Brother Lion shut his eyes and pretended to be thinking. I looked at Brother Fox as solemnly as I knew how, and shook my head slowly. Brother Fox got mighty restless. He got up and walked around.
“‘Well, well, well!’ says Brother Lion, says he. ‘That might mean Brother Wolf, or it might mean Brother Fox.’
“‘I expect it means Brother Wolf,’ says Brother Fox.
“‘Why, you don’t mean to stand up here and say right before Brother Lion’s face and eyes that Brother Wolf is a better friend to him than you are!’ says I.
“Brother Fox’s mouth fell open and his tongue hung out, and just about that time I made my best bow, and put out for home.”
“But did Brother Lion try the remedy?” Buster John inquired, as Mr. Rabbit paused and began to light his pipe.
“I think Brother Lion caught him and skinned him. It’s a great pity if he didn’t. But I’ll not be certain. So many things have happened since then that I disremember about the hide business. But you may be sure Brother Lion was very superstitious. My best opinion is that he tried the cure.”
A MOUNTAIN OF GOLD.
“That is a funny name for a witch,” said Buster John, as Rabbit paused and began to nod.
“Which name was that?” inquired Mr. Thimblefinger.
“Why, Mammy-Bammy Big Money,” replied Buster John, elevating his voice a little.
“Well, it’s very simple,” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger. “‘Mammy-Bammy’ was to catch the ear of the animals, and ‘Big Money’ was to attract the attention of the people.”
“Dat’s so,” said Drusilla. “Kaze time you say ‘money’ folks’ll stop der work an’ lissen at you; an’ ef you say ‘Big Money’ dey’ll ax you ter say it agin’.”
“It’s very curious about money,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger. “I don’t know whether you ever thought about it much—and I hope you haven’t—but it has pestered me a good deal, this thing you call money.”
“It’s mighty bothersome,” assented Mrs. Meadows, “when you are where people use it, and when you have none except what you can beg or borrow. Thank goodness! I’m free from all bother now.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “I don’t see that people have much the advantage of the animals when it comes to using money. I’ve seen grown people work night and day for a few pieces of metal.”
“Why, of course!” cried Buster John. “They can take the pieces of metal and buy bread and meat to eat and clothes to wear.”
“So much the more wonderful!” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger. “What do the people who have more bread and meat and clothes than they can use want with the pieces of metal?”
“So they may buy something else that they haven’t got,” said Buster John.
But Mr. Thimblefinger shook his head. He was not satisfied.
“It puts me in mind of a tale I heard once about a poor man who was the richest person in the world.”
“But that couldn’t be, you know,” protested Buster John.
“Anyhow, that’s the way it seemed to me in the story,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “But the story is so old-fashioned it would hardly pass muster now. Besides, they tell me that, as there’s not enough metal to go round, people have begun to make up their minds that pieces of paper with pictures on them are just as good as the metal, and perhaps better. It’s mighty funny to me.”
“What was the story?” asked Sweetest Susan. “Please tell us about it.”
“Why, yes,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “tell us about it. If calamus root passes current with some of my acquaintances and catnip with others, I see no reason why people shouldn’t play make-believe among themselves, and say that pieces of metal and pieces of paper are worth something. In this business people have a great advantage over us. They can put figures on their pieces of metal and paper and make them worth anything, but with us a joint of calamus root is worth just so much. It has been worth that since the year one, and it will be worth that right on to the end of things. Just so with a twist of catnip. But tell us the story—tell us the story. I may drop off to sleep, but if I do, that will be no sign that the tale isn’t interesting.”
“Well,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “once upon a time there was a country in which money became very scarce. The people had a great deal, but they hid it in their stockings and in the chinks of the chimneys and in their teapots. The reason of this was that other countries close at hand made their money out of the same kind of metal, and they’d bring their goods in and sell them and carry the money off home with them.
“Of course this helped to make money scarce, and the scarcer it was the more the people clung to it, and this made it still scarcer. Naturally everybody kept an eye out in the hope of finding a supply of this metal.”
“What sort of metal was it?” asked Buster John.
“Gold,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger.
“Oh!” exclaimed Buster John, in a disappointed tone.
“Yes,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger, “nothing in the world but gold. Those who had money held on to it as long as they could, because they didn’t know how much scarcer it would be, and those who didn’t have any were willing to sell whatever they had for any price in order to get some.
“It was lots worse than playing dolls—lots worse. When children play make-believe with dolls, they soon forget about it; but when grown people begin to play make-believe with money, they never get over it. The wisest men get their heads turned when they begin to think and talk about money. They have forgotten that it was all a make-believe in the beginning.”
Here Mr. Rabbit yawned and said: “You’ll have to excuse me if I nod a little here.”
“Yes,” remarked Mrs. Meadows, “I feel a little sleepy myself, but I’ll try to keep awake for the sake of appearances.”
“Don’t mind me,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, with
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