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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“The little girl went to the Jumping-Off Place and looked over, the old man holding her hand.
“‘Why, I see the moon shining down there,’ she said. She was glad to see so familiar a face.
“The old man laughed. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘the moon is very fond of shining down there, and it runs away from the sun every chance it gets, and hunts up the darkest places, so that it may shine there undisturbed. To-day it is shining down there where the sun can’t see it, but to-night it will creep up here, when the sun goes away, and shine the whole night through.’
“Turning back, the old man and the little girl came again to the Well at the End of the World. The old woman was sitting there, combing her long white hair. This time she looked hard at the little girl and smiled, singing:—
“But the old man shook his head. ‘We have not come here for nothing, Sister Jane,’ he said. With that he took a small vial, tied a long string to it, and let it down the well. He fished about until the vial was full of water, drew it to the top, and corked it tightly. The water sparkled in the sun as if it were full of small diamonds. Then he placed it carefully in his pocket, bowed politely to the old woman, who was still combing her long, white hair, and, smiling, lifted the little girl to his back, and returned along the road they had come, past the Thunder’s house and down the mountain side, until they reached the little girl’s home. Then he took the vial of sparkling water from his pocket. ‘Take it,’ he said, ‘and wherever you go keep it with you. Touch a drop of it to your forehead when Friday is the thirteenth day of a month, and you will grow up to be both wise and beautiful. When you are in trouble, turn the vial upside down—so—and hold it in that position while you count twenty-six, and some of your friends will come to your aid.’
“The little girl thanked the old man as politely as she knew how.
“‘Do you know why I have carried you to the Thunder’s house and to the Jumping-Off Place, and why I have given you a vial of this rare water?’ The little girl shook her head. ‘Well, one day, not long ago, you were sitting by the roadside with some of your companions. You were all eating cake. A beggar came along and asked for a piece. You alone gave him any, and you gave him all you had.’
“‘Were you the beggar?’ asked the little girl, smiling and blushing.
“‘That I leave you to guess,’ replied the old man. He kissed the little girl’s hand, and was soon hid from sight by a turn in the road.”
Mr. Thimblefinger stopped short here, and waited to see what the children would say. They had listened attentively, but they manifested no very great interest.
“I reckon they think there is more talk than tale in what you have told,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, leaning back in his chair. “That’s the way it appeared to me.”
“Well, I’ll not say that I have come to the end of my story,” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, with some show of dignity, “but I have come to the part where we can rest awhile, so as to give Mr. Rabbit a chance to see if he can do any better. We’ll allow the little girl to grow some, just as she does in the story.”
THE BLUE HEN’S CHICKEN.
“I’m not much of a story-teller,” said Mr. Rabbit, “and I never set up for one, but I will say that I like the rough-and-tumble tales a great deal better than I do the kind where some great somebody is always coming in with conjurings and other carryings-on. It’s on account of my raising, I reckon.”
“Well, stories can’t be all alike,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “You might as well expect a fiddle to play one tune.”
“Tell us the kind of story you like best,” said Buster John to Mr. Rabbit.
“No, not now,” responded Mr. Rabbit. “I’ll do that some other time. I happened to think just now of a little circumstance that I used to hear mentioned when I was younger.
“In the country next door there used to be a great many chickens. Some were of the barnyard breed, some were of the kind they call game, some were black, some were white, some were brown, some were speckled, and some had their feathers curled the wrong way. Among all these there was one whose name, as well as I can remember, was Mrs. Blue Hen.”
“Was she really blue?” Sweetest Susan inquired.
“Well, not an indigo blue,” replied Mr. Rabbit, after reflecting a moment, “nor yet a sky blue. She was just a plain, dull, every-day blue. But, such as she was, she was very fine. She belonged to one of the first families and moved in the very best circles. She was trim-looking, so I’ve heard said, and, as she grew older, came to have a very bad temper, so much so that she used to fly at a hawk if he came near her premises. Some of her neighbors used to whisper it around that she tried to crow like a rooster, but this was after she had grown old and hard-headed.
“When Mrs. Blue Hen was growing up, she was very nice and particular. She couldn’t bear to get water on her feet, and she was always shaking the dust from her clothes. Some said she was finicky, and some said she was nervous. Once, when she fanned out little Billy Bantam, who called on her one day, a great many of her acquaintances said she would never settle down and make a good housekeeper.
“But after awhile Mrs. Blue Hen concluded that it was about time for her to have a family of her own, so she went away off from the other chickens and made her a nest in the middle of a thick briar patch. She made her a nest there and laid an egg. It was new and white, and Mrs. Blue Hen was very proud of it. She was so proud, in fact, that, although she had made up her mind to make no fuss over it, she went running and cackling toward the house, just as any common hen would do. She made so much fuss that away down in the branch Mr. Willy Weasel winked at Miss Mimy Mink.
“‘Do you hear that?’ says he.
“‘I never heard anything plainer in my life,’ says she.
“Mrs. Blue Hen was so proud of her new, white egg that she went back after awhile to look at it. There it was, shining white in the grass. She covered it up and hid it as well as she could, and then she went about getting dinner ready.
“The next morning she went to the nest and laid another egg just like the first one. This happened for three mornings; but on the fourth morning, when Mrs. Blue Hen went back, she found four eggs in the nest, and all four appeared to be dingy and muddy looking. She was very much astonished and alarmed, as well she might be, for here right before her eyes she saw four eggs, when she knew in reason that there should be but three; and not only that, they were all dingy and dirty.
“Mrs. Blue Hen was so excited that she took off her bonnet and began to fan herself. Then she wondered whether she had not made a miscount; whether she had not really laid four instead of three eggs. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. She hung her bonnet on a blackberry bush and tried to count off the days on her toes. She began to count,—’One, two, three,’—and she would have stopped there, but she couldn’t. She had four toes on her foot, and she was compelled to count them all. There was a toe on the foot for every egg in the nest.
“This caused Mrs. Blue Hen to feel somewhat more comfortable in mind and body, but she was left in such a hysterical state that she went off cackling nervously, and postponed laying an egg until late in the afternoon. After that there were five in the nest, and she kept on laying until there were ten altogether. Then Mrs. Blue Hen rumpled up her feathers and got mad with herself, and went to setting. I reckon that’s what you call it. I’ve heard some call it ‘setting’ and others ‘sitting.’ Once, when I was courting, I spoke of a sitting hen, but the young lady said I was too prissy for anything.”
“What is prissy?” asked Sweetest Susan.
Mr. Rabbit shut his eyes and scratched his ear. Then he shook his head slowly.
“It’s nothing but a girl’s word,” remarked Mrs. Meadows by way of explanation. “It means that somebody’s trying hard to show off.”
“I reckon that’s so,” said Mr. Rabbit, opening his eyes. He appeared to be much relieved. “Well, Mrs. Blue Hen got mad and went to setting. She was in a snug place and nobody bothered her. It was such a quiet place that she could hear Mr. Willy Weasel and Miss Mimy Mink gossiping in the calamus bushes, and she could hear Mrs. Puddle Duck wading in the branch. One day Mrs. Puddle Duck made so bold as to push her way through the briars and look in upon Mrs. Blue Hen. But her visit was not relished. Mrs. Blue Hen rumpled her feathers up and spread out her tail to such a degree and squalled out such a harsh protest that Mrs. Puddle Duck was glad to waddle off with whole bones. But when she got back to the branch she spluttered about a good deal, crying out:
“‘Aha! aha! quack, quack! Aha! You are there, are you? Aha! you’ll have trouble before you get away. Aha!’
“Now the fact was that Mrs. Puddle Duck was the very one that had caused Mrs. Blue Hen all the trouble,” said Mr. Rabbit, nodding his head solemnly. “While wading in the branch, Mrs. Puddle Duck had seen Mrs. Blue Hen going to her nest for three days, slipping and creeping through the weeds and bushes, and she wanted to know what all the slipping and creeping was about. So, on the third day Mrs. Puddle Duck did some slipping and creeping on her own account. She crept up close enough to see Mrs. Blue Hen on her nest, and she was near enough to see Mrs. Blue Hen when she ran away cackling.
“Then Mrs. Puddle Duck waddled up and peeped in the nest. There she saw three eggs as white and as smooth as ivory, and the sight filled her with jealousy. She began to talk to herself:—
“‘I knew she must be mighty proud, the stuck-up thing! I can see that by the way she steps around here. Quack, quack! and I’ll just show her a thing or two.’
“Then and there Mrs. Puddle Duck, all muddy as she was, got in Mrs. Blue Hen’s nest and sat on her beautiful white eggs and soiled them. And even that was not all. Out of pure spite Mrs. Puddle Duck laid one of her own dingy-looking eggs in Mrs. Blue Hen’s nest, and that was the cause of all the trouble. That was the reason Mrs. Blue Hen found four dingy eggs in her nest when there ought to have been three
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