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THE SECOND MOON STORY
MR. 'POSSUM HAS SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT THE MOON WHICH SHEDS NEW LIGHT ON THE SUBJECT
This is the story told by Mr. 'Possum when he and Mr. 'Coon and Jack Rabbit sat on the edge of the world and hung their feet over and looked at the moon: —
"Well," said Mr. 'Possum, "a good many years ago, when there were a great many more chickens than there are now, and Mr. Man took good care of them for us and let them roost in trees instead of locking them up every night in an unhealthy little pen, my folks used to go around sometimes after Mr. Man had gone to bed, and look them over and pick out what they wanted for the next day.
"I don't know why we ever began the custom of picking out our victuals at night that way, when it was dark and dangerous, but somehow we always did it, and have kept it up ever since."
"Humph!" said the 'Coon.
"Yes," continued Mr. 'Possum, "that was before there was any moon, and the nights were always dark. It wasn't a good time to choose food, and very often my folks made a mistake and got a seven-year-old bantam hen instead of a spring pullet, which is about the same size.
"This happened so much that by and by a very wise 'Possum, named Smoothe, said that if they would keep him in chickens of a youthful and tender sort he would fix up a light, so they could see and know what they were doing. They all agreed to do it, and that night Smoothe built a big fire in the top of a tall tree and sat up there and 'tended to it until nearly morning, and my folks brought home the finest lot of chickens that Mr. Man had raised for them in a good many years.
"Well, there was never any trouble after that to pick out young meat, and Smoothe kept the fire going nights and ate a good deal and got pretty fat, so that he didn't like to work, and kept planning some way to make his job easier. He wanted to find a light that he wouldn't have to 'tend to and keep piling wood on all night. He thought about this for a long time, and used to fall asleep and dream about it, and once he let the fire go out, and fell out of the tree and nearly gave up his job altogether.
"Well, while he was getting well he had a good deal of company, and one day a top-knot crow named Dusk came to see him. Now, you know that our friend Mr. Crow is a wise bird to-day, but in the old times a top-knot crow was wiser than anything that now flies or walks, and Dusk was a very old bird. He knew a great deal about Mr. Man and his ways, and he told Smoothe that he had seen in Mr. Man's pantry, where he went sometimes, a light that would not go out during a whole night, and that had a big bright something behind it that would throw the light in any direction. Dusk, who used to carry off almost everything he saw, whether he wanted it or not, said that he thought he might carry this light off if Smoothe would be willing to let him have a few chickens for a party he was going to give.
"Smoothe told him he might take his pick out of his share of the chickens for the next six months if he would only bring that light, and Dusk didn't waste any time, but brought it the very next evening.
"It was a beautiful light, and Smoothe fastened it to the tip top of the tall tree, so that it would swing in any direction, and the bright round thing behind it threw the light just where he wanted it. It burned oil, and he used to fill it up with chicken oil in the evening and it would burn all night and make a better light than the fire ever did. So all he had to do was to keep it filled and turned in the direction that my folks were harvesting their chicken crop, and then he could go to bed and sleep all night if he wanted to.
"And that's just what he did do. And one night while he was asleep there came up a terrible storm. Of course, if Smoothe had been awake he would have taken the light down; but he wasn't awake, and the first he knew he heard broken limbs falling and crashing all around, and he jumped up and ran out just in time to see the tip top of the lamp tree break off, lamp and all, and go whirling round and round, right straight up in the air till it got to the sky, and there it stuck fast. It never went out, either, but kept on turning round and round and giving light in different directions at different times in the month.
"And that," said Mr. 'Possum, "is the moon. And you don't always see it because sometimes the bright reflecting thing is turned in the other direction. And when it's turned part way round you see part of it, and it's always been so ever since that night Smoothe went to sleep and the storm came up and carried it off."
"Humph!" said the 'Coon.
"What makes those spots on it, then?" said the Rabbit.
"Why," said Mr. 'Possum, thinking as quick as he could, "those – those are – are some leaves that blew against the reflecting thing and stayed there."
"Nonsense!" said the Rabbit.
ON THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
MR. RABBIT HAS SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT THE MOON, DURING WHICH HE EXPLAINS THE SPOTS ON IT
This is the story that Mr. Jack Rabbit told to Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum when they sat together on the edge of the world and hung their feet over and looked at the moon. After Mr. 'Possum had finished his story, the Rabbit leaned back and swung his feet over the Big Nowhere awhile, thinking. Then he began.
"Well," he said, "my folks used to live in the moon."
"Humph!" said the 'Coon.
"Nonsense!" said the 'Possum.
"Yes," said Jack Rabbit, "they did. The moon is a world, away over on the other side of the Big Nowhere, and it doesn't stand still and stay top side up like this world, but keeps moving about and turning over, so that you have to look sharp and hang on tight to keep from falling off when it tips bottom side up, or is standing on its edge as it is to-night. My folks used to live there and Mr. Dog's folks used to live there, too. That was a long time ago, before Mr. Dog ever went to live with Mr. Man, and he was big and savage and had no more manners than he has now.
"My folks never could and never did get along with Mr. Dog's folks worth a cent, but they could mostly beat Mr. Dog's folks running, so they didn't have to associate with him unless they wanted to."
"Of course Mr. Dog's family didn't like that, for they thought they were just as good as we were, and they used to hide and watch for us, and when we came by jump out and try to keep up with us for as much as two or three miles sometimes, just as Mr. Dog tried to keep up with me the other day, which you may remember."
The 'Possum and 'Coon grinned to themselves and nodded.
"Well," continued Mr. Rabbit, "there are some laws of etiquette – which means politeness – up there in the Moon, and they are very strict. The Old Man in the Moon makes these laws, and when one of them is broken he makes the one that breaks it just go right on doing whatever it is for nine hundred and ninety-nine years, and sometimes a good deal longer when it's a worse break than usual.
"Now the very strictest of all these laws used to be the one about Mr. Dog trying to keep up with our folks. It was called the 'Brush Pile law.' It didn't say that he couldn't keep up with us if he was able, but it did say that when we ran behind a brush pile, as we did sometimes, he must follow around the brush pile and never jump over it, no matter what happened. This was a hard law for Mr. Dog to keep, for he was mostly fat and excitable, and my folks would run around and around a brush pile, as much as a hundred times very often, and tire Mr. Dog so that he couldn't move. Then my folks would laugh and go home leisurely, while Mr. Dog would sneak off with his tongue hanging out till it dragged on the ground."
"Well, one day in the spring, when my family was out for an airing and a little sunshine, they got a good ways from home, and all of a sudden here comes Mr. Dog and his whole family, too. My folks didn't want anything to do with them, and set out for home in several directions, with Mr. Dog's folks following most all of them. My twenty-first great-great-grandfather was getting pretty old and couldn't run very fast, and there was a young, anxious looking dog named Leap quite close behind him. So the first brush pile he came to my relative paused and when Leap came around one way he went the other, and they kept that up until Leap got so mad and excited and worn out that he didn't care for the 'Brush Pile law' or anything else except my twenty-first great-great-grandfather, and all of a sudden he gave a great big bark and a high jump right straight over the top of the brush pile, and just that second the moon tipped up on its edge and all my folks and all Mr. Dog's folks came tumbling right down through the Big Nowhere to the earth, because they were all running and not holding on – all except Leap, who stayed right up in the air, according to law, and he has been there ever since.
"And when my folks and Mr. Dog's folks got down to the earth they were all so scared that my folks ran in one direction and Mr. Dog's folks ran in another. The dog family kept on running till they got to Mr. Man's house, and there they hid and stayed."
"And since that day," concluded Mr. Jack Rabbit, "there has never been any of our family in the moon, and Leap is the only dog there. He's still jumping over the brush pile because he broke the law, and you can see him there any clear night when the moon sits up on its edge as it does now. And that's what those spots are – a dog jumping over a brush pile. It's just as plain as can be."
The 'Possum and the 'Coon looked up at the full moon and said that the spots certainly did look a good deal like Mr. Dog jumping over a brush pile, but that the Rabbit couldn't prove his story any more than they could prove theirs, and that it wasn't any better story, if it was as good.
"Of course I can prove it," said the Rabbit. "There is an old adage about it, and you can prove anything by an old adage. It goes this way: —
"The longest way is often best —
Never jump over a cuckoo's nest.
"I don't know just why it says 'cuckoo's nest,' but I suppose cuckoos always used to build in brush piles in the moon, and maybe they do yet. Anyhow it proves it."
"Why, yes," said the 'Coon. "Sure enough!"
"That's so! It does!" said the 'Possum.
THE FIRST PIG STORY
MR. CROW SPENDS A SOCIAL EVENING WITH MR. DOG
Once upon a time, said the Story Teller, when the Old Black Crow was visiting Mr. Dog —
"Was that the night that Mr. Rabbit and the rest told their moon stories?" interrupted the Little Lady.
The very same night, and the Crow and Mr. Dog got to telling stories, too.
They told pig stories because they both knew a good deal about pigs, and Mr. Dog, being in his own house, let the Crow tell first. Mr. Crow said he was going to tell a true story, so he lit his pipe and began this way: —
MR. CROW'S STORY OF THE LITTLE PIG
Well, said Mr. Crow, there was once a lot of little pigs that lived in a large pen with the big mother pig and were very fat and happy – all but one.
This poor little fellow was what is called a runt pig, because he was not nearly so big as the others, nor so strong. They crowded him away at dinner time, so that he barely got enough to live on, and stayed small and thin, while the others grew every day fatter and fatter.
At last the little runt pig made up his mind that he would run away and be a wild pig such as he had heard his brothers and sisters talk about sometimes after supper.
He thought about it a good deal, and one morning bright and early he started. Being so little, he squeezed through a small hole in the back of the pen, and then ran away very fast, without stopping to look behind. He ran and ran, straight across the barnyard, where there were some chickens scratching, and out into a big field. When he got so tired that he could go no further he stopped for a little, and then ran on again.
He had to go a long way, but by and by he saw a lot of trees, and said, "Oh, here's the woods! Now I'll be a wild pig!" So he squeezed between two boards that made a crack in the fence, and under the trees he saw a lot of ripe peaches and apples, for he was in a big orchard.
It was just peach time, and the little pig was very hungry.
So he ate and ate, first a lot of peaches, and then a lot of apples; then a lot more peaches, and then a good many more apples. Then he picked out only the ripest and finest apples and peaches as he came to them, and ate and kept on eating until he had pains in his stomach and began squealing for his mother.
"Oh, oh, oh!" he squealed. "I am going right home!" But when he came to the fence he had eaten so much fruit that he could not get through the crack again and stuck fast half way. Then he squealed louder than ever, and pretty soon somebody said: —
"Why, here's a little pig fast in the fence!" And Mr. Man came through the orchard and took hold of the little pig's hind legs and pressed the boards apart so's not to hurt him.
"Whose pig are you, I want to know?" he said as he pulled him out.
Then Mr. Man took the little pig under his arm and went back through the orchard with him to his house.
"Here's a little runt pig I found stuck fast in our fence," he said to Mrs. Man when he got there. "He's eaten too many apples and peaches, I should think, by the way he looks and squeals."
Then he fixed up a nice box for him, with clean straw in it, and gave him some warm milk in a pan. By and by the little pig went to sleep.
Every day Mr. Man and his wife brought him nice things to eat, and soon the little pig grew so fat that they had to put him in a larger pen. Then they fed him still more, and, being all alone, he ate just as much as he wanted. So he grew and grew, fatter and fatter, and every few weeks they had to put him in a larger pen, until people came from all over the country to see what a beautiful large pig he was. Then by and by there was a fair where all the fine pigs were taken for show, and Mr. Man and Mrs. Man and the little runt pig all went to the fair, but the little pig wasn't a little runt pig any more, for he took the first prize for being the largest and finest pig at the fair.
THE SECOND PIG STORY
MR. DOG TELLS OF ANOTHER RUNAWAY WHO HAS A STRANGE ADVENTURE
When Mr. Crow had finished the story about the little runt pig Mr. Dog nodded and said that was a good story and that he knew the mate to it. So then he filled up his pipe, too, and lit it and leaned back and told the story about
CURLY, THE RUNAWAY
"This," said Mr. Dog, "is the story of a saucy pig – a saucy, fat pig, with a curly tail. He wasn't good to his brothers and sisters, and was greedy, and not very clean, either, because he wouldn't wear his bib at the table, and often grabbed things and tipped them over, instead of being polite and taking what his mother put on his plate.
"Besides this, the saucy pig, who was called Curly, used to boast of how strong he was, and how fast he could run and how far he could jump, and when he heard some story about a little runt pig who ran away and made his fortune – the same one you told, perhaps – he went around boasting that he could do that any day, and that he could run twice as far as any little runt pig, and get twice as fat and take twice as big a prize at the fair."
"Well, he talked and bragged about it so much that by and by he really believed he could do everything he said, and made up his mind to run away sure enough. He didn't creep out through a hole and slip away, as your little pig did, but took a pretty valise that he had got for Christmas and put all his things in it, and some of his brothers' and sisters' things, too, and then put on his best suit and walked out the front door, as big as you please, with the others all looking at him and wishing they were as big and strong as Curly, so they could go, too, or take their playthings away from him, they didn't care which. Then one of them ran back and said, 'Oh, ma, Curly's running away! Curly's running away, ma, and he's taken our things!'
"But Curly's mother didn't worry much. 'Oh, well, just let him go,' she said. 'He'll be back quick enough.' Then she took her afternoon nap, and Curly walked out across the meadow, sniffing the sunshine and talking to himself about what he was going to do.
"Then he remembered that the little runt pig had run, and Curly thought he ought to run some, too, but he was so fat he couldn't run far, and had to sit down to rest, and then he walked on again and kept walking until he thought he must be almost to the edge of the world, which his mother had told him was just beyond the woods. He was getting very tired, when all at once he came to a gate and looked up, and there was an orchard full of ripe apples and peaches, just as the little runt pig had found. The cracks in the fence were too small for him to try to get through, but he thought he could wiggle under the gate. So he got down in the dust with his new clothes and wiggled and wriggled, but he couldn't get through, and when he tried he couldn't get back, either.
"Then he began to squeal. He could squeal louder than any two other pigs almost, and by and by Mr. Man, who was working in the next field, heard him and came running. When Curly heard Mr. Man coming he thought, 'Now he'll take me home and make me a great pig, just as he did the little runt pig.' But Mr. Man didn't. 'Here, you rascal!' he said, what are you doing under my gate? I'll fix you.' Then he picked up a long, scratchy stick and commenced to beat Mr. Curly, first on one side and then on the other, till he squealed and howled so loud that you could hear him almost a mile. Then Mr. Man caught him by the leg and opened the gate and pulled him out. 'Now, you go home!' he said, and Curly started, but he was so frightened that he didn't know where home or any place else was, and he scampered off without his hat or playthings, and ran and ran and ran till he almost dropped. And just then one of my family, who had been digging out a mole, happened to see the pig running and took after him and caught him and dragged him round and round by the ear till Mr. Man came running and parted them and held my relative by the collar while he pushed Curly with his foot in the other direction.
"'Now I guess you'll go home!' he said, and Curly thought so, too, and limped off, trying to run. It was such a long way back home that it seemed as if he never would get there. Every minute he thought he heard my cousin coming after him, but he couldn't run any more to save his life, and his ear was bleeding and hurt him, and he cried and squealed, and when at last he did get home he slipped in the back way and tried to wash his face and brush his clothes before they saw him, but they all saw him come in, with his sore ear and his nice, new clothes all torn and dirty. Then they began to laugh and point at him, and said: – "
"'Oh, here comes Curly, the runaway. He's been to the fair and brought home the red ribbon on his ear!' And that was the very meanest thing they could say, for, of course, they meant the red blood on his ear, and poor Curly ran to his mother and cried and sobbed as if his heart would break and said he would never, never run away again as long as he lived.
"And I've heard," concluded Mr. Dog, "that he never did."
MR. DOG TAKES LESSONS IN DANCING
JACK RABBIT PLAYS ONE MORE JOKE ON MR. DOG
After Mr. Dog had finished his pig story he and Mr. Crow got to talking over old times and telling what happened to them when they were boys and how everything had changed and how young fellows now had things pretty much their own way and no trouble to get an education.
Mr. Crow said that he believed if he'd had half a chance when he was young he'd have made an artist. He said he used to draw off likenesses on his slate so that anybody could almost tell who they were and that the 'Coon and the 'Possum each had in their rooms in the Big Hollow Tree pictures of themselves that he had drawn which were just as good to-day as the day they were made.
Mr. Dog thought it was mighty fine to be talented like that. He said that his early education had been neglected, too, and that he knew he might have been a poet, for he could make rhymes just as easy as falling off a log, and that he knew three rhymes for every word he could think of except "silver" and "orange." Of course, it was too late now, and he had mostly given up poetry and thought some of going into society. All he needed was good clothes and a few instructions in manners and some dancing lessons. He said he was just as young and just as good looking as he ever was, and that in a few days he'd have some new clothes. Then he asked Mr. Crow if he knew of anybody that would give him some lessons in politeness and dancing.
Mr. Crow thought a while, and then said that he didn't know of a soul in the neighborhood that could be so polite and dance as well as Mr. Jack Rabbit, and that he didn't suppose Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Dog were on good terms. That made Mr. Dog feel pretty bad, 'cause he knew it was just that way, and by and by he got Mr. Crow to promise that he would go and call on Jack Rabbit next morning and see if he couldn't fix it up somehow for him to take a few lessons. So next morning Mr. Crow called over to see Mr. Rabbit, and found him making soap out in the back yard. He had a good fire built between some stones and a big kettle full of brown stuff, which he was stirring with a long stick. He seemed to be feeling pretty well, for he kept singing,
"Fire and stir, and grease and lye —
Soap to scrub with by and by."
"Ho!" said the Little Lady. "Do they make soap like that?"
They used to in old times. They made what they called a lye by running water through new wood ashes, and then they put grease in it and boiled it in a big kettle. It was very strong soap, and people didn't wash their hands with it, because it got into sore places and burnt and stung like fury. But they used it a good deal to scrub with, and Jack Rabbit made it himself because he was smart and knew how.
Well, the Crow told him all about what Mr. Dog had said, and Mr. Rabbit kept stirring and singing kind of soft like to himself, and smiling a little, and by and by, when the Crow was done, he said that of course Mr. Dog wasn't very polite, and that some lessons would certainly do him good. As for dancing, he said that if Mr. Dog would promise to do just as he told him he would be able to dance as many as three different steps in less than five minutes after he got there.
Mr. Crow said that Mr. Dog had promised anything, and that he would send him over that very afternoon. And, sure enough right after dinner, here comes Mr. Dog, lickety split, to take lessons. Jack Rabbit had his door locked and his window open, and was sitting by it and looking out when Mr. Dog got there. He told Mr. Dog to sit right down and catch his breath a little, and then the lessons would begin. His kettle of soap was all done, and he had taken it off of the fire, but the fire wasn't out yet, though it looked as if it was, because it had burned down to coals and white ashes.
Mr. Rabbit had his new soap in the house, and he spread some of it on a cloth and tossed it down to Mr. Dog.
"That's a dance plaster," he said, "but you don't put it on quite yet. The first thing will be some lessons in politeness. You must look straight at me and do just as I tell you."
Mr. Dog said that he would do that, and took a seat facing Mr. Rabbit and paid close attention. Then Jack Rabbit got up and bowed politely, as if he were meeting ladies, and, of course, took a step or two backward as he bowed, and then Mr. Dog bowed and took some steps backward, too. And then he sat down, and Mr. Rabbit told him just where his mistakes were, and made him do it over and over until Mr. Dog had bowed and scraped and backed himself almost into the fire, though he didn't know it.
Next, Jack Rabbit said, they'd have a lesson in paying compliments, and then the dancing. Now, whenever anybody pays a compliment to Mr. Dog he always wags his tail; so the Rabbit thought of the very finest compliment he could think of and paid it to Mr. Dog, and Mr. Dog forgot that it was only a lesson and was so happy to receive such a compliment from Mr. Jack Rabbit that he wagged his tail a great big wag sideways and then up and down, until all at once he gave a howl and jumped straight up in the air, for he had pounded his tail right into the ashes and hot coals of Mr. Rabbit's fire.
"Did it burn him much?" asked the Little Lady.
It did that, and he howled and jumped up and down and whirled first one way and then the other, and Jack Rabbit leaned out of the window and held his sides and said: —
"That's it! That's the step! Dance, Mr. Dog; dance!"
When Mr. Dog heard that, he thought the Rabbit was really in earnest, and didn't know, perhaps, he had wagged his tail into the fire; so he quit howling and really tried to do a few fancy steps, and Jack Rabbit almost died trying to keep from laughing, but he managed to do it, and he called out to Mr. Dog that he was doing fine, and that all he needed now was the dance plaster on his tail. When Mr. Dog heard that, he thought perhaps a dance plaster would take the smart away, too, and he sat right down and tied it on, tight. And then pretty soon that soft soap began to act, and, right then, of all the howling and dancing and performance that you ever heard of, Mr. Dog did it. Mr. Rabbit couldn't hold in any longer, and lay back in his chair, and laughed, and rolled on his bed and shouted, and when Mr. Dog heard him he knew he had been fooled again, and he took off over the hill toward home a good deal faster than he came. Every little ways he'd stop to dance and perform, and try to get that plaster off his tail, and every time he stopped Jack Rabbit would sing out: —
"That's a new step, Mr. Dog! You're doing fine! Dance, Mr. Dog; dance!"
And for a long time after that Mr. Dog didn't like to go out much, because everywhere he went somebody would be sure to say to him: —
"That's a new step, Mr. Dog! Dance, Mr. Dog; dance!"
