"Yes, indeed," returned the voice. "It was splendid. I've never had anyhoney, but I'm told it's fine. It's very sticky, isn't it?"
"Very," said the rose bush. "I guess honey is about as sticky asanything can be."
"And very useful for that reason," said the voice up in the tree,kindly. "Very useful. I suppose, really, if it wasn't for honey, peoplecouldn't make postage stamps stay on letters. You ought to be very happyto think that one of your thoughts has given people the idea ofmucilage. Do they ever use honey for anything else but its stickiness?"
"Hoh!" jeered the rose bush. "Don't you know anything?"
"Not much," said the tree voice. "I know you, and me, and several otherthings, but that's not much, is it? It's really queer how little I know.Why, would you believe it, a sparrow asked me the other day what was thedifference between a robin's egg and a red blackberry, and I didn'tknow."
"What did you tell him?" asked the holly-hock.
"I told him I couldn't tell until I had eaten them."
"And what did he say?" put in the tiger lily, with a grin.
"He said that wasn't the answer; that one was blue and the other wasgreen, but how a red blackberry can be green I can't see," replied thevoice up in the tree.
Jimmieboy smiled quietly at this, and the voice up the tree continued:
"Then he asked me what color blueberries were, and I told him they wereblue; then he said he'd bet a mosquito I couldn't tell him what colorhuckleberries were, and when I said they were of a delicate huckle helaughed, and said I owed him a mosquito. I may owe him a mosquito, but Ihaven't an idea what he was laughing at."
"That's easy," said the holly-hock. "He was laughing because there isn'tany such color as huckle."
"I don't think that's funny, though," said the voice in the tree."Indeed, I think it's sad, because it seems to me that a very prettycolor could be made out of huckle. Why do you suppose there isn't anysuch color?"
The lily and the rose and holly-hock bushes were silent for a moment,and then they said they didn't know.
"I'm glad you don't," said the tree voice. "I'm glad to find that thereare some things you don't know. Just think how dreadful it would be ifyou knew everything. Why, if you knew everything, nobody could tell youanything, and then there'd never be any news in the world, and when youheard a joke you couldn't ever laugh because you'd have known itbefore."
Here Jimmieboy, impressed by the real good sense of this remark, leanedout of the hammock and peered up into the tree to see if possible who orwhat it was that was speaking.
"Don't," cried the voice. "Don't try to see me, Jimmieboy, I haven't gotmy company clothes on, and you make me nervous."
"But I want to see who you are," said Jimmieboy.
"Well you needn't want that any more," said the voice. "I'll tell youwhy. Nobody knows what I am. I don't even know myself."
"But what do you look like?" asked Jimmieboy.
"I don't know that, either. I never saw myself," replied the voice. "I'msomething, of course, but just what I don't know. It may be that I am ahorse and wagon, only I don't think I am, because horses, and wagonsdon't get up in trees. I saw a horse sitting on a whiffletree once, butthat was down on the ground and not up here, so, of course, you see thechances are that I'm not that."
"What do you think you are?" asked Jimmieboy.
"I haven't thought much about it. But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'lltell you what, perhaps, I am, and maybe that will help you to find out,and if you do find out I beg that you will tell me, because I've somecuriosity on the subject myself."
"Go ahead," said Jimmieboy. "You give me the perhapses and I'll try toguess."
"Well," began the voice, slowly, as if, whatever it was, the thing wastrying to think. Let me see.
"Perhaps I am a house and lot, Perhaps I am a pussy cat, Perhaps I am a schooner yacht, Or possibly an inky spot, Perhaps a beaver hat."
"I've never seen any of those up a tree," said Jimmieboy. "I guess youaren't any of those."
"Very likely not," said the voice, "but I can try a few more.
"Perhaps I am a picture book, It maybe I'm a candy box, Perhaps I am a trolling-hook, A tennis bat, or fancy cook, Perhaps a pair of socks.
"Perchance I am a pair of shears, Perhaps a piece of kindling-wood, Perhaps I am a herd of deers, Perhaps two crystal chandeliers, Or some old lady's hood.
"No man can say I'm not a pad On which a poet scribbles verse, It may be I'm a nice fresh shad, Or something else not quite as bad, Or maybe something worse."
"But none of these things ever go up trees," protested Jimmieboy. "Can'tyou tell me some of the things that perhaps you are that are found up intrees?"
"No," said the voice, sadly. "I can't. I don't know what kind of thingsgo up trees--unless it's pollywogs or Noah's arks."
"They don't go up trees," said Jimmieboy, scornfully.
"Well I was afraid they didn't, and that's why I didn't mention thembefore. But you see," the voice added with a mournful little tremor,"you see how useless it is to try to guess what I am. Why, if you reallyguessed, I wouldn't know if you'd guessed right--so what's the use?"
"I guess there isn't any use," said Jimmieboy. "If I could only see youonce, though, maybe I could tell."
Here he leaned far out of the hammock, in a vain effort to see thecreature he was talking to. He leaned so far out, in fact, that he losthis balance and fell head over heels on to the soft green turf.
The mountain brook seemed to laugh at this mishap, and went babbling onto the great river that bore its waters to the sea, while Jimmieboy,somewhat dazed by his afternoon's experience, walked wonderingly back tothe house to make ready for supper. He was filled with regret that hehad not been able to catch a glimpse of the strange little being in thetree, for he very much wished to know what manner of creature it was, sostupid and yet so kindly--as, indeed, would I, for really I haven't anymore idea as to who or what it was than he. What do _you_ think itwas?
JIMMIEBOY'S FIREWORKS
_JIMMIEBOY'S FIREWORKS_
It was a very great misfortune indeed that Jimmieboy should make theacquaintance of the bumblebee at that particular time--that is to say,everybody thought it was. The bumblebee, as a rule, was one of thejolliest bees in the hive, and passed most of his days humming away asif he were the happiest of mortals; but at the particular moment whenJimmieboy, who wasn't looking where he was going, ran into him, the beewas mad about something, and he settled down on Jimmieboy's cheek andstung him. He was a very thorough bee, too, unhappily, and he never didanything by halves, which is why it was that the sting was about as bada one and as painful as any bee ever stang. I use the word "stang" hereto please Jimmieboy, by the way. It is one of his favorites indescribing the incident.
Now, it is bad enough, I have found, to be stung by a bee at any time,but when it happens on the night of July Fourth, and is so painful thatthe person stung has to go to bed with a poultice over his cheek andeye, and so cannot see the fireworks he has been looking forward to forweeks and weeks, it is about the worst affliction that a small boy canhave overtake him--at least it seems so at the time--and that wasexactly poor Jimmieboy's case. He had thought and thought and thoughtabout those fireworks for days and days and days, and here, on Fourth ofJuly night, he found himself lying in bed in his room, with one side ofhis face covered with a bandage, and his poor little other blue eyegazing at the ceiling, while his ears listened to the sizzling of therockets and pin wheels and the thunderous booming of the bombs.
"Mean old bee!" he said, drowsily, as his other blue eye tried to peerout of the window in the hope of seeing at least one rocket burst intostars. "I didn't mean to upset him."
"I know you didn't," sobbed a little voice at his side. "And I didn'tmean to sting you, only I didn't know it was you, and I was mad becausesomebody's picked a rose I'd had my eye on for a week, and you ran intome and spilled all the honey I'd gug--gathered, and then I--I was soirritated I stuck my stingers
out and stang you. Can't you forgive me?"
Jimmieboy withdrew his other blue eye from the window in wonderment. Hewas used to queer things, but this seemed the queerest yet. The idea ofa bumblebee coming to apologize to a boy for stinging him made himsmile in spite of his disappointment and his pain.
"Who are you?" he said, looking toward the foot of the bed, whence thevoice had come.
"I used to be a bumblebee," sobbed the little voice, "but I've changedmy first letter from 'b' to 'h.' I'm only an humble-bee now, and allbecause I've treated you so badly. I really didn't mean to, and I'vecome to help you have a good time to-night, so that you won't miss thefireworks because of my misbehavior."
"Don't mention it," said Jimmieboy, kindly. "It was my fault, after all.I hadn't ought to have run into you."
"Yes, you had ought to have, too," moaned the little bee. "You were justright in running into me. I hadn't ought to have got in your way."
"Well, anyhow, it's all right," said Jimmieboy. "You'reforgiven--though you did hurt me like everything."
"I know it," sobbed the bee. "I almost wish you'd get a pin and stick itinto me once, so as to sort of just even things up. It would hurt me, Iknow, but then I'd feel better after I got well."
"Indeed I won't," said Jimmieboy, with a determined shake of his head."That won't do any good, and what's the use anyhow, as long as youdidn't mean it?"
"I'm sure I don't know," the bee answered. "I'm only a bug, after all,you know, and so I don't understand things that human beings which hasgot brains can understand. I've noticed, though, that sometimes when aboy gets hurt it sort of makes him feel better if he hurts back."
"I wouldn't mind a bit if I could see the fireworks," said Jimmieboy."That's what hurts the most."
"Well, I'll tell you what you do," said the bee; "if that's all you feelbad about, we can fix it up in a jiffy. Do you know what a jiffy is?"
"No, I don't," said Jimmieboy.
"Well, I'll tell you," said the bee, "but don't you ever tell:
"Sixty seconds make a minute, Sixty minutes make an hour; But a second has within it Sixty jiffies full of power.
"In other words, a jiffy is just the same thing to a second as the secondis to the minute or the minute to the hour; and, dear me, what billionsof things can happen in a jiffy! Why, they're simply enormous."
"They must be," said Jimmieboy, "if, as you say, you can fix me up inregard to the fireworks in a jiffy."
"There isn't any if about it," returned the bee. "Just turn over and putyour face into the pillow, and see what you can see."
"I can't see anything with both eyes in my pillow, much less with one,"said Jimmieboy.
"Well--try it," said the bee. "I know what I'm buzzing about."
So Jimmieboy, just to oblige his strange little friend, turned over andburied his face in the pillow. At first, as far as he could see, therewas nothing going on in the pillow to make it worth while; but all of asudden, just as he was about to withdraw his face, a great golden pinwheel began to whizz and whirr right in front of him, only instead ofputting forth fire it spouted jewels and flowers, and finally right outof the middle of it there popped a tiny bit of a creature all dressed inspangles, looking for all the world like a Brownie. He bowed toJimmieboy politely and requested him to open his mouth as wide as hecould.
"What for?" asked Jimmieboy, naturally a little curious to know themeaning of this strange proceeding.
"I am going to set off the sugar-plum bomb," the little creaturereplied. "But of course if you don't want the sugar-plums you can keepyour mouth closed."
"Can't I catch 'em in my hands?" said Jimmieboy.
"You can if you want to, but they won't be of any use if you do,"returned the little creature. "You see, this bomb shoots out candyinstead of sparks, but the candy is so delicate that, like the sparks infire fireworks, it goes out just as soon as it comes down. If you catch'em in your hands you won't be able to see how good they taste, don'tyou see?"
"Yeh," said Jimmieboy, opening his mouth as wide as he could, and sospeaking with difficulty. "Hire ahay!"--by which I presume he meant fireaway, only he couldn't say it plainly with his mouth open.
And then the little creature set off the sugar-plum bomb, and thecandies it put forth were marvelous in number and sweetness, and,strange to say, there wasn't one of them that, in falling, came downanywhere but in the mouth of the small boy who had been "stang."
"Got any cannon crackers?" asked Jimmieboy, delighted with what he hadalready seen, as soon as the sweet taste from the sugar-plums died away."I'm fond of noise, too."
"Well," said the little creature, "we have great big crackers, only theydon't break the silence in just the way you mean. They make a noise, butit isn't just a plain ordinary crash such as your cannon crackers make.We call 'em our Grand Opera Crackers. I'll set one off and let you seewhat I mean."
So the little creature opened a big chest that in some way happened tocome up out of the ground beside him, and with difficulty hauled fromit a huge thing that looked like the ordinary giant crackers thatJimmieboy was used to seeing. It was twice as big as the littlecreature, but he got it out nevertheless.
"My!" cried Jimmieboy. "That's fine. That ought to make lots of noise."
"It will," returned the little creature, touching a match to the fuse."Just listen now."
The fuse burned slowly along, and then, with a great puff of smoke, thecracker burst, but not into a mere crash as the little creature hadhinted, but into a most entrancing military march, that was inspiringenough to set even the four legs of the heaviest dinner-table tostrutting about the room. Jimmieboy could hardly keep his own feet stillas the music went on, but he did not dare draw his face away from thepillow so that he might march about the room, for fear that by so doinghe would lose what might remain of this wonderful exhibition, whose likehe had never even dreamed of before, and alongside of which he felt thatthe display he had missed by having to go to bed must be asinsignificant as a pin compared to Cleopatra's great stone needle.
"That was fine!" he cried, ecstatically, as the last echoes of themusical cracker died away. "I wouldn't mind having a hundred packs ofthose. Have you got any music torpedoes?"
"No," returned the little creature. "But we've got picture torpedoes.Look at this." The little creature here took a small paper ball from thechest, and, slamming it on the ground with all his might, it exploded,and the spot whereon it fell was covered with a gorgeous little pictureof Jimmieboy himself, all dressed in sailor's clothes and dancing ahornpipe.
"That's a very good picture of you," said the little creature, lookingat the dancing figure. "It's so full of motion, like you. Here's anotherone," he added, as the picture from the first torpedo faded away. "Thisshows how you'd look if you were a fairy."
The second torpedo was slammed down upon the ground just as the firsthad been, and Jimmieboy had the pleasure of seeing himself in anotherpicture, only this time he had gossamer wings and a little wand, and hewas flying about a great field of poppies and laughing with a lot ofother fairies, among whom he recognized his little brothers and a few ofhis playmates. He could have looked at this all night and not grownweary of it, but, like a great many other good things, the picture couldnot last forever, and just at the most interesting point, when he sawhimself about to fly a race across the poppy-field with a robin, thepicture faded away, and the little creature called out: "Now for thefinest of the lot. Here goes the Fairy-Book Rocket!"
With a tremendous whizz, up soared the most magnificent rocket you eversaw. It left behind it a trail of golden fire that was dazzling, andthen, when it reached its highest point in the sky, it burst as allother rockets do, but, instead of putting forth stars, all the people inJimmieboy's favorite fairy tales jumped out into the heavens. There wasa glittering Jack chasing a dozen silver giants around about the moon;there was a dainty little Cinderella, with her gorgeous coach and four,driving up and down the Milky Way; Puss-in-Boots was hopping about fromone cloud to another, as easil
y as if he were an ordinary cat jumpingfrom an ordinary footstool on to an ordinary sofa. They were all therecutting up the finest pranks imaginable, when suddenly Jack of thebeanstalk fame appeared at the side of the little creature who had setthe rocket off, and planted a bean at his feet, and from it thereimmediately sprang forth a huge stalk covered with leaves of gold andsilver, dropping showers of rubies and pearls and diamonds to theground, as it grew rapidly upwards to where the fairy-land folk weredisporting themselves in the skies. These, when the stalk had reachedits full growth, rushed toward it, and in a moment were clambering backto earth again, and then, when they were all safely down, they rangedthemselves in a row, sang a beautiful good-night song to the boy withhis face in the pillow, and disappeared into the darkness.
"There!" said the little voice back of Jimmieboy. "That's what onejiffy will do."
Jimmieboy turned about and smiled happily at the bee--for it was the beewho had spoken.
"Sometime we'll have another," the bee added. "But now I must go--I'vegot to get ready for to-morrow, which will be bright and sunshiny, andin every way a great day for honey. Good-by!"
And Jimmieboy, as the bee flew out of the window, was pleased to noticethat the pain in his cheek was all gone. With a contented smile on hisface he turned over and went to sleep, and when his papa came in to lookat him as he lay there in his little bed, noticing the smile, he turnedto his mamma and said, "Well, he doesn't look as if he'd missed thefireworks very much, after all, does he?"
Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy Page 10
