Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Let me hear it, dear.”

  “And you won’t think it silly?”

  “Why should I? You are not silly, Bess. You’re a very sweet little niece, and any story you ‘made up’ would be a nice story, I am sure.”

  “And you won’t laugh?”

  “Not unless your people do something funny. Then I ought to laugh, you know.”

  “Well,” she began, wriggling on my knee rather nervously until she forgot her diffidence, “once on a time there was a little boy who had to tend the house all by himself, with no one to help him. Every mornin’ he had to wash and dress his fathers an’ mothers an’ give ‘em their breakfasts an’ send ‘em off to school an’ tell ‘em to be good an’ study their lessons an’ not fight on the way home.”

  “The fathers and mothers, Bess?”

  “Yes, Uncle.”

  “How many did the little boy have?”

  “Two fathers and three mothers. And after they had gone to school and the house was in order an’ the breakfas’ things put away, the little boy had to go out to the cat-shed and milk the cat, so he could churn the butter for luncheon.”

  “Oh,” I said, rather astonished.

  “But the cat,” continued Bessie, warming up to the interest of her story, “was cross an’ dis’gree’ble, an’ didn’t like to he milked; so it would often kick and act up in a very bad way, and that made it hard for the little boy, you know.”

  “What was his name?”

  “The little boy’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “His name was Con-stant-’nople; but they jus’ called him ‘Nope.”

  “I see.”

  “Well, one mornin’ the cat acted drefful bad, an’ kicked over the piano-stool that ‘Nope was sitting on, an’ dented the tin milk-pail an’ roared like a lion.”

  “The cat did?”

  “Yes, Uncle. And so the little boy was scared, and didn’t like to go near her, and there was no butter for lunch or cream for dinner.”

  “That was too bad,” I said gravely.

  “But just then ‘Nope looked up an’ saw a little old man standin’ in the cat-shed beside him. And the little old man had a nose so long that it touched his chin, and a chin so long that it touched his nose; and he walked on two weak legs an’ two stout sticks, and seemed to know more than he looked as if he did, only he didn’t.”

  “M-m.”

  “‘What’s the matter, ‘Nope?’ he asked the little boy.

  “‘The cat kicks an’ acts ugly,’ says ‘Nope,’ an’ won’t let me milk her.’

  “‘Then,’ says the little old man, ‘why don’t you go out in the yard an’ milk the milk-weeds? That’s easy enough, for they don’t kick,’

  “‘Nope thought that was a good idea; so he went out in the back-yard, where there were lots of milk-weeds, and soon got his pail full of milk. He was’ strord’nary pleased, Uncle; but when be went to the house an’ churned the milkweed milk, what do you s’pose he got instead of butter?”

  “I can’t imagine, Bess.”

  “Nothing but spinach.”

  She looked at me rather suspiciously.

  “Did my people do anything funny then, Uncle?”

  “No, dear; I was laughing at something else.”

  “What?”

  “A foolish notion, Bessie. Go on, please.”

  “Well, then ‘Nope went back to the cat stable, for he just had to have some milk. And when he went in he said:’ Soo, — kittie! So-o-o-o, cat! Gently, ol’ girl!’ But the cat jus’ kicked out drea’ful, an’ wouldn’t let him milk her. So the little boy said:

  “‘If you don’t stan’ still there won’t be any butter for lunch or cream for dinner.’

  “‘Why?” asked the cat.

  “‘‘Cause you won’t let me have the milk,’ he told her.

  “‘Why don’t you go in the house an’ milk the cow?’ asked the cat.

  “‘Good gracious! Whoever heard of milking a cow?’ says ‘Nope, indiginunt like.’ Cows are only good to lie in front of the fire, an’ purr, an’ look soft an’ pretty. Nobody milks a cow.’

  “‘You are wrong,’ says the cat. ‘I read in a book only this mornin’ that cows give milk.’

  “‘How foolish,’ says ‘Nope.’ Show me the book, if you can.’

  “‘So the cat went to a cupboard and took out a fine big book, and laid it on the ground and turned over the leaves with her hoofs till he came to a certain page.’ Read that, if you dare,’ she said to the little boy, and it will prove that I am right and you are wrong.’ Jus’ like that, the cat said it.

  “So ‘Nope looked at the page, and there in big letters he saw this verse:

  “‘The bossie-cow is good and kind And man’s best friend, we think; She’s full of beefsteaks, you will find, And gives nice milk to drink’

  “‘That’s awful strange,’ said the little boy, shaking his head. ‘But it’s in the book, sure enough. I’ll go an’ ask the cow about it.’ So he went in the house and found the cow asleep under the kitchen stove. An’ when he woke it up an’ looked at it he shook his head again, ‘cause the cow wasn’t as big as the milk-pail, an”Nope knew there was somethin’ wrong.

  “‘Do you give milk?’ he asked the cow.

  “‘No, indeedy,’ said the cow, yawnin’ an’ stretchin’ herself awful lazylike. But I drink milk when I can get it. Got any?’

  “‘Not a bit,’ says ‘Nope;’ ‘cause the cat’s actin’ ugly. Come on out with me and talk to her.’

  “‘So the cow stopped washin’ its face with its paws an’ went out with Nope to the cat-shed an’ tried to argufy, ‘cause she was hungry for milk. But the cat was obst’nate an’ said it was printed in the book that cows give milk, so the cow would have to give the milk after this.

  “‘Let’s see the book,’ said the cow, which was quite upset by the idea. So the cat got the book again, an’ turned to the page, an’ the cow read it an’ seemed scared like an’ didn’t know what to say. But while they were all lookin’ hard at the verse the wind blew into the cat-shed and turned over the leaf of the book, an’ there on the next page was a big picture of a red cat, with horns an’ ears an’ eyes all very natural, an’ under the picture was printed in big letters: ‘A COW.’

  “‘Goodness me!’ said the cat. ‘I hadn’t seen that, before.’

  “‘Well, well!’ said the cow;, it isn’t me at all.’

  “‘Seems to me we’ve got mixed up, somehow,’ said the little boy. ‘The book must be right.’

  “‘Of course,’ said the cat. ‘It’s printed.’

  “‘Who named us, anyhow?’ asked the cow.

  “‘Why, I did,’ said the little boy. ‘The man I bought this place from said there was a cow an’ a cat, an’ I could have them both. But I forgot to ask him which was which, and when he had gone away I had to name you both. So I thought you mus’ be the cat,’ pointin’ to the cow, you know; ‘an’ I thought you mus’ be the cow,’ pointin’ to the cat. ‘So I named you that way, an’ it would have been all right if you hadn’t looked in the book.’

  “‘Didn’t your fathers and mothers know?’ they asked him.

  “‘No,’ says he,’ cause they hadn’t been to school then.’

  “So the little boy named ‘em both over again, an’ this time he named ‘em right, an’ the cow let him milk her so’s he could churn the butter for luncheon.”

  With a long-drawn breath the little maid ended her story, and I said:

  “That is a very interesting fairy tale, Bessie. But what is the moral?”

  “Can’t you see?” she asked reproachfully. “It’s proof that if you’re ign’rant an’ call things by their wrong names you’re sure to get all mixed up.”

  I nodded and kissed her. There is wisdom in little heads, after all.

  The Man-Fairy

  Meg’s nose was red; but that was not due so much to the cold as from pressing it against the window-pane of the toy shop. It was not a very big toy shop.
Far down street were others far more splendid and much larger; but to the waif who stood on the sidewalk, feasting her eyes on the treasures displayed within, this modest establishment seemed like a bit of fairyland.

  In the window was a toy elephant which nodded its head with grave regularity. Also there was a fuzzy polar bear that could stand upright or be placed in any other position, because its legs were jointed and hinged. And there was a fine Noah’s ark, with nearly fifty wooden animals, which all fitted inside the ark when it was closed, and a delightful toy village with the houses, trees and people all made of wood and brightly painted. Other fascinating things were in the window and farther on--in the tiny shop itself--Meg could see the rows of beautiful dolls, pop-guns and tin swords, jumping jacks, tops and games. No wonder her nose was red from pressure against the big window-pane. She was living in this vast domain of treasure, able to admire and enjoy all her eyes could embrace, and only kept from touching the wonderful things by a sheet of glass and the grimly-closed door.

  This toy shop was a thing of beauty and a constant delight to the children of the poorer neighborhood in which it was located, and Mr. Wegg, the lean old man Meg noticed inside, who had a green patch over one eye and was intently reading a newspaper with the other, perhaps earned a modest living from the sales of his well-assorted but meager stock. Meg watched him a moment, envying him the possession of so many precious things. Then her eyes turned to the toys again.

  “What are you wishing?” asked a quiet, pleasant voice at her side.

  Meg laughed. Then she turned to find a little, fat gentleman standing next to her. He was not looking at the child, but seemed to be staring into the window, and she did not realize he was shrewdly watching the reflection of her face in the polished glass.

  No one could call Meg a pretty child, but when she smiled, as she did now--dreamily and sweetly unconscious--her thin face became very winning and pleasant to see. The little man, whose hands were thrust into the pockets of his overcoat, himself smiled into the glass of the window and repeated his question.

  “What are you wishing, my dear?”

  “What made you think I was wishing anything?” she asked. It did not surprise her a bit to be addressed by a stranger, and he spoke so quietly and in such a friendly, confidential tone, that she responded with equal frankness.

  “Why, it’s natural, you know,” he answered. “There are lots of fine things in this shop; lots of things dear to childhood. It’s very natural you should be wishing for some of them.”

  Meg nodded. “Of course,” she said, musingly. Then they stood together for some moments, silently staring into the window.

  “Tell you what I’ll do,” said the little man finally; “I’ll be a fairy, and grant you any wish you make.”

  Meg looked up at him, doubtingly. The fat little man had a kind face, but it wore an expression rather sad. Her eyes wandered to his clothes. They were of good quality, and must, she thought, have cost a lot of money. Accustomed as she was to be teased and bantered, it scarcely occurred to her that her companion was in earnest.

  “Any one wish?” she asked.

  “Just one,” said he, smiling down at her. “Any one wish you make shall be granted. I promise.”

  Meg laughed--a rippling little laugh that proved she appreciated the humor of the situation. “Then,” said she, “I wish I owned this whole toy shop!”

  The little man raised his eyebrows and regarded her with surprise. Meg’s eyes had a merry challenge in them. He threw back his head and laughed aloud, with real enjoyment.

  “Well, Mr. Fairy,” she said, “how are you going to back out of it?”

  For answer he began to examine the waif with renewed interest, from the faded shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders to her thin-stockinged legs and worn shoes.

  “All right!” he said, suddenly. “The wish is granted. Wait just a minute, dear.”

  Then he marched straight into the toy shop, closing the door behind him. Meg saw Mr. Wegg lay down his paper, rise and bow respectfully. Then the little fat man said something, and Mr. Wegg’s mouth opened wide with astonishment and his one good eye stared fixedly. While Meg’s fairy continued speaking, Mr. Wegg glanced around his shop as if bewildered, and finally went to his little desk in the corner and made some figures on a sheet of paper. When he looked up again his lips moved and the man-fairy pulled out a big roll of money and began counting out bills on the counter. Finally Mr. Wegg put the money in his pocket and wrote something on a paper. Then he took down hat and overcoat from a hook, bowed low to the little man, and, with a joyful look on his face, walked out of the shop. Meg saw him turn down the street with hasty strides, as if afraid someone would call him back.

  The little man now came to the door and held it open. “Walk in, my dear, and take possession of your toy shop,” he said, with a laugh as eager and cheery as that of a schoolboy.

  The child slowly entered the shop. She was greatly amazed, it is true, but childhood has a curious way of accepting marvels as matters of course.

  “Take off your things and hand them up,” said the little man, rubbing his hands briskly together. “My fairy wand didn’t work as quickly as Aladdin’s lamp, but it worked. You own the shop, now, and you must be ready to wait on your customers and do business.”

  “Is--is it all mine?” she asked, wonderingly.

  “It is all yours--absolutely,” he declared. “Your wish has come true.”

  “Then what must I do?” enquired Meg, gravely.

  “Don’t ask me,” said he, seating himself in the chair by the stove and picking up the newspaper Mr. Wegg had been reading. “Were the place mine I’d know what to do with it, but as it’s your own I have no right to interfere.” His eyes were twinkling and merry. The sad look had almost left his chubby face.

  Meg stood by the stove and warmed her hands. There was a thoughtful look on her small face. She realized something wonderful had happened, and knew she must rise to the occasion and accept her good fortune in a way that would not disappoint her new friend. So she took off her shawl and hung it on the hook where Mr. Wegg had kept his hat and overcoat. She had to go behind the counter to do this, and the nearness of all the gorgeous toys rather frightened her for a time. But her place was behind the counter, of course; so she lingered there, cautiously touching and examining the various articles and growing each moment more jubilant and eager as the realization grew that every plaything was her very own! The little man was not reading at all, but over the paper his eyes were fixed upon the face and form of the little girl.

  “What is your name?” he asked, presently.

  “Meg. Meg Harradin,” said she, standing up a sleeping doll with tender hands--to see it open its eyes.

  “Where do you live, Meg?”

  “No. 29 Bobbins Row, third floor back.” She laid down the doll and made a red wooden monkey climb a yellow tick.

  “How many in the family?” enquired the little man.

  “Just mother and me. Mother works in the shirt factory. She goes away at eight and comes home soon after six. I take care of the room while she’s gone,” added Meg.

  The man-fairy nodded. “Then,” said he, “you have plenty of time to devote to your store.”

  “Oh, yes,” agreed Meg, listlessly. She had found a set of toy dishes and was setting them out, one by one, with trembling, cautious fingers. How she had always longed for some toy dishes!

  The door suddenly opened and a woman entered. She was well dressed and seemed prosperous. Meg had never seen her before. After a glance at the child behind the counter she turned to the man.

  “What is the price of the woolly bear in the window?” she asked.

  “That young lady owns the shop,” the man-fairy replied, covering his face with the newspaper. “Don’t ask me. I’m a stranger.”

  The customer turned to Meg and examined her worn calico slip and untidy hair with a glance of scornful surprise.

  “What is the price of the bear?” she
asked.

  Meg went to the window and took out the bear, placing it upon the counter. There was no price-mark on it at all.

  “Well! Can’t you tell me?” demanded the woman, sharply. “I can’t stand here all day waiting.”

  Meg didn’t want to sell the bear. She hadn’t even touched it before, or played with it, as she intended. And she had no idea what it was worth. Five cents had been the limit of her ambitions heretofore, and once a lady had given her a whole nickel to be her very own. Of course she knew such a fine big bear ought to cost a lot of money, so a thought struck her to hazard a price so great that it would render the sale impossible.

  “It’s--it’s a dollar, ma’am!” she faltered.

  The woman seemed astonished, and examined the toy bear for flaws. It appeared perfect, and she knew it would have cost three or four dollars down-town.

  “Wrap it up, please,” she said, and laid down a big silver dollar.

  Meg’s lips quivered and tears came into her eyes. In all her stock of toys nothing was finer than this fuzzy polar bear, and her heart was troubled at the thought of losing it so soon. But she happened to glance at the man-fairy and saw an odd look on his face that determined her to be brave. She found a sheet of wrapping paper, and with clumsy fingers made the precious bear into a parcel, which she handed to the customer. The woman went away highly pleased, and Meg opened the money drawer, which Mr. Wegg had left empty, and slowly dropped the silver dollar into it. Her first sale was not a success. What was that piece of cold, hard metal compared to her lovely, fuzzy polar bear?

  The little man by the stove made no remark. Meg leaned her elbows on the counter and, with her chin in her hands, looked at him wistfully.

  “Must I sell everything?” she enquired, in a hesitating voice.

  “Ask yourself. I’m not running this toy shop,” he replied.

  “I--I’d like some things to--to keep,” she said. “And I’d like to take some toys to Tommy Metz, who’s sick in bed with a fever, and to Lucille Jensen, who’s a cripple and can’t walk.”