User: Can you write me a poem about rhyme in the style of Giuseppe Garibaldi?
Assistant: Sure, here's a poem about rhyme in the style of Giuseppe Garibaldi:
  _Illustrated by_ WINIFRED BROMHALL
_They went to the January house_
_They went to the February place_
_The April house was near a pond_
_And May herself, with a dimple and curl_
_The June house wasn't a house at all_
_The July house was an old, old house,
With an old, old man inside_
_Oh, such a funny August house--
It really was like a zoo_
_Very familiar September seemed_
_It was a queer October place_
_The house of December was all aglow_
Amos and Ann had a poem to learn,
A poem to learn one day;
But alas! they sighed, and alack! they cried,
'Twere better to go and play.
Ann was sure 'twas a waste of time
To bother a child with jingling rhyme.
Amos said, "What's the sense in rhythm--
Feet and lines?" He had finished with 'em!
They peered at the poem with scowly faces,
And yawned and stumbled and lost their places.
Then--a breeze romped by, and a bluebird sang,
And they shut the book with a snap and a bang;
Shut the book and were off and away,
Away on flying feet;--
Never did squirrels move more light,
Or rabbits run more fleet!
Over a wall and down a lane
And through a field they ran;
And "Where shall we go?" said Amos. "Oh,
And where shall we stop?" cried Ann.
Then all at once, round the curve of a hill,
They pulled up panting and stood stock-still;
For there, by the edge of a ripplety brook,
In a deep little, steep little place,
Sat a long-legged youth, with a staff and a book
And a quaint, very quizzical face.
His cap and his trousers were dusty green
And his jacket was rusty brown,
And he whittled away on sweet white wood,
With shavings showering down.
He whittled away 'twixt a laugh and a tune,
With fingers as light as thistles.
"And what are you making?" asked Amos and Ann.
He said, "I am making whistles."
He finished one with a notch and a slit,
And threw back his head and blew on it.
The whistle sang like a bird when he blew,
Then he twinkled and put it down.
"And where are you going," he said, "you two?
_Are you going to Zodiac Town_?"
Each of them shook a doubtful head
(For truly they didn't know).
"But make us a whistle like yours," they said,
"And anywhere we will go!"
"I'll make you a whistle apiece," quoth he,
"And if you like, you may follow me;
Zodiac Town's in the land of Time,
And I go by the road of Rhyme."
Ann looked at Amos and Amos at Ann;
They blinked with sheer surprise;
And then they looked at the long-legged man,
Who twinkled back with his eyes.
They said (and their voices were meek and low),
"We ran away from a rhyme, you know."
"You did?" cried the fellow in green and brown.
"Then it's unmistakably plain, oho,
That you're due in Zodiac Town!"
He took up his book and shouldered his staff,
And turned to Amos and Ann.
"Call me J. M.," he said with a laugh.
"That stands for Journeying Man.
I'll make you some whistles along the way,
While you are remembering rhymes to say;
For more than once in the land of Time
You will have to speak in rhyme."
"Our names," said the children, "are Amos and Ann;
And poetry is rather hard for us,
But we'll do the best we can."
Then they went away with the young-faced man,
Joyfully up and down,
Talking in rhyme by hill and lea,
Gayly in rhyme--for that, said he,
Was the tongue of Zodiac Town.
To Zodiac after a while they came--
The twistiest, mistiest town,
With odd little collopy, scallopy streets
Meandering up and down.
The home of the years and the hours was there,
Of the minutes, the months, and the days--
Houses with windows that winked and smiled,
And doors with sociable ways;
And leaves and apples and chestnuts brown
Came pattering down, came clattering down,
And stairways wound to the top of a hill
That a person could climb if he had the will--
That a person could climb, then start at the top,
And bumpeting down and thumpeting down,
Go zip! to the bottom with never a stop.
"_Whoopee!_" cried Amos--and off and away,
Quick with a kick, like a clown,
He ran to the top of the highest stair,
Ann at his heels--And zip! the pair
Came bumpeting down and thumpeting down.
Then, "Come, you two," said the Journeying Man,
"We have twelve calls to pay.
We'll visit the months this time, if we can.
Now listen to me: at every house
Many clocks will be ticking away:
Grandfather clocks and cuckoo clocks
And moon-faced clocks on shelves,
Clocks with alarms and eight-day clocks,
All talking low to themselves;
Little gilt clocks and clocks with chimes,
And all of them keeping different times.
And any minute of any hour
(You never did see their like),
Evening or morning, with never a warning,
One of the lot will strike.
And you _may_ be talking your everyday talk,
But the instant the hour shall chime,
Quick as a flash you must stop, and dash
Right into a rollicking rhyme!"
"What kind of a rhyme?" gasped Amos and Ann.
"What kind of a rhyme, J. M.?"
"Any kind at all," said the Journeying Man,
As he twinkled his eyes at them.
"But it must begin with the very two sounds,
(Or three or four, if you like,)
_The last few sounds that were on your tongue_
_When the clock began to strike_!"
They went to the January house,
A house made all of snow,
With windows of ice, and chandeliers
Of icicles all in a row.
The trim young master was dressed in fur
And didn't seem cold at all--
A red-cheeked, rollicking, frolicking chap,
Who offered each caller an ermine wrap,
And let them skate in his hall.
"What kind of things?" Amos wanted to know.
"Miss New Year, miss New Year--" Then all at once, to her intense
"Miss New Year dressed herself in white,
With crystal buttons shining,
A spangled scarf, all lacy-light
About her shoulders twining;
A bunch of pearly mistletoe,
A twig of ruddy holly,
She tucked among her curls, and oh,
She was so sweet and jolly!
"She tapped upon my window-pane
And waked me, bright and early.
'Come, come,' she cried, 'the sun's outside,
The winds are gay and whirly!
'Neath winter frost and summer sky,
In spring or autumn weather,
Come out, dear child, and you and I
Will be good chums together!'"
"'Such stupid days!' said Willie Green
With long and doleful face.
'Suppose to-night the whirling globe
Should drop us into space:
Hooray! I'd ride the moon astride,
And, if a cloud sailed up,
Pretend it was a feather-bed,
And dive right in, kerplup!'
"'What if the moon went in eclipse?'
Said little Johnny Brown;
'Or if the clouds turned into rain
And sent you drizzling down?
Or if a thunder-bolt went off
And knocked you rather flat?'
"'Now that's the truth,' said Willie Green,
'I hadn't thought of that!'
"But, 'Earth's so poky,' still he mused;
'It must be finer far
To play _I Spy_ across the sky,
And skip from star to star.'
"'Stars fall, sometimes,' quoth Johnny Brown,
'To where, nobody knows.'
"'Oh, dearie me!' cried Willie Green,
'I only said _Suppose_!'"
"Don't you keep any pets?" he said.
"The alligator?" echoed Amos and Ann.
"Yes," said January, firmly. "Always the al--"
"Always the alphabet to me
Is like a happy family.
They work in groups, they work in pairs,
But each one has his little airs:
R runs and romps, and so does S,
And Z is full of foolishness;
H always smiles, and A is jolly;
G's somehow sort of melancholy.
Q sticks his tongue into his cheek
And always waits for U to speak;
D's fat and lazy; so is C;
And O makes funny mouths at me.
Among the pleasant alphabet
It's hard to pick and choose--and yet,
When all is said, I can't deny
(You'll understand), my choice is I!"
They went to the February place:
'Twas fashioned, with curious art,
Of colored sugar and paper lace,
With a front door shaped like a heart.
A trim little, slim little maid within
Was rolling out cookies crisp and thin;
She blew them a kiss through the window wide,
And bade them step inside.
"One day last year, with hems and haws and sidelong steps and
"The crows went flapping off with glee. They said, 'Our woodland
"The valentines came hurrying down, came scurrying down, came
"'What's this, my dear, amiss, my dear?' cried Father Owl.
"Excitement reigned among those owls; but, being such nocturnal
fowls, they could not read the valentines at all in broad
daylight. They blinked a bit and winked a bit, but found them not
night.
"Just after dusk a thing occurred, unfortunate for every bird: a
"The poor owls cried, 'Alackaday, we shan't know whom to thank!'
ring.
"Oh, well, it surely seemed a shame, but no one really was to
A big clock began to boom somewhere near.
Then all at once she said:--
"My looking-glass is like a pool,
As still and clear, as blank and cool.
"It fronts the clean white nursery wall,
With no look on its face at all.
"But when in front of it I go,
Why, there I am, from top to toe.
"Oh, just suppose I hurried there
Some day to brush my tousled hair,
"And stood and stared, and could not see
One single, single sign of me!"
Did just the way we do?
Wonder if he slid on ice,
And now and then broke through;
Slid on ice, and fought with snow,
And whittled hickory sticks,
Called his brother 'April Fool!'
And played him April tricks?
"Wonder if he shed his shirt
Down beneath the beeches,
Kicked his buckled slippers off,
And his buckled breeches,
Jumped into the swimming-pool,
And gave a splendid shout,
Glad and wiggly, clean and cool,
Splashing like a trout?
"Wonder did he sit in school,
And try to work a sum,
With bumblebees all mumbling,
'Summer's come, summer's come!'
If he used to count the days,
And give a sort of sigh,
Because--how queer!--there couldn't be
"Wonder if he ever took
His history and read
Tales of mighty generals,
Glorious and dead;
Turned the leaves and wished that he
Could be a hero, too?
Felt the way we do?"
The March house, strangely, was built in a tree,
With a fluttering roof of leaves,
And strong, straight boughs for the walls of the house,
And an apple or two in the eaves.
A pair of fun-loving twins lived there,
Who romped on the roof all day,
And flew great kites when the weather was fair,
In a most remarkable way.
The children looked puzzled.
Then they sang in duet:
"When March comes in roaring, growling,
Winds swoop over the hilltop howling;
Bushes toss in the lashing gale,
Right and left, like a lion's tail;
Branches shake in the road and lane,
Tawny and wild, like a lion's mane.
Fierce and furious, he--
But he's going out like a lamb;
You watch and see!
"When March comes in gentle, easy,
Waggy and warm and mild and breezy,
Little buds bob all down the trail,
Short and white as a lambkin's tail;
Hedges and ledges with blooms are full,
Fluffy and fair as a lambkin's wool.
Mighty switchy and sweet, and all that--
But he's going out like a lion.
_Hold on to your hat_!"
"There's not a single solitary clock at this place, anyway," Amos
"We never heard of Tom Tuttle," said little Ann.
"So little and so very late! And when the teacher said
That he must take his punishment, he merely hung his head.
"She'd ask him all the hardest things in all the hardest books;
And queerly he would answer her, with absent-minded looks.
"'How many yards make twenty rods?' And Tommy said, 'Oh, dear,
"'How many perches make a mile? Now think before you speak.'
"'What grows in southern Hindustan?' Said Tom, 'I do not know;
But I can take you to a tree where blackheart cherries grow.'
"'Name Christopher Columbus's boats.' 'I can't remember, quite;
But mine, that lies below the falls, is named the Water Sprite.'
"'Now what is "whistle"--noun or verb?' 'I do not know indeed;
But just the other day I made a whistle from a reed.'
"Then all the little listening boys would wiggle in their places,
"Maybe nobody's told you
(For very few people know)
What happens down in the meadow brown
At the fall of the first March snow.
"A flute-note sounds on the midnight,
Blown by a fairy boy,
And the rabbits rush from the underbrush,
All nearly mad with joy.
"Round and round in the wild wind,
Faster and faster they prance;
The moon comes out and looks about,
And laughs to see them dance.
"Cold frost covers their whiskers,
But never their hind legs tire,
And whenever a hare feels a flake on his ear,
He leaps a full inch higher!
"Harum-scarum and happy,
They frolic the whole night through;
Maybe you'll hear them dance, this year
(Though very few mortals do)."
The April house was near a pond;
It was made of reeds and of rushes,
All helter-skelter and out of kelter,
And ringed by gooseberry bushes.
The April Fool on the chimney sat,
In pointed shoes and a pointed hat,
And welcomed the three with a tee-hee-hee--
Fair and funny and fat.
"Have you heard the latest news? [asked the Fool]
Cows, this year, wear button shoes;
Dogs will dress in pantaloons;
So will monkeys, minks, and coons;
Cats go gay in capes and shawls;
Robins carry parasols;
Bossy calves and nanny-goats
Skip in scalloped petticoats;
Molly hares and bunny rabbits
Look their best in jumping-habits;
Babies are to dress in bearskins
(If they can be made to wear skins);
Grown-up folks in straw or leather,
Just whichever suits the weather.
These styles are the latest thing,
Brought from Paris for the Spring,
Neat and natty, trim and cool"--
"April Fool!" cried Amos. He felt sure that was coming.
"Young Peter Puck and his brothers wrote
To the wise wood-people a little note.
It said, 'If you'll meet us by Ripply Pond,
Wonders we'll show with our magic wand.'
'What shall we do?' said the forest-folk.
'Maybe it's merely a practical joke.'
But they went, good souls, and they only found
A bare, bare bush and the green, green ground.
'But watch,' said the fairies, 'and you shall see
Animals grow on a tiny tree.'
"The rabbits and squirrels felt aggrieved;
They thought that surely they'd been deceived.
But Peter Puck, at the head of the band,
Called, 'Come, come, Kitty!' and waved his hand.
All became kittens as soft as plush--
Smooth, round kittens, quite calm and fat;
On every twig hung a little cat.
And the fairies danced, and the glad wood-folk
Cried, 'Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful joke!'"
"Now, speech is very curious:
You never know what minute
A word will show a brand-new side,
With brand-new meaning in it.
This world could hardly turn around,
If some things acted like they sound.
"Suppose the April flower-beds,
Down in the garden spaces,
Were made with green frog-blanket spreads
And caterpillar-cases;
Or oak trees locked their trunks to hide
The countless rings they keep inside!
"Suppose from every pitcher-plant
The milk-weed came a-pouring;
That tiger-lilies could be heard
With dandelions roaring,
Till all the cat-tails, far and near,
Began to bristle up in fear!
"What if the old cow blew her horn
Some peaceful evening hour,
And suddenly a blast replied
From every trumpet-flower,
While people's ears beat noisy drums
"If barn-yard fowls had honey-combs,
What should we think, I wonder?
If lightning-bugs should swiftly strike,
Then peal with awful thunder?
And would it turn our pink cheeks pale
To see a comet switch its tail?"
"It's your turn to ask a riddle, you know," he reminded her.
With her long white train
Dips her nose and down she goes--
Up she comes again.
"Not a hand and not a foot;
Has no need for those;
Makes her trip without a slip,
Following her nose.
"Two she has to guide her:
One, a sturdy chap,
Other, tall beside her,
In a silver cap.
"As she moves--how funny!
Yet it's very plain--
Brighter grows her one eye
And shorter grows her train.
"Now, what's the answer?" she cried.
And after that naturally there was nothing more to be said.
A green-thatched cottage was May's sweet home
With velvet moss for a floor,
And a clambering vine in the gay sunshine,
And a Maypole set by the door.
And May herself, with a dimple and curl,
Dressed in a flouncy gown,
Was filling baskets--the prettiest girl
May smiled at Amos and Ann. "How did you know?" she asked J. M.
"One day the cheery wood-folk heard
A robin tell another bird
A piece of news, a joyful word
Repeated often over.
'Oho,' said they, 'we'll plan a way
To welcome back our pretty May.
We'll have a celebration day
To show her how we love her.'
"Professor Bear should speak, they planned,
With Dr. Fox upon the stand;
The bird quintette from Mapleville
Would sing its loveliest;
And Mr. Owl, the baritone,
Should give selections of his own;
And all the rabbit girls and boys
Should wear their very best.
"The day was fair with balmy air,
And banners waving everywhere;
The woolliest lamb, all curled and frilled,
Was sent to meet the guest;
And even little rats and things,
And creatures that had only wings,
Were given tiny parts to play,
And waited with the rest.
"Then, tripping light and skipping light
And laughing clear, a happy sight,
And flinging flowers left and right,
Came merry, merry May.
'Oh, welcome, welcome home!' they cried;
The banners dipped on every side.
She curtsied low, 'Just think,' she said,
'I have a month to stay!'"
"Miss Butterfly sent word one day to all the garden people
That she would give a social tea beneath the hollyhock.
A robin read the message from a slender pine-tree steeple--
A note that begged them sweetly to be there by six o'clock.
And portly Mr. Bumblebee and cheerful Mr. Cricket,
And tiny Mrs. Ladybug in polka-dot array.
"The table was a toadstool with a spider-woven cover;
A mockingbird within the hedge sang loudly for their revel;
A lily swayed above them, slow, to keep the moths away;
So they laughed and buzzed and chattered till the shadows
lengthened level,
And Miss Katydid said sadly that she must no longer stay.
Then all arose and shook their wings, and curtsied, every one,
'Good-night, good-bye, Miss Butterfly, we never had such fun.'"
Little Ann looked wistful when she heard all the butterfly tale.
"I do wish I might go to a party like that," she said.
"I wish, when summer's drawing near about the end of May,
"'How far from Huckleberry Hill to Sandy-Bottom Creek?
How many cherries at a time can a boy hold in his cheek?
"'Suppose three fish were in a pond, three fishers close at hand,
"'What is the shortest cut to where the buttercups are yellow?
How many fortnights does it take to turn May apples mellow?
"'Two pickers in a berry patch--when they had picked all day,
How many quarts, inside and out, would those two take away?
"And then I wish the teacher'd say, 'Well, if you can't remember,
The June house wasn't a house at all,
But a level and leafy place,
He welcomed J. M. and Amos and Ann,
And gave them some savory stew,
Piping hot from a big black pot--
And all of them ate it, too!
It was so cool and delightful at the June house that at first the
"No clocks here, anyway!" she exclaimed.
"Where is it?" asked little Ann.
"But a clock has no feet," cried Amos.
"If hats were made of flowers,
I think my party bonnet
Would be a satin tulip
With a touch of green upon it.
"I'd wear for fun and frolic
A crinkled daffodil,
With a crown quite comfortable
And a flaring yellow frill.
"I'd choose for church a beauty:
The sweetest flower that grows
Would be my Sunday bonnet--
A soft, pink, ruffled rose.
"A daisy crisp and snowy
Would be the choice for school;
A fresh hat every morning,
With scallops starched and cool.
"For picnics and for rambles
A polished buttercup.
If hats were made of flowers,
How people would dress up!"
Then he told it.
Went out to shop,
And at Shoofly & Company's
Made her first stop.
Mr. Shoofly came forward,
All beaming and gay:
'And what can I do for you,
He bowed and he beckoned;
He showed her a seat;
But the poor clerks turned pale
When she put out her feet.
'How many?' they faltered.
'As many as these,'
She replied very sweetly,
'And hurry up, please.'
"So they hurried and scurried,
The ten Shoofly clerks,
All hustling together
And working like Turks.
They cleared all the counters;
They emptied the shelves;
They made, in their haste,
Perfect slaves of themselves.
They laced and they buttoned,
They pushed and they squeezed,
Miss Centipede watching,
Quite placid and pleased;
They used a short ladder
To fit her top feet,
And never drew breath
Till the job was complete.
"And here's what they sold her--
Now count if you choose:
A pair of cloth gaiters,
A pair of tan shoes,
A pair of black pumps,
And a pair of tan ties,
Two pairs of galoshes
And boots, ladies' size;
Five pairs of silk slippers
For thin evening wear--
Rose, green, red, and buff,
And a rich purple pair;
And soft bedroom slippers
Of crimson and gray;
And a pair of bootees,
By red tassels made gay;
"And five sets of sandals,
Two basket-ball shoes,
And two pairs for lounging--
Pale pinks and pale blues;
And six pairs for walking,
And six pairs for snow,
And six pairs to hunt in--
Though what, I don't know;
And two pairs of goatskin,
And two pairs of duck,
And four pairs of kid--
And on all of them stuck
The daintiest rubbers.
Indeed, she looked sweet,
Miss Centipede did,
As she tripped down the street!"
Amos and Ann were filled with curiosity. They wanted to know what
"You ask why Mary was called contrary?
Well, this is why, my dear:
She planted the most outlandish things
In her garden every year;
She was always sowing the queerest seed,
And when advised to stop,
Her answer was merely, 'No, indeed--
Just wait till you see the crop!'
"And here are some of the crops, my child
(Although not nearly all):
Bananarcissus and cucumberries,
And violettuce small;
Potatomatoes, melonions rare,
And rhubarberries round,
With porcupineapples prickly-rough
On a little bush close to the ground.
"She gathered the stuff in mid-July
And sent it away to sell--
And now you'll see how she earned her name,
And how she earned it well.
Were the crops hauled off in a farmer's cart?
No, not by any means,
But in little June-buggies and automobeetles
And dragonflying-machines!"
The July house was an old, old house,
With an old, old man inside,
Who told them stories of other days,
Stories of pluck and pride.
His beard was long and his hair was white,
But his keen eyes were not dim,
As he told them things that old, old men
Had long ago told him.
With an old, old man inside_]
"My sakes alive, Ann!" cried Amos, a good deal embarrassed.
"The little boys of '76--
They did their chores and swam and fished,
And hunted hares and whittled sticks,
While all the time they wished and wished
To hear a sudden summons come,
Each waiting day, each listening night:
'We need the boys for flag and drum,
So send them to the fight!'
"The little girls of '76--
They rocked their dollies to and fro,
And taught the kittens pretty tricks,
And heard their mothers talking low;
Then climbed into the hayloft high,
They peered through every glimmering crack,
And longed to raise a joyful cry:
'The men are marching back!'"
"I can tell you this," the old man said:--
"Your great-great-great-grandfather
Was a little chap like you,
When suddenly one summer
Bugles of battle blew,
And bells rang in the towers,
And flags at windows flew.
"He heard the tramp of horses
And the fall of marching feet;
He saw a dust on the hill road,
Regiments in the street,
While men were thick in the highway
And drums in the market beat.
"He watched how the townsfolk hurried
Eagerly to and fro;
He heard the voice of his mother,
Quiet and brave and low;
And he saw his father shoulder
A queer old gun and go.
"Your great-great-great-grandfather,
Sturdy and strong like you,
Glad of the blowing bugles,
Proud of the flags that flew,
Was glad and proud as you, lad--
Son of a soldier, too!"
"A band is such a brave, bright thing,
With tassels tossed, and burnished brass,
And music quick and fluttering--
I love to see one pass.
"Sometimes it sounds for turning wheels,--
A circus coming into town,--
And then the tune gets in my heels
And shakes them up and down.
"Sometimes it sounds for marching men,
With cry of bugles in the street,
And fair flags blowing free--and then
I cannot hold my feet.
"I follow, follow on and on;
I let it lead me where it will;
And when the last clear notes are gone,
Somehow I hear them still."
He loved his garden so,
He wouldn't have a rake around,
A shovel or a hoe.
"For each potato's eyes he bought
Fine spectacles of gold,
And mufflers for the corn, to keep
Its ears from getting cold.
"On every head of lettuce green--
What do you think of that?--
And every head of cabbage, too,
He tied a garden hat.
He loved his garden so,
He couldn't eat his growing things,
He only let them grow!"
Oh, such a funny August house--
It really was like a zoo,
For animals roamed in all the rooms
(Even a kangaroo);
Such sociable, smiling, friendly beasts!
As soon as the travelers came,
They hurried out with extended paws,
Announcing, each, his name.
It really was like a zoo_]
"Did they go to school?" the children repeated.
The Journeying Man shook his head and made answer:--
"The birds and beasts don't go to school;
I guess 't would make them mad to;
They wouldn't pass an hour in class.
But just suppose they had to!
How funny it would be to see
The desks all full of scholars,
With fins and claws and hoofs and paws,
Skin coats and brown fur collars!
"How strange 't would seem to happen by
And hear the teacher saying,
'The kitty-cat geography
Must be kept in from playing;
And once again I tell you plain
That I shall give a rapping
To the very next first-reader owl
That I discover napping.'
"The crabs would write in copy-books,
Such crawly, scrawly letters;
The bees would have a spelling-bee
And buzz among their betters;
And monkeys chatter French and squeak
In Greek the live-long day,
To scare the class of infant lambs,
Who only know B-A.
"They'd send giraffes up to the board
To figure slowly, each,
Problems in higher branches
That they could never reach.
And here and there and everywhere,
No matter who played fool,
They'd straightway clap a paper cap
Upon the youngest mule.
"A looker-on might feel, perhaps,
A little consternation,
To see the bear philosophy
Arise for recitation;
And pupils all, and teacher, too,
Would pale a bit, perchance,
When the elephants came up to do
Their calisthenics dance!"
"I taught them, to be sure," said a hoarse voice overhead.
"Quite suddenly, a speckled trout
Down in the swift, clear river
Began to bustle all about,
His fishy chin a-quiver.
"He raised so big a foam and fuss
The fishes all assembled.
Why, at a hippopotamus
He'd scarcely so have trembled!
"'What ails you?' asked a brother trout.
'What's wrong?' inquired a minnow.
'Alas! We're all invited out,'
He shivered, 'to a dinner!'
"They cried, 'Why, that's a jolly plan!
Who asked us out to dine?'
'Oh!' sobbed the trout, 'a fisherman,
He just dropped me a line!'"
"Now, Ann," said J. M., "give us a poem about your cat."
"There's the snow-white cat, the pearl-gray cat,
The brindle and the brown,
The cat with stripes around himself,
The cat striped up and down,
The plaid cat and the buff cat,
The tan, the tortoise-shell,
The bluish sort, the reddish sort--
More tints than I can tell.
But the finest of the whole fine lot
(There's no disputing that)
Is the jet-black chap with one white spot--
And that's our kind of cat.
"The tiny cat is cunning,
The long, lean cat is fleet,
The nimble one is made for fun,
The fluff-ball one is sweet,
The Maltese kitty, too,
But the special kind I have in mind
Is best of all the crew.
He's not too quick and frisky,
Nor is he slow and fat;
He's soft and warm and fits my arm,
And he's our kind of cat!"
"_Train?_" Amos repeated, his eyes round with curiosity.
"The Wild Beast Limited pulls out
With bustle and with fuss.
It's hard to seat the porcupine
And hippopotamus.
"The ants demand a special coach
If one ant-eater goes;
The dormouse wants a sleeping car;
The chickens shun the crows;
"The camel will not stir a peg
Until his fill he's drunk;
The elephant is loud and cross
Until he checks his trunk;
"The tortoise always comes too late;
The hare a day ahead.
I'd hate to be the engineer
Very familiar September seemed:
A flag-pole stood in the yard,
And the little path that led from the road
Was trampled bare and hard.
A bell hung high in the little tower,
And when the door swung wide
They saw a young woman with pen in hand,
Writing away inside.
"Multiplication tables set, I suppose?" said J. M.
"Certainly," the teacher answered. "And the tables of weights and
"When bees and birds and butterflies
Have grown a little lazy;
When flowers are rare, with here and there
A late rose or a daisy;
When streams are slow, and water's low
Down in the swimming-pool,
And grass burns brown along the lane,
And goldenrod is bright again--
There's something tells you just as plain,
'Time for school!'
"When apples in the orchard lot
And pears come thumping, falling;
When sweet and clear, far off and near,
The bobwhite's voice is calling;
When crickets trill out on the hill,
And dusk comes quick and cool;
When all at once, in midst of play,
You can't remember what's the way
To multiply--you stop and say,
'Time for school!'"
"I almost thought we were an hour late for school," Ann said.
"When we travel back in summer to the old house by the sea,
Where long ago my mother lived, a little girl like me,
I have the strangest notion that she still is waiting there,
A small child in a pinafore with ribbon on her hair.
I hear her in the garden when I go to pick a rose;
She follows me along the path on dancing tipsy-toes;
I hear her in the hayloft when the hay is slippery-sweet--
A rustle and a scurry and a sound of scampering feet;
Yet though I sit as still as still, she never comes to me,
The funny little laughing girl my mother used to be.
"Sometimes I nearly catch her as she dodges here and there,
Her white dress flutters round a tree and flashes up a stair;
Sometimes I almost put my hand upon her apron strings--
Then, just before my fingers close, she's gone again like wings.
A sudden laugh, a scrap of song, a footfall on the lawn,
And yet, no matter how I run, forever up and gone!
A fairy or a firefly could hardly flit so fast.
When we come home in summer, I have given up at last.
I lay my cheek on mother's. If there's only one for me,
I'd rather have her, anyway, than the girl she used to be!"
"That's pretty good," said Amos critically. "I like--"
"I like to have vacation,
I like to camp and roam;
But mostly, in a curious way,
I like the coming home.
"Our old house looks so solid,
So settled and arranged;
The front gate creaks the same old creak,
The chimneys haven't changed.
"Those weeks of sea and mountain
Had many valued points;
But oh, this loosening of my bones,
This limbering of my joints!
"Our old dog comes to meet me
With something of a smile--
I wheel right over on my head
And wave my legs a while."
It was a queer October place--
No house, you'd say, at all!
A wide brown wood with leaves for a floor,
And timbers straight and tall.
The little creatures that lived in there--
Fairies and furry things--
Scurried away when the children came,
With bashful scamperings.
"It's the sound a watch makes when you shut it," Ann said.
"Maybe they have watches here instead of clocks," remarked Amos.
"It's the honest truth," said the Brownie. "Listen.
"Every little wing of wind,
Every tilt of breeze,
Stirs a sound of frolicking
In the tallest trees:
Scuffling, shuffling, shouldering,
Nudges, nips, and taps,
Watch and wait a moment, child--
It's the Chestnut Chaps!
"Elbow crowding elbow hard
In their breeches brown,
If one comrade takes a leap,
Ten come bouncing down;
When the crackle of a leaf
Shakes one lad to laughter,
Till he tumbles from his perch,
Twenty tumble after.
"Frisky with the silver frost,
Wild with windy weather,
Half the autumn-tide they spend
Giggling all together.
Rough of coat but sweet of heart,
Jolly, glad--perhaps
Never finer fellows lived
"The wood-folk scamper to and fro;
They have no tasks to do.
It's here and there and high and low
For them, the whole day through;
Up to the tops of highest trees,
In holes and caves, and where they please.
"They have no clothes to guard with care,
No shoes upon their feet,--
For fur and feathers never tear,
And claws are always neat,--
No hooks to hook, no strings to tie.
Small wonder that they skip and fly!
"The wood-folk frolic everywhere,
With all the sky o'erhead,
A swaying bough for rocking-chair,
A hollow trunk for bed.
And yet, for all this woodland joy,
Who would not rather be a boy?"
"Only at Hallowe'en," Amos told them.
"Suppose this year at Hallowe'en, without a bit of warning,
The roly-poly pumpkin heads we cut and carved that morning
Should grow slim bodies, legs, and feet,
And quick, from post and steeple,
Come skipping 'mongst us, pert and fleet,
Real, frisky pumpkin people!
Suppose that you and I had just completed one that minute,
As day grew late, down by the gate, and set a candle in it,
So that its eyes were deep and wide,
Its mouth a grinning yellow,
Then turn to find him at our side,
A living pumpkin fellow?
Suppose we ran with twinkling heels and met a throng advancing,
The whole dark landscape lighting--
This Hallowe'en, I think, would be
A little too exciting!"
The next house stood just back from the street,
In a gray little narrow lane.
A table loaded with things to eat
They saw through the window-pane.
A cozy old lady came out to the door
And said, "There is turkey in here,
Potatoes and rice, and cake with spice,
And no one to dine, oh, dear!"
The little old lady stood at the door and waited.
"We might help her out if there's time," J. M. said suddenly.
Two minutes later they were seated round the table.
"It's like Thanksgiving," Ann said in delight.
"Just think, the little Pilgrim boys
That came ashore, you know,
From off the good Mayflower ship
That wild day long ago,
"They had no roasted turkey-breast
For dinner; not a scrap
Of gravy, stuffing, and the rest
Saw any hungry chap.
"No apple sauce, no pumpkin pies,
No nuts and raisins plump,
No oranges and gingersnaps,
No taffy in a lump.
"I'm glad that things are different now--
'T would give me quite a shock
To see our dinner-table look
As bare as Plymouth Rock.
"And yet, those little Mayflower lads
Were thankful to be living--
A splendid reason, after all,
For anyone's thanksgiving!"
"I think I'm thankfulest of all
For that old house of ours;
The maple by the garden wall,
The borders full of flowers;
"The front doorsill that's hollowed out
By many passing feet;
The different pictures hung about,
With faces kind and sweet.
"The firewood's flame is red and gold
And makes a spicy smell;
There's nothing half so clear and cold
As water from our well;
"And through the window, sleepy nights,
Just at the stairway's head,
A white star like a candle lights
Me safely up to bed.
"So brightly all my blessings shine
That many thanks I give--
But mostly for that home of mine
Where I was put to live."
"Suppose you lived in a gingerbread house,
With a roof of jujube paste,
And sugar shutters, and peppermint pipes,
And doors that you could taste;
In a land where weather could do no harm,
Absurd as that may seem,
With chocolate ground and lemonade rain
And plenty of snow ice-cream?
"Plenty of snow ice-cream for you,
And a soda-water pump,
And a little garden where gumdrops grew,
And taffy all in a lump.
Taffy all in a lump, hurrah!
And tarts and cookies and all.
If ever you move to a house like that,
I'll make an early call!"
The house of December was all aglow,
Each room was jolly and red;
There were bulgy stockings ranged in a row,
And holly hung overhead.
A silver star hung fair and far,
A silver bell rang clear;
And some Christmas children came out and cried,
"It was crammed and laden and bent with fruit,
The tree that bore in a night;
Rich with treasure from tip to root,
A very goodly sight.
Dim in the parlor's gloom it showed,
When a tiny gleam at the window glowed;
When over the hills a rooster crowed,
It thrilled through all its height.
"A rubber doll on a distant limb
Stretched with a sleepy word;
A little lead soldier answered him,
And a big stuffed elephant stirred.
A quiver flickered the pop-corn strings,
Fluttered the tinsel angel's wings,
Tinkled the silver balls and things,
Till all of the company heard.
"A jack-in-the-box with a frisky eye
Suddenly jumped his lid,
And a white-rag rabbit that hung close by
Squeaked with fright when he did;
A dog from London began to bark;
The animals in the Noah's ark
Struggled and scuffled in the dark,
Back in the branches hid.
"The large French doll (she was very vain)
Settled her silk and lace;
The rocking horse of the tawny mane
Struck up a gentle pace;
And hither and thither the boughs among,
Sampling the goodies, tooth and tongue,
A mechanical monkey slid and swung
With agile monkey grace.
"All was still when the children came
With candle-stars adorning;
Somebody heard and hissed a name,
Whispered a sudden warning.
Now don't get curious, people, please.
It's generally known that things like these
Only happen to Christmas trees
Quite early Christmas morning."
Then she told them about it.
"A little bird told a squirrel,
And a squirrel told a jay,
That a poor child lived in a city
Not very far away,
Who never at any Christmas
Had a Christmas tree in her home;
And the jay bird told a rabbit next,
And the rabbit told a gnome.
The gnome blew thrice on his fingers
For half a dozen elves,
And he told them the sorrowful rumor,
And he said, 'Now stir yourselves!'
Hurried and scurried the whole day through,
Till they'd put the tree in place.
They trimmed it with moss and holly,
And odd little colored stones,
And seeds and chestnuts and apples,
And feathers and leaves and cones.
And icicles hung upon it,
And crystals of snow gleamed white;
And soon as the sun rose on it,
It sparkled and flamed with light.
Then two birds perched in the tree top,
And half a dozen elves
Climbed gayly into the branches
And safely hid themselves.
"And the little girl came to the window,
And wide her shutters flew.
She cried, 'I dreamed of a Christmas tree,
And here is my dream come true!'"
"No, in your own home," replied J. M. "Come along, Amos and Ann!"
"It's strange how things can differ so!
Now, take two kinds of fruit--
Banana chap and Orange--
And watch each doff his suit.
"Banana's swift and nimble,
His way is safe and slick;
He gets out of his trouser-leg
With a wiggle and a kick.
"But Orange makes a big to-do;
Indeed, it is distressing
To happen by quite suddenly
And see that lad undressing.
"He clings to every single rag
With obstinacy and vim;
It takes ten fingers and a will
To part his clothes from him.
"And when he feels the poor clothes go,
All raggedy and mussy,
He sheds an acid tear or two,
And keeps on being fussy.
"It's strange how things can differ so!
To be quite frank and truthful,
It isn't only things, you know,
But people, chiefly youthful,
"Who show these different traits and tricks
When bedtime hour comes duly--
Banana-kind and Orange-kind;
Now which kind are you, truly?"
"Grape-kind?" they echoed.
"And jump out of your skins," said J. M.
"Oh, how late it is!" they cried. "Take us home, J. M.!"
It surely was late when they started home,
But they took the trail with a laugh,
Little Ann clinging to Amos's coat,
And Amos to J. M.'s staff.
And through the meadows and over the hills,
Happily up and down,
With hurry and scurry and skip and hop,
And talking in verse the live-long time,
(For they'd got in the habit and couldn't stop,)
They traveled the scallopy road of Rhyme,
The wandering road of much renown
That leads from Zodiac Town.
They traveled on till they came in sight
Of a couple of windows shining bright.
Then J. M. stopped and held up his stick.
"Yonder's your house," he said. "Be quick!
I'll count very slowly, but you must be
As far as the gate by twenty-three;
And when I have counted twenty-four
You must be inside the door."
"Come with us, do!" the children cried,
But he only shook his head.
"I can't, for I am a Journeying Man,
And I must be off," he said.
Then he started to count--and away at last
They went on twinkling feet;
Never did squirrels move more fast,
Or rabbits run more fleet.
And just as they touched the latch of the gate,
They heard, far down in the hush,
"Twenty-three!" as plain as could be;
And they scurried through with a rush.
There on the porch, its covers bent,
The book with the poem lay.
They picked it up as they fled through the door
(Just as the voice called, "Twenty-four!").
"Why, _this_ wasn't hard!" said they.
They stared at the poem and hung their heads--
"Why did we run away?"
They said to each other, "It seems sometimes
There really is lots of good in rhymes."
"Perhaps it would be a very good plan
To study them more," said wise little Ann.
And Amos answered: "I'm going to know
Whole pages up and down,
Then find J. M., in a hurry, and go
Straight back to Zodiac Town."
They fled upstairs like swift little hares,
And burrowed into their beds,
With numberless tunes and rhythms and runes
A-ringing in their heads.
And they dreamed all night of a scallopy road
And of clocks with a curious chime,
And talked in their sleep--and every word
Was a rhyme, a rhyme, a rhyme!