The Whale and the Grasshopper by Sumas O'Brien. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne, The Whale and the Grasshopper by Sumas O'Brien from the Illustrated Sunday magazine. When Standish McNeil started talking to his friend Felix O'Dowd as they walked at a leisurely pace towards the town of Castle Gregory on a dune morning, what he said was, the world is a wonderful place when you come to think about it. An island is a wonderful place and so is America. And though there are lots of places like each other, there's no place like Bally Santa Malo. When there's not sunshine there, there's moonshine and the handsomest women in the world live there. And nowhere else except in Ireland or the churchyards could you find such decent people. Decency, said Felix, when your poor is extravagance and bad example when you're rich. And why, said Standish. Well, said Felix, because the poor imitate the rich and the rich give to the poor and when the poor give to each other, they have nothing of their own. That's communism you're talking, said Standish. And that always comes from education and enlightenment. Sure, if the poor weren't decent, they'd be rich and if the rich weren't decent, they'd be poor. And if everyone had a conscience, they'd be less millionaires. It is a poor bird that can't pick for himself. But suppose a bird had a broken wing and couldn't fly to where the pickings were, said Felix. Well, then bring the pickings to him. That would be charity. But charity is decency and wisdom is holding your tongue when you don't know what you're talking about. If the people of Bala Santamallow are so decent, how is it that there are so many bachelors there? Do you think it right to have all the young women wearing their heads of reading trashy novels and doing all sorts of silly things, life fixing their hair in a way that were never intended by nature and doing so for years and years and having nothing in the end but the trouble of it all? Well, it is hard blaming the young men because every young lady you meet looks better to you than the last until you meet the next and so you go on to another until you're so old that no one would marry you at all unless you had lots of money, a bad liver and a shaky heart. An old man without any sense, lots of money, a bad liver and a shaken heart can always get a young lady to marry him, said Felix. Though rheumatics, gout and a wooden leg are just as good in such a case. Every bit, said Standish, but there's nothing like a weak constitution, a cold climate and a tendency to pneumonia. Old men are queer, said Felix. They are, said Standish, and if they were all only half as wise as they think they are, then they'd be only young fools in the world. I don't wonder a bit at the Safraguetis and a time will come when we won't know men from women unless someone tells us so. We shet is my belief that there will be a great reaction someday because women will never be able to stand the strain of doing what they please without encountering opposition. When a man falls in love, he falls into trouble likewise, and when a woman isn't in trouble, you may be sure that there's something wrong with her. Well, said Standish, I think we will leave the women where the devil left St. Peter. Where was that? Asked Felix. Alone. And said Standish. That would be all very fine if they stayed there, said Felix. Now, said Standish, as I was talking of me travels in foreign parts, I wanted to tell you about the morning I walked along the beach at Belly Santa Mello and a warm morning it was too. So I seized to myself, Standish McNeil says I, what kind of feel of a man are you? Why don't you take a swim for yourself? So I did take a swim and I swum to the rocks where the seals go to get their photographs taken. And while I was having a rest for myself, I noticed a grasshopper sitting a short distance away and upon me word, but he was the most sorrowful looking grasshopper I ever saw before or since. Then all of a sudden a monster whale comes up from the sea and lies down beside him and says, well says he, is that you? Who'd ever think of finding you here? Why, there's nothing strange under the sun, but the ways of women. It is me that's here, then, said the grasshopper. My grandmother died last night and she wasn't ensured either. The practice of negligence is the curse of mankind and the root of sorrow, says the whale. I suppose the poor old soul had her fill of days and sure we all must die and tis cheaper to be dead than alive at any time.   I only want to know if you're coming to the funeral tomorrow. I'm sorry I can't, says the whale. My grandfather is getting married for the tenth time and as I was in China on the last few occasions I must pay me respects by being present at tomorrow's festivities, says he. I'm sorry you can't come, says the grasshopper, because you are heartily welcome and you'd add prestige to the ceremony besides. I know that, says the whale, but America doesn't care much about ceremony. Who told you that, says the grasshopper. Have an eye meo aside and don't I read the newspapers, says the whale. You mustn't read the society column says the grasshopper. For the love of St. Crispin, says the whale. Have those society columns in the American newspapers? Indeed they have, says the grasshopper, and they often times devote a few columns to other matters when the dressmakers don't be busy. America is a strange country surely, a wonderful country, not to say a word about the length and breadth of it. I was one-rounded twice last week without stopping to try and reduce my weight and would you believe me that I was tired after the journey that the change of air only added to me proportions. That's too bad, said the grasshopper. Are you an American, said the whale. Of course I am, says the grasshopper.  I'm proud of me country. And why, might I ask? Well, don't we produce distinguished Irishmen. Don't we make Americans of the Europeans and Europeans of the Americans think of all the connoisseurs who wouldn't buy a work of art in their own country when they could go to Europe and pay ten times its value for the pot boilers that does be turned out in the studios of Paris and London. There's nothing like a home industry, says the whale, in a foreign country, I mean. After all, who knows anything about a work of art that the artist and very little he knows about it either. A work of art is like a flower. It grows, it happens. That's all. It's the devil's own price for it. People will think you are cheating them. Wish I suppose the best anyone can do is to take all you can get and if you want to be a philanthropist give away what you don't want, says the grasshopper. All worth missing, I catch. Says the whale. And all worth catching, I miss. Like the fisherwoman who missed the fish and caught a crab. I don't know what's in Europe. I didn't see the papers this morning. Europe is in a bad way, says the grasshopper. She was preaching civilisations for centuries so that she might be prepared when more came to annihilate herself. It looks that way to me, says the whale. Is there anything else worthwhile going on in the world? There's the Irish question, says the grasshopper. What is that? Island east, says the whale. Isn't that an island to the west of England? No, says the grasshopper. But England is an island to the east of Ireland. Wish I seized the whale. It gives me indigestion to hear people talking about Ireland. Sure, I nearly swallowed it up by mistake while I was on holiday in the Atlantic last year and I'm sorry that you didn't try, says the grasshopper. Then you'd know something about indigestion. The less you have to say about Ireland, the less you'll have to worry for. Remember that my father came from Cork. Can't I say what I like, says the whale. You can think what you like, says the grasshopper, but say what other people like if you want to be a good politician. Nothing so much abused as politics, says the whale. Except politicians, says the grasshopper. Only for the Irish, they'd be no one bothering about poetry and the drama to-day. Only for Thules, they'd be no wise people. And only for sprites, hag, and mackerel there. You'd be no whales and a good job. That would be too. What's that you're saying, lovely?  Wish you bad luck to your impudence and bad manners.   Who's me superior, says the grasshopper. You is it? Yes, me then, says the whale. Another word from you, says the whale. And I'll put you where Napoleon put the oysters. Well, says the grasshopper. There's no doubt but vanity. Ignorance and ambition are three wonderful things and you have them all. Neither you nor Napoleon nor the Kaiser himself and his hundred million men could do hurt harm to me. You could have every soldier in the German army, and the Salvation Army looking for me, and I'd put the cometer on the moon. I can't stand this any longer, says the whale. And then, and there, he hits the rock a whack of his tail and when I went to look for the grasshopper, there he was sitting on the whale's nose as happy and contented as if nothing happened.  But it is only people who have no sense but think they have it all who make such errors. If I could get a hold of you, says the whale, I'd knock some of the pride out of you. That would be the only way of displaying your displeasure, says the grasshopper. I'd scorn, says he, to use violent means with you or do you physical injury of any kind.  You should know that quantity without quality isn't as good as quality without quantity. Short is on the field to be wasting me time and the rest of you, says the whale, if any of me family saw me now, I'd never hear the end of it. Indeed, says the grasshopper, no one belonging to me would ever recognise me ever again if they thought I was trying to make a way or behave himself. There would be some excuse for one of my attainments feeling proud of what can you do except give old buff out of you. I haven't time to tell you all, says the grasshopper, but to commence with, I can travel all over the world and have the use of trains, steamers, sailing ships and automobiles and will never be asked to pay a cent. And I can live on dry land all me life if I choose. While you can't live on water, on land or on sea, and while all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't catch me if they were trying till the crack of doom, you would be caught be a few poor, harmless sailors who couldn't know a crow from a corn-marant and who'd sell your carcass to make oil for foolish wives to burn and write letters to other people's husbands and fill the world with trouble. And what about all the whale bone we supplies for ladies' corsets and paper knives? And what about all the stories we make for the novelists and the moving pictures? And... We're at the sprig of Holly now, said Felix. Is it a pint quarter or a bottle you'll have? I'll have a pint, I think, said Standish. End of story. The winning of Lucinda by L. M. Montgomery. Read by Mindy. The marriage of a pen-hollow was always the signal for a gathering of the pen-hollows. From the at-ermost parts of the earth they would come. Pen-hollows by birth and pen-hollows by marriage and pen-hollows by ancestry and pen-hollows by ancestry East Grafton was the ancient habitat of the race and pen-hollow range where old John Pen-hollow lived was a mecca to them. As for the family itself the exact kinship of all its various branches and ramifications was a hard thing to define. Old Uncle Julius Pen-hollow was looked upon as a veritable wonder because he carried it all in his head and could tell on-site just what relation any one pen-hollow was to any other pen-hollow. The rest made a blind guess at it for the most part and the younger pen-hollows let it go at loose cousinship. In this instance it was Alice Pen-hollow daughter of young John Pen-hollow who was to be married. Alice was a nice girl but she and her wedding will only pertain as far as they furnish a background for Lucinda. Hence, nothing more need be said of her. On the afternoon of her wedding day the pen-hollows held to the good old fashioned custom of evening weddings with a rousing dance afterwards. Pen-hollow range was filled to overflowing with guests who had come there to have tea and rest themselves before going down to young John's. Many of them had driven 50 miles in the big autumnal orchard the younger fry foregathered and chatted and cook-headed upstairs in old Mrs. John's bedroom. She and her married daughters held high conclave. Old John had established himself with his sons and sons-in-law in the parlor and the three daughters-in-law were making themselves at home in the blue sitting room ear-deep in harmless family gossip. Lucinda and Romney Pen-hollow were also there. Thin Mrs. Nathaniel Pen-hollow who sat in a rocking chair and toasted her toes at the great for the brilliant autumn afternoon was slightly chilly and Lucinda, as usual, had the window open. She and Plump Mrs. Frederick Pen-hollow did most of the talking. Mrs. George Pen-hollow being rather out of it by reason of her newness. She was George Pen-hollow's second wife, married only a year. Hence her contributions to the conversation were rather spasmodic, hurled in as it were by dead reckoning, being sometimes appropriate and sometimes savoring of a point of view not strictly Pen-hollow-esque. Romney Pen-hollow was sitting in a corner listening to the chatter of the woman with the inscrutable smile that always vexed Mrs. Frederick. Mrs. George wondered within herself what he did there among the woman. She also wondered just where he belonged on the family tree. He was not one of the uncles yet he could not be much younger than George. For she if he is a day was Mrs. George's mental dictum but a very handsome and fascinating man I never saw such a splendid shin and dimple. Lucinda with bronze colored hair and the whitest of skins defiant of merciless sunlight and reveling in the crisp air sat on the sill of the open window behind the crimson vine leaves looking out into the garden where Delias flamed and asters broke into waves of purple and snow. The ruddy light of the autumn afternoon gave a sheen to the waves of her hair and brought out the exceeding purity of her Greek outlines. Mrs. George knew who Lucinda was a cousin of the second generation and in spite of her 35 years the acknowledged beauty of the whole pen-halo connection. She was one of those rare women who keep their loveliness unmarred by the passage of years. She had ripened and matured but she had not grown old. The older pen-halos were still inclined from sheer force of habit to look upon her as a girl and the younger pen-halos hailed her as one of themselves. Yet Lucinda never aped girlishness, good taste and a strong sense of humor preserved her amid many temptations there too. She was simply a beautiful, fully developed woman with whom time had declared a truce, young with a mellow youth which had nothing to do with years. Mrs. George liked and admired Lucinda. Now, when Mrs. George liked and admired any person it was a matter of necessity to impart her opinions to the most convenient confidant. In this case it was Romney Penhalo to whom Mrs. George remarked sweetly. Really, don't you think are Lucinda's looking remarkably well this fall? It seemed a very harmless, inane well meant question, but poor Mrs. George might be well excused for feeling bewildered over the effect. Romney gathered his long legs together stood up and swept the unfortunate speaker a crushing Penhalo bow of state. Far be it from me to disagree with the opinion of a lady, especially when it concerns another lady, he said, as he left the blue room. Overcome by the mordant satire in his tone Mrs. George glanced beachlessly at Lucinda. Behold, Lucinda had squarely turned her back on the party and was gazing out into the garden with a very decided flush on the snowy curves of her neck and cheek. Then Mrs. George looked at her sisters-in-law. They were regarding her with a tolerant amusement they might bestow on a blundering child. Mrs. George experienced that subtle prescience whereby it has given us to know that we have put our foot in it. She felt herself turning an uncomfortable brick red. What Penhalo skeleton had she unwittingly jangled? Why? Oh, why did such an evident breach of propriety to praise Lucinda? Mrs. George was devoutly thankful that a summons to the tea-table rescued her from her mire of embarrassment. The meal was spoiled for her, however. The mortifying recollection of her mysterious blunder conspired with her curiosity to banish apocite. As soon as possible after tea she decoyed Mrs. Frederick out into the garden and in the Delilah walk solemnly demanded the reason for it. Mrs. Frederick indulged in a lack which put the metal on her festal brown silk seams to the test. My dear Cecilia, it was so amusing, she said, a little patronizingly. But why? cried Mrs. George, resenting the patronage in the mystery. What was so dreadful in what I said or so funny? And who is this Romney Penhalo who mustn't be spoken to? Oh, Romney's one of the best-known penhalos. Explain, Mrs. Frederick. He's a lawyer there. He's the first cousin of Lucinda's and a second of George's. Or is he? Oh, bother. You must go to Uncle James if you want the genealogy. I'm in a chronic muddle concerning Penhalo relationship. As for Romney, of course you can speak to him about anything you like. Except Lucinda. Oh, you innocent. To ask him if he didn't think Lucinda for her too. Of course he thought you did it on purpose to tease him. And that was what made him so savage and sarcastic. But why? Persisted Mrs. George, sticking it tenaciously to her point. Hasn't George told you? No, said George's wife in mild exasperation. George has spent most of his time since we were married telling me odd things about the penhalos, but he hasn't got to that yet, evidently. Dear, it is our family romance. Lucinda and Romney are in love with each other. They've been in love with each other for 15 years. And in all that time they've never spoken to each other once. Dear me, murmured Mrs. George, feeling the inadequacy of mere language. Was this a penhalo method of courtship? But why? They had a quarrel 15 years ago, said Mrs. Frederick patiently. Nobody knows how it originated or anything about it except that Lucinda was in the wrong. We know that because Lucinda herself admitted it to us afterwards. But in the first flash of her rage she told Romney that she would never speak to him again as long as she lived. And he said that he would never speak to her until she spoke first, because you see as she was in the wrong she ought to make the first advance. And they never have spoken. Everybody in the connection, I suppose, has taken turns trying to reconcile them. But nobody has succeeded. I don't believe that Romney has ever so much as thought of any other woman in his whole life. And certainly Lucinda has never thought of any other man. He will notice she still wears Romney's ring. They're practically engaged still, of course. And Romney said once that if Lucinda would just say one word, no matter what it was, even if it were something insulting, he would speak more pardon for his share in the quarrel. Because then you see, he would not be breaking his word. He hasn't referred to the matter for years. But I presume that he's of the same mind still. And they are just as much in love with each other as they ever were. He's always hanging about where she is when other people are there, too, that is. He avoids her like a plague when she is alone. That is why he's stuck out in the blue room with us today. There doesn't seem to be a particle of resentment between them that Lucinda would only speak. But that Lucinda will not do. Doty thinks she will yet, said Mrs. George. Mrs. Frederick shook her crimped head sagely. Not now. The whole thing has hardened too long. Her pride will never let her speak. We used to hope she would be tricked into it by forgetfulness or accident. We used to lay traps for her, but all to no effect. It is such a shame, too. We were made for each other. Do you know? I get cross when I begin to thrash the whole silly affair over like this. Doesn't it sound as if we were talking of the quarrel of two school-children? Of late years we have learned that it does not do to speak of Lucinda to Romney, even in the most common place way. He seems to resent it. He ought to speak, cried Mrs. George warmly. Even if she were in the wrong ten times over, he ought to overlook it and speak first. But he won't. And she won't. You never saw to such determined mortals. They get it from their grandfather on the mother's side, old Absalom Gordon. There's no such stubbornness on the penholoside. His obstinacy was a proverb, my dear, actually a proverb. Whatever he said he would stick to if the skies fell. He was a terrible old man to swear, added Mrs. Frederick, dropping into irrelevant reminiscence. He spent a long time in a mining-camp in his younger days, and he never got over it. The habit of swearing, I mean.  And yet he was a real good old man in every other way. He couldn't help it somehow. He tried to, but he used to say that profanity came as natural to him as breathing. It used to mortify his family terribly. Fortunately, none of them took after him in that respect. But he's dead, and one shouldn't speak ill of the dead. I must go and get Maddie Penhalo to do my hair. I would burst these sleeves clean out if I tried to do it myself, and I don't want to dress over again. You won't be likely to talk to Romney about Le Cinde again, my dear Cecilia. Fifteen years murmured Mrs. George helplessly to the Dalias. Engaged for fifteen years and never speaking to each other. Dear heart and soul, think of it. Oh, these Penhalos. Meanwhile, Le Cinde serenely unconscious that her love story was being mouthed over by Mrs. Frederick in the Dalias Garden, was dressing for the wedding. Le Cinde still enjoyed dressing for a festivity, since the mirror still dealt gently with her. Moreover, she had a new dress. Now, a new dress and especially one as nice as this was a rarity with Le Cinde, who belonged to a branch of the Penhalos noted for being chronically hard up. Indeed, Le Cinde and her widowed mother were positively poor, and hence an uncle had given her this one, a beautiful perishable thing, such as Le Cinde never would have dared to choose for herself, but in which she reveled with delight. It was of pale green voile, a colour which brought out admirably the ruddy gloss of her hair and the clear brilliance of her skin. When she had finished dressing, she looked at herself in the mirror with frank delight. Le Cinde was not vain, but she was quite well aware of the fact of her beauty and took an impersonal pleasure in it, as if she were looking at some finely painted picture by a master hand. The form and face reflected in the glass satisfied her. The paths and draperies of the green voile displayed to perfection the full, but not overfull, curves of her fine figure. Le Cinde lifted her arm and touched a red rose to her lips with the hand upon which shone the frosty glitter of Romney's diamond. Looking at the graceful slope of her shoulder and the splendid line of chin and throat with critical approval, she noted too well the gown became her eyes, bringing out all the deeper color in them. Le Cinde had magnificent eyes. Once Romney had written a sonnet to them in which she compared their color to ripe blueberries. This may not sound poetical to you, unless you know or remember just what the tints of ripe blueberries are. Dusky purple in some lights, clear slate in others, and yet again in others the misty hue of early meadow violets. You really look very well, remarked the real Le Cinde to the mirrored Le Cinde. Nobody would think you were an old maid, but you are. Alice Penhalo, who is to be married tonight, was a child of five when you thought of being married fifteen years ago. That makes you an old maid, my dear.  She flung her train out straight and pulled on her gloves. I do hope I won't get any spots on this dress tonight, she reflected. It will have to do me for a gala dress for a year at least, and I have a creepy conviction that it is fearfully spotable. Bless, Uncle Mark's good uncalculating heart, how I would have detested it if he had given me something sensible and useful and ugly as Aunt Emilia would have done. They all went to Young John Penhalo's at Early Moonrise. Le Cinde drove over the two miles of hill and dale with a youthful second cousin by name, Kerry Penhalo. The wedding was quite a brilliant affair. Le Cinde seemed to pervade the social atmosphere and everywhere she went a little ripple of admiration trailed after her like a wave. She was undeniably a bell, yet she found herself feeling faintly bored and was rather glad than otherwise when the guests began to fray off. I'm afraid I'm losing my capacity for enjoyment, she thought a little drearily. Yes, I must be growing old. That is what it means when social functions begin to bore you. It was that unlucky Mrs. George who blundered again.  Tell Le Cinde that I can't take her back to the grain. I have to drive Mark and Sissy Penhalo to Bright River to catch the two o'clock express. There will be plenty of chances for her with the others. At this moment George Penhalo holding his rearing horse with difficulty shouted for his wife. Mrs. George, all in a flurry, dashed back into the still crowded hall exactly to whom she gave her message was never known to any of the Penhalos.  Thus it wise that Le Cinde when she came out to the veranda found herself unaccountably deserted. The Penhalos were gone. Le Cinde realized this after a few moments of bewildered seeking and she understood that if she were to get to the Grange that night she must walk. Plainly there was nobody to take her. Le Cinde was angry. It is not pleasant to find yourself forgotten and neglected. It is still less pleasant to walk home alone along a country road at one o'clock in the morning on a pale green wall. Le Cinde was not prepared for such a walk. She had nothing on her feet to save thin sold shoes and her only raps were a flimsy fascinator and short coat. What a guy I shall look stalking home alone in this rig she thought crossly. There was no help for it unless she confessed her plight to some of the stranger guests and begged to ride home. Le Cinde's pride scorned such a request for the permission of neglect it involved. No, she would walk since that was all there was to it but she would not go by the main road to be stared at by all and sun dry who might pass her. There was a short cut by way of a lane across the fields. She knew every inch of it although she had not reversed it for years. She gathered at the green wall as trimly as possible slipped around the house and in the kindly shadows and found a gate which opened into a birch bordered lane where the frosted trees shone with silvery golden radiance in the moonlight. Le Cinde flitted down the lane growing angrier at every step as the realization of how shamefully she seemed to have been treated came home to her. She believed that nobody had thought about her at all which was tenfold worse than premeditated neglect. As she came to the gate at the lower end of the lane the spirit started with a quick intake of his breath which in any other man than Romney Penn Hollow or for any other woman than Le Cinde Penn Hollow would have been an exclamation of surprise. Le Cinde recognized him with a great deal of annoyance and a little belief. She would not have to walk home alone but with Romney Penn Hollow would he think she had contrived it so purposefully? Romney silently opened the gate for her, silently latched it behind her and silently fell into step beside her. Down across the valvety sweep of field they went, the air was frosty calm and still. Over the world lay a haze of moonshine and mist that converted East Grafton's prosaic hills and fields into a shimmering fairyland.  As for Romney he too was angry with the trick impish chance and played him. He liked being the butt of an awkward situation as little as most men and certainly to be obliged to walk home over moonlit fields at one o'clock in the morning with the women he had loved and never spoken to for fifteen years was the irony of fate with a vengeance. Would she think he had schemed for it? And how the deuce did she come to walking home from the wedding at all? By the time they had crossed the field and reached the wild cherry lane beyond it Le Cinde's anger was mastered by her saving sense of humor she was even smiling a little maliciously under her fascinator. The lane was a place of enchantment a long moonlit colonnade a down which beguiling wood nymphs might have footed it feetly. The moonshine fell through the arcing boughs and made a mosaic of silver light in clear cut shadow for the unfriendly lovers to walk in on either side was the hovering gloom of the woods and around them a great silence unstirred by wind or murmur. Midway in the lane Le Cinde was attacked by a sentimental recollection. She thought of the last time Romney and she had walked home together through this very lane from a party at Young John's. It had been moonlight then too and Le Cinde checked aside they had walked hand in hand just here by the big grey beach he had stopped her and kissed her. Le Cinde wondered if he were thinking of it too and stole a look at him from under the lace border of her fascinator but he was striding moodily along with his hands in his pockets and his hat pulled down over his eyes passing the old beach without a glance at it Le Cinde checked another sigh gathered up in a scarped flutter of wool and marched on past the lane a range of three silvery harvest fields sloped down to Peter Penn Hollow's brook a wide shallow stream bridged over in the olden days by the mossy trunk of an ancient fallen tree when the Cinde and Romney arrived at the brook they gazed at the brawling water blankly. Le Cinde remembered that she must not speak to Romney just in time to prevent an exclamation of dismay there was no tree there was no bridge of any kind over the brook here was a predicament but before Le Cinde could do more than despairingly ask herself what was to be done now Romney answered not in words, but in deeds he coolly picked Le Cinde up in his arms as if she'd been a child instead of a full grown woman of no mean avoir du poit and began to wade with her through the water Le Cinde gasped helplessly she could not forbid him and she was so choked with rage over his presumption that she could not have spoken in any case then came the catastrophe Romney's foot slipped on a treacherous round stone there was a tremendous splash and Romney and Le Cinde Penn Hollow were sitting down in the middle of Penn Hollow's brook Le Cinde was the first to regain her feet about her clung in heart breaking limpness the ruined wall the remembrance of all her wrongs that night rushed over her soul and her eyes blazed in the moonlight Le Cinde Penn Hollow had never been so angry in her life you damned idiot she said in a voice that literally shook with rage he meekly scrambled up the bank after her I'm awful sorry Le Cinde he said, striving with uncertain success to keep a suspicious quiver of laughter out of his tone it was wretchedly clumsy of me but that pebble turned right under my foot please forgive me for that and for other things Le Cinde deigned no answer she stood on a flat stone and rung the water from the poor green wall Romney surveyed her apprehensively hurry Le Cinde he entreated you will catch your death of cold I never take cold answered Le Cinde with chattering teeth and it is my dress I am thinking of was thinking of you have more need to hurry you are sopping wet yourself and you know you are subject to colds there come Le Cinde picked up the stringy train which had been so brave and buoyant five minutes before and started up the field at a brisk rate and she laughed at the words in the old way for a time they walked along in silence then Le Cinde began to shake with inward laughter she laughed silently for the whole length of the field and at the line fence between Peter Panhalo's land and the grain acres she paused through back the fascinator from her face and looked at Romney defiantly you are thinking of that she cried and I am thinking of it for the rest of our lives but if you ever mention it to me I'll never forgive you Romney Panhalo I never will promised Romney there was more than a suspicion of laughter in his voice this time but Le Cinde did not choose to resent it she did not speak again until they reached the Grange Gate then she faced him solemnly it was a case of atavism she said old grandfather Gordon was to blame for it at the Grange almost everybody was in bed but with the guests straggling home at intervals and hurrying sleepily off to their rooms nobody had missed Le Cinde each set supposing she was with some other set Mrs. Frederick, Mrs. Nathaniel and Mrs. George alone were up the perennially chilly Mrs. Nathaniel had kindled a fire of chips in the blue room great to warm her feet before retiring and the three women were discussing the wedding in subdued tones when the door opened a new form of Le Cinde stately even in the draggled wall appeared and with a damp Romney behind her Le Cinde Panhalo gasped they one and all I was left to walk home said Le Cinde Cooley so Romney and I came across the fields there was no bridge over the brook and when he was carrying me over he slipped and we fell in that is all no Cecilia I never take hold so don't worry it was ruined but that is of no consequence no thank you Cecilia I do not care for a hot drink Romney do go and take off those wet clothes of yours immediately no Cecilia I will not take a hot foot bath I am going straight to bed good night when the door closed on the pair the three sisters in law stared at each other Mrs. Frederick feeling herself incapable of expressing her sensations originally took refuge in a quote do I sleep do I dream do I wonder in doubt is things what they seem or is visions about there will be another Panhalo wedding soon said Mrs. Nathaniel with a long breath Le Cinde has spoken to Romney at last oh what do you suppose she said to him cried Mrs. George my dear Cecilia said Mrs. Frederick no they never did no end of The Winning of Lucinda by Ellen Montgomery this is the LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org this recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina The Wogglebug Book by L. Frank Baum the unique adventures of The Wogglebug one day Mr. H. M. Wogglebug T. E. becoming separated from his comrades who had accompanied him from the land of Oz and finding that time hung heavy on his hands he had four of them decided to walk down the main street of the city and try to discover something or other of interest the initials H. M. before his name meant highly magnified Wogglebug was several thousand times bigger than any other Wogglebug you ever saw and the initials T. E. after his name meant thoroughly educated and so he was in the land of Oz but his education being applied to a Wogglebug intellect was not at all remarkable in this country where everything is quite different than Oz yet the Wogglebug did not suspect this and being like so many other thoroughly educated persons proud of his mental attainments he marched along the street with an air of importance that made one wonder what great thoughts were occupying his massive brain being about as big in his magnified state as a man the Wogglebug took care to clothe himself like a man only instead of choosing sober colors for his garments he delighted in the most gorgeous reds and blues and greens so that if you looked at him long the brilliance of his clothing was liable to dazzle your eyes I suppose the Wogglebug did not realize at all what a queer appearance he made being rather nervous he seldom looked into a mirror and as the people he met avoided telling him he was unusual he had fallen into the habit of considering himself merely an ordinary citizen of the big city wherein he resided so the Wogglebug strutted proudly along the street swinging a cane in one hand flourishing a pink handkerchief in the other fumbling his watch fob with another and feeling his necktie was straight with another having four hands to use would prove rather puzzling to you or me I imagine but the Wogglebug was thoroughly accustomed to them presently he came to a very refined store with big plate glass windows and standing in the center of the biggest window was a creature so beautiful and radiant and altogether charming that the first glance at her nearly took his breath away her complexion was lovely for it was wax but the thing which really caught the Wogglebug's fancy was the marvellous dress she wore indeed it was the latest Paris model although the Wogglebug did not know that and the designer must have had a real waggly love for bright colors for the gown was made of red cloth covered with big checks which were so loud the fashion books called them Wagnerium plaids never had our friend the Wogglebug seen such a beautiful gown before and it afflicted him so strongly that he straight away fell in love with the entire outfit even to the wax complexion lady herself very politely he tipped his hat to her but she stared coldly back without in any way acknowledging the courtesy never mind he thought faint heart never won fair lady and I'm determined to win this kaleidoscope of beauty or perish in the attempt you will notice that our insect had a way of using big words to express himself which leads us to suspect that the school system in Oz is the same that they employ in Boston as with swelling heart the Wogglebug feasted his eyes upon the enchanting vision a small green tag that was attached to a button of the waist suddenly attracted his attention upon the tag was marked price 793 greatly reduced ah armored the Wogglebug my darling is in greatly reduced circumstances and $7.93 will make her mine where oh where shall I find the 793 therewith to liberate this divinity and make her Mrs. Wogglebug move on said a gruff policeman who came along swinging his club and the Wogglebug obediently moved on his brain working fast and furious in the endeavor to find a way to procure $7.93 you see in the land of Oz they use no money at all so that when the Wogglebug arrived in America he did not possess a single penny and no one had presented him with any money since yet there must be several ways to procure money in this country he reflected for otherwise everybody would be as meaningless as I am but how I wonder do they manage to get it just then he came along a side street where a number of men were at work digging a long and deep ditch in which to lay a new sewer now these men thought the Wogglebug must get money for shuffling all that earth else they wouldn't do it here is my chance to win the charming vision of beauty in the shop window seeking out the foreman he asked for work and the foreman agreed to hire him how much do you pay these workmen asked the highly magnified one $2 a day answered the foreman then said the Wogglebug you must pay me $4 a day for I have four arms to their too and can do double their work if that is so I'll pay you $4 agreed the man the Wogglebug was delighted in two days he told himself as he threw off his brilliant coat and placed his hat upon it and rolled up his sleeves in two days I can earn $8 enough to purchase my greatly reduced darling and buy her $0.07 worth of caramels besides he seized two spades and began working so rapidly with his four arms that the foreman said you must have been forewarned why? asked the insect because there's a saying that to be forewarned is to be forearmed replied the other that is nonsense said the Wogglebug digging with all his might for they call you the foreman and yet I only see one of you laughed the man and he was so proud of his new worker that he went into the corner saloon to tell his friend the barkeeper what a treasure he had found it was just after noon that the Wogglebug hired as a ditch-dicker in order to win his heart's desire so at noon on the second day he quit work and having received eight silver dollars he put on his coat and rushed away to the store that he might purchase his intended bride but alas for the uncertainty of our hopes just as the Wogglebug reached the door he saw a lady coming out of the store dressed in identical checks with which he had fallen in love at first he did not know what to do or say for the young lady's complexion was not wax far from it but a glance into the window showed him the wax-lady now dressed in a plain black tailor-made suit and at once he knew the wearer that the wogglebug had was his real love and not the stiff creature behind the glass beg pardon he exclaimed stopping the young lady but you're mine here's the seven ninety-three and seven cents for candy but she glanced at him in a haughty manner and walked away with her nose slightly elevated he followed he could not do otherwise to urge him on the young lady stepped into a car which whirled away rapidly for a moment he was nearly paralyzed at his loss then he started after the car as fast as he could go and this was very fast indeed he being a Wogglebug somebody cried stop thief and a policeman ran out to arrest him but the Wogglebug used his forehands to push the officer aside and the astonished man went rolling into the gutter so recklessly that his uniform bore marks of the encounter for many days still keeping an eye on the car the Wogglebug rushed on he frightened two dogs upset a fat gentleman who was crossing the street leaped over an automobile that shot in front of him and finally ran plump into the car which had abruptly stopped to let off a passenger breathing hard from his exertions he jumped upon the rear platform of the car only to see his charmer step off at the front and walk mincingly up the steps of a house despite his fatigue he flew after her at once crying out stop my variegated deer stop, don't you know your mind but she slammed the door in his face and he sat down upon the steps wiped his forehead with his pink handkerchief and fanned himself with his hat and tried to think what he should do next presently a very angry man came out of the house he had a revolver in one hand and a carving knife in the other what do you mean by insulting my wife he demanded was that your wife asked the Wogglebug in meek astonishment of course it is my wife answered the man oh, I didn't know said the insect rather humbled but I'll give you $7.93 for her that's all she's worth, you know for I saw it marked on the tag the man gave a roar of rage and jumped into the air with the intention of falling on the Wogglebug and hurting him with the knife and pistol but the Wogglebug was suddenly in a hurry and didn't wait to be jumped on indeed he ran so very fast that the man was content to let him go especially as the pistol wasn't loaded and the carving knife was as dull as such knives usually are but his wife had conceived a great dislike for the Wagnerian Czech costume that had won for her the Wogglebug's admiration I'll never wear it again she said to her husband when he came in and told her that the Wogglebug was gone then he replied you'd better give it to Bridget for she's been bothering me about her wages lately and the present will keep her quiet for a month longer so she called Bridget and presented her with the dress and the delighted servant decided to wear it that night to Mickey Schwartz's ball now the poor Wogglebug finding his affection scorned was feeling very blue and unhappy that evening he walked out dressed among other things in a purple striped shirt with a yellow necktie and pea-green gloves he looked a great deal more cheerful than he really was he had put on another hat for the Wogglebug had a superstition that to change his hat was to change his luck and luck seemed to have overlooked the fact that he was in existence the hat may really have altered shortly met Ikey Swanson who gave him a ticket to Mickey Schwartz's ball for Ikey's clean dicky had not come home from the laundry and so he could not go himself the Wogglebug, thinking to distract his mind from his dreams of love attended the ball and the first thing he saw as he entered the room was Bridget clothed in that same gorgeous gown of Wagnerian plaid that had so fascinated his ugly heart the dear Bridget had added to her charm by putting seven full-blown imitation roses and three second-hand ostrich plumes in her red hair so that her entire person glowed like a sunset in June the Wogglebug was enraptured and although the divine Bridget was waltzing with fritzy Casey the insect rushed to her side and seizing her with all her four arms at once cried out in his truly educated Bostonian way oh, my superlative conglomeration of beauty, I have found you at last Bridget uttered a shriek and fritzy Casey doubled two fists that looked like tombstones and advanced upon the intruder still embracing the plaid costume with two arms the Wogglebug tipped Mr. Casey over with the other two but Bridget made a bound and landed with her broad heel which supported one hundred and eighty pounds firmly upon the insect's toes he gave a yelp of pain and promptly released the lady and a moment later he found himself flat upon the floor with a dozen of the dancers piled upon him all of whom were pummeling each other with much pleasure and a firm conviction that the diversion had been planned for their special amusement but the Wogglebug had the strength of many men and when he flopped the big wings that were concealed by the tails of his coat the gentlemen resting upon him were scattered like autumn leaves in a gust of wind the insect stood up rearranged his dress and looked about him Bridget had run away and gone home and the others were still fighting amongst themselves with exceeding cheerfulness so the Wogglebug selected a hat that would fit him his own having been crushed out of shape and walked sorrowfully back to his lodgings evidently that was not a lucky hat I wore to the ball he reflected but perhaps this one I now have will bring about a change in my fortunes Bridget needed money and as she had worn her brilliant costume once and allowed her friends to see how becoming it was she carried it the next morning with her second hand dealer and sold it for three dollars in cash scarcely had she left the shop when a lady of Swedish extraction a widow with four small children in her train entered and asked to look at a gown the dealer showed her the one he had just bought from Bridget and it's gay coloring so pleased the widow that she immediately purchased it for three sixty-five I tanks it's a good deal money for sure she says to herself but thus little children must have new father to make mind and take care of their mother like by Yimini and I tank no man look my way in this old dress I've been wearing she took the gown and the four children to her home where she lost no time in trying on the costume which fitted her as perfectly as a flower sack does a peck of potatoes that's beautiful she exclaimed in rapture as she tried to see herself in a cracked mirror I go this very afternoon to walk in the park for this man folks go crazy like when they see my fine frucks then she took her green parasol and a handbag stuffed with papers to make it look prosperous and aristocratic and sallied forth to the park followed by all her interesting flock the men didn't fail to look at her as you may guess but none looked with yearning until the waggle-bug sauntering gloomily along a path happened to raise his eyes and see before him his heart's delight the very identical Wagnerian plaids which had filled him with such unbounded affection ah ha my excruciatingly lovely creation he cried running up and kneeling before the widow I have found you once again do not I beg of you treat me with coldness for he had learned from experience not to unduly startle his charmer at their first moment of meaning so he made a firm attempt to control himself that the wearer of the checked gown might not scorn him the widow had no great affection for bugs having wrestled with the species for so many years a big bug and so handsomely dressed that she saw no harm in encouraging him especially as the men she had sought to captivate were proving exceedingly shy so you tank I have been lovely she asked with a coy glance at the insect I do with all my heart I do protested the waggle-bug placing all four hands one after another over that beating organ that's my plenty trouble by you I don't go be yours side the widow indeed regretting her admirer was not an ordinary man why not asked the waggle-bug I have still the 793 and as that was the original price and you are now slightly worn and second-handed I do not see why I need despair of calling you my own it is very queer when we think of it that the waggle-bug could not separate the wearer of his lovely gown from the gown itself indeed he always made love directly to the costume that it so enchanted him without any regard whatsoever to the person inside it and the only way we can explain this remarkable fact is to recollect that the waggle-bug was only a waggle-bug and nothing more could be expected of him the widow did not of course understand his speech in the least but she gathered the fact that the waggle-bug had money so she sighed and hinted that she was very hungry and that there was a good short-order restaurant just outside the park the waggle-bug became thoughtful at this he hated to squander his money which he had come to regard a sort of purchase price with which to secure his divinity but neither could he allow those darling checks to go hungry so he said if you will come with me to the restaurant I will gladly supply you with food the widow accepted the invitation at once and the waggle-bug walked proudly beside her leading all of the four children at once with his four hands two such gay costumes as those worn by the widow and the waggle-bug are seldom found together and the restaurant man was so impressed by the sight that he demanded his money in advance the four children jabbering delightedly in their broken English clambered upon four stools and the widow sat upon another and the waggle-bug who was not hungry being engaged in feasting his eyes upon the checks laid down a silver dollar as a guarantee of good faith it was wonderful to see and bread and butter and pickles and donuts and sandwiches disappear into the mouths of the four innocents and their comparatively innocent mother the waggle-bug had to add another quarter to the vanished dollar before the score was finally settled and no sooner had the tribe trooped out of the restaurant than they turned into the open portals of an ice cream parlor where they all attacked huge stacks of pale ice cream and consumed several plates of ladyfingers and cream puffs again the waggle-bug reluctantly abandoned a dollar but the end was not yet the dear children wanted candy and nuts and then they wanted pink lemonade and then popcorn and chewing gum and always the waggle-bug after a glance at the entrancing costume found himself unable to resist paying for the treat it was nearly evening when the widow pleaded fatigue and asked to be taken home for none of them was able to eat another morsel and the waggle-bug wearied her with his protestations of boundless admiration will you permit me to call upon you this evening asked the insect pleadingly as he bade the wearer of the gown goodbye on her doorstep sure like she replied not caring to dismiss him harshly and the happy waggle-bug went home with a light heart murmuring to himself at last the lovely plaids are to be my own the new hat I found at the ball has certainly brought me luck I am glad that our friend the waggle-bug had those few happy moments for he was destined to endure severe disappointments in the near future that evening he carefully brushed his coat put on a green satin necktie and a purple embroidered waistcoat and walked briskly towards the house of the widow but alas as he drew near to the dwelling a most horrible stench greeted his nostrils a sense of great depression came over him and upon pausing before the house his body began to tremble and his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets for the wily widow wishing to escape her admirer had sprinkled the doorstep in the front walk with insect exterminator and not even the waggle-bug's love for the enchanting checked gown could induce him to linger longer in that vicinity sick and discouraged he returned home where his first act was to smash the luckless hat and replace it with another but it was some time before he recovered from the horrors of that near approach to extermination and he passed a very awakeful and unhappy night indeed meantime the widow had traded with a friend of hers who had once been a wash-later for General Funston the Wagnerian costume for a crazy quilt and a corset that was nearly as good as new and a pair of silk stockings that were not mates a good bargain for both of them and the wash-lady being colored that is, she had a deep mahogany complexion was delighted with her gorgeous gown and put it on the very next morning when she went to deliver the wash to the bricklayer's wife surely it must have been fate that directed the waggle-bug's steps for as he walked disconsolently along an intuition caused him to race his eyes and he saw just ahead of him his affinity carrying a large clothes-basket stop, he called out anxiously stop my fair grenadine I implore you the colored lady cast one glance behind her and imagined that Satan had at last arrived to claim her for she had never before seen the waggle-bug and was horrified by his sudden and unusual appearance hey, Mars-devil, go away and leave me alone she screeched and the next minute she dropped her empty basket and sped up the street with a swiftness that only fear could have lent her flat-bottomed feet nevertheless the waggle-bug might have overtaken her had he not stepped into the closed basket and fallen headlong becoming so tangled up in the thing that he rolled over and over several times before he could free himself then when he had picked up his hat which was utterly ruined and found his cane which had flown across the street his mahogany-charmer and the Wagnerium-plads had disappeared from view with a sigh at his latest misfortune he returned home for another hat and the agitated wash-lady imagining that the devil had doubtless been lured by her beautiful gown made haste to sell it to a china-man who lived next door its bright colors pleased the chink who ripped it up and made it over into a Chinese robe with flowing draperies falling to his heels he dressed himself in his new costume and being proud of possessing such finery sat down on a bench outside his door so that everyone passing by could see how magnificent he looked it was here the wandering they aspired him and recognizing it once the pattern and colors of his infatuating idol he ran up and sat beside the china-man saying in agitated but educated tones oh my prismatic personification of gigantic gorgeousness again I have found you short cling said the chink with composure be mine only be mine the china-man did not quite understand two dollar a day he answered cautiously oh joy exclaimed the insect in delight I can then own you for a day and a half for I have three dollars left may I feel your exquisite texture my dearest fabric no flepic no feely you too flesh I am man china-man returned the oriental column returned the oriental calmly never mind that it is your beautiful garment I love every check in that entrancing dress is a joy and a delight to my heart while the waggle-bug thus raved the china-man's wife who was maddie de forest before she married him heard the conversation and decided this love affair had gone far enough so she suddenly appeared with a broomstick and with it began pounding the waggle-bug as fiercely as possible and maddie was no weakling I assure you the first blow knocked the insect's hat so far over his eyes that he was blinded but resolving not to be again cheated out of his darling he grasped firmly hold of the Wagnerian plaids with all four hands and tore a goodly portion of it from the frightened celestial's body next moment he was dashing down the street with the precious cloth tucked securely underneath an arm and maddie being in slight dishevel did not think best to follow him the triumphant joy of the waggle-bug can well be imagined no more need to chase the fleeting vision of his love no more submit to countless disappointments in his efforts to approach the object of his affection the gorgeous plaids were now his own for a large part of them anyway and upon reaching the quiet room wherein he lodged he gloated long and happily over its vivid coloring and violent contrasts of its glowing hues to the eyes of the waggle-bug nothing could be more beautiful and he positively regretted the necessity of ever turning his gaze from this bewitching treasure that he might never in the future be separated from the Czechs followed them with many loving caresses into compact form and wrapped them in a sheet of stout paper tied with cotton cord that had a love knot at the end wherever he went thereafter he carried the parcel underneath his left upper arm pressed as closely to his heart as possible and this sense of possession was so delightful that our waggle-bug was happy as the day is long in the evening his fortunes changed with cruel abruptness he walked out to take the air and noticing a crowd of people standing in an open space and surrounding a huge brown object our waggle-bug stopped to learn what the excitement was about pushing his way through the crowd and hugging his precious parcel he soon reached the inner circle of spectators and found they had assembled to watch a balloon ascension the professor who was to go up with the balloon had not yet arrived but the balloon itself was fully inflated and tugging hard at the rope that held it as if anxious to escape the blended breaths of the people that crowded around just below the balloon was a small basket attached to the netting of the gas-bag and the waggle-bug was bending over the edge of this to see what it contained when a warning cry from the crowd reached him to pause and glance over his shoulder great horrors and crumpled creeps springing towards him with a scowl on his face and a long knife with a zigzag blade in his uplifted hand was that very Chinaman from whose body he had torn the Wagnerian plaids the plundered Celestia was evidently vindictive and intended to push the wicked knife into the waggle-bug's body the hero was a brave bug as can easily be proved but he did not wait for the knife to arrive at the broad of his back instead he gave a yell to show he was not afraid and leaped nimbly into the basket of the balloon the descending knife, missing its intended victim fell upon the rope and severed it and instantly the great balloon broke from the crowd and soared majestically towards the heavens the waggle-bug had escaped the Chinaman but he did not know whether to be glad or not for the balloon was carrying him into the clouds and he had no idea how to manage it or to make it descend to earth again when he peered over the edge of the basket he could hear the faint murmur of the crowd and dimly see the enraged professor who had come too late pounding the Chinaman while the Chinaman tried to dissect the professor with his knife then all was blotted out clouds rolled about him night fell the man and the moon laughed at him the stars winked at each other as if delighted at the waggle-bug's plight and a witch riding by on her broomstick yelled at him to keep on the right side of the road and not run her down but the waggle-bug squatted in the bottom of the basket and hugging his precious parcel to his bosom paid no attention to anything but his own thoughts he had often ridden in the gump but never had he been so high as this and the distance to the ground made him nervous when morning came he saw a strange country far beneath him and longed to tread the earth again now all waggle-bugs are born with wings and our highly magnified one had a beautiful broad pair of floppers concealed beneath ample coattails but long ago he had learned that his wings were not strong enough to lift his big body from the ground so he had never tried to fly with him here, however, was an occasion when he might put these wings to good use for if he spread them in the air and then leaped over the side of the basket they would act in the same way a parachute does and bear him gently to the ground no sooner did this thought occur to him than he put it into practice disentangling his wings from his coattails he spread them as wide as possible and then jumped from the car of the balloon down, down the waggle-bug sank but so slowly that there was no danger in the flight he began to see the earth again lying beneath him like a sun-kissed panorama of mud and frog-ponds and rocks and brushwood there were few trees yet it was our insect's fate to drop directly above what trees there were so that presently he came kerplunk into a mess of tangled branches and stuck there with his legs dangling helplessly between two limbs and his wings caught in the foliage at either side below was a group of Arab children who at first started to run away but seeing that the queer creature which had dropped from the skies was caught fast in the tree they stopped and began to throw stones and clubs at it one of the missiles struck the tree limb at the right of the waggle-bug and jarred him loose the next instant he fluttered to the ground where his first act was to fold up his wings and tuck them underneath his coattails again and his next action was to assure himself that the beloved plaids were still safe then he looked for the Arab children but they had scuttled away towards a group of tents and now several men with dark skins and gay clothing came from the tents and ran towards the waggle-bug Good morning! said our hero removing his hat with a flourish and bowing politely Meblechiba! shouted the biggest Arab and at once two others wound coils of rope around the waggle-bug and tied the ends in hard knots his hat was knocked off and trampled into the mud by the sheik who was the big Arab and the precious parcel was seized and ruthlessly opened Very good! said the sheik eyeing the plaids with pleasure My slaves shall make me a new waistcoat of this cloth Oh, no, no! cried the agonized insect it is taken from a person who has had smallpox and yellow fever and toothache and mumps all at the same time Do not, I beg you, risk your valuable life by wearing that cloth Bah! said the sheik scornfully I have had all those diseases and many more I am immune but now he continued Allow me to bid you good-bye I am sorry to be obliged to kill you but such is our custom This was bad news for the waggle-bug but he did not despair Are you not afraid to kill me? he asked as if surprised Why should I be afraid? demanded the sheik Because it is well known that to kill a waggle-bug brings bad luck to one The sheik hesitated for he was very superstitious Are you a waggle-bug? he asked I am, replied the insect proudly and I may as well tell you that the last person who killed one of my race had three unlucky days The first his suspenders broke the Arab shuddered The second day he smashed a looking glass the Arab moaned and the third day he was chewed up by a crocodile Now the greatest aversion Arabs have is to be chewed by a crocodile because these people usually roam over the sands of the desert where to meet an amphibian is simply horrible So at the waggle-bug's speech they set up a howl of fear and the sheik shouted Unbind him, let not a hair of his head be injured At once the knots and the ropes were untied and the waggle-bug was free All the Arabs united to show him deference and every respectful attention and since his own hat had been destroyed they wound about his head a picturesque turban of an exquisite soiled white color having stripes of red and yellow in it Then the waggle-bug was escorted to the tents where he suddenly remembered his precious plaids and asked that the cloth be restored to him There upon the sheik got up they made a long speech in which he described his grief at being obliged to refuse the request At the end of that time one of the women came up to them with a lovely waistcoat which she had manufactured out of the Wagnerian plaids and when the sheik saw it he immediately ordered all the tom-toms and kettle-drums in the camp destroyed as they were no longer necessary Then he put on the gorgeous vestment and turned a deaf ear to the waggle-bug's agonized wails But there were some scraps of cloth left and to show that he was liberal and good-natured the sheik ordered these manufactured into a handsome necktie which he presented waggle-bug in another long speech Our hero, realizing a larger part of his darling was lost to him decided to be content with a smaller share So he put on the necktie and felt really proud of its brilliance and aggressive elegance Then, bidding the Arabs farewell he strode across the desert until he reached the borders of a more fertile and favored country Indeed, he found before him a cool and enticing jungle which at first seemed deserted But while he stared about him a sound fell upon his ear He saw approaching a young lady chimpanzee She was evidently a personage of some importance for her hair was neatly banged just over her eyes and she wore a clean white pinafore with bows of pink ribbon at the shoulders Good morning, Mr. Beetle, said she with merry laughter Do not, I beg of you, call me a beetle exclaimed our hero rather peevishly for I am actually a waggle-bug and highly magnified at that What's in a name? laughed the gay damsel Come, let me introduce you to our jungle where strangers of good breeding are always welcome As for breeding, said the waggle-bug My father, although of ordinary size was a famous bug wizard in his day and claimed descent from the original protoplasm which constituted the nucleus present planetary satellite upon which we exist That's all right, returned Miss Chim Tell that to our king and he'll decorate you with the metal of the omnipotent order of onerous orthographers Are you ready to meander? The waggle-bug did not like the flippant tone in which the maiden spoke but he at once followed her Presently they came to a tall hedge surrounding the inner jungle and without this hedge stood a patrol of brown bears who wore red soldier caps and carried gold-plated muskets in their hands We call this the barrier, said Miss Chim pointing to the soldiers because they obliged all strangers to pause I should think it was a barricade remarked the waggle-bug But when they approached the gateway the officer-in-charge saluted respectfully Miss Chim and permitted her to escort the waggle-bug into the sacred precincts of the inner jungle Here his eyes were soon opened to their whitest capacity and genuine astonishment The jungle was as clean and as well regulated as any city of men the insect had ever visited Just within the gate a sleek antelope was running a popcorn stand and a little further on a screech owl stood upon a stump playing a violin While across her breast was a sign reading I am blind at present As they walked up the street they came to a big gray monkey turning a hand organ and attached to a cord was a little boy whom the monkey sent into the crowd of animals standing by to gather up the pennies pulling him back every now and then by means of the cord There's a curious animal for you said Miss Chim pointing to the boy Those hard things they call men whether black or white seem to me the lowest of all created beasts I have seen them in a highly civilized state replied the waggle-bug but they're really further advanced than you might suppose But Miss Chim gave a scornful laugh and pulled him away to where a hippopotamus sat under the shade of a big tree mopping his brow with a red handkerchief for the weather was somewhat sultry Before the hip was a table covered with a blue cloth and upon the cloth was embroidered the words Professor Hipmus, fortune teller Once your fortune told Ask Miss Chim I don't mind replied the waggle-bug I'll read your hand said the professor with a yawn that startled the insect To my notion palmistry is the best means of finding out what nobody knows or cares to know He took the upper right hand of the waggle-bug and after adjusting his spectacles bent over it with an air of great wisdom You have been in love announced the professor but you got it in the neck True! murmured the astonished insect putting up his left lower hand to feel of the beloved necktie You think you have won continued the hip but there are others who have won too You have many heart-throbs before you during your future life Afterward I see no heart-throbs whatever Forty cents please Isn't he just wonderful? asked Miss Chim with enthusiasm he's the greatest fortune teller in the jungle On account of his size I suppose returned the waggle-bug as they walked on Soon they came to the royal palace which was a beautiful bower formed by vines upon which grew many brilliant hued forest flowers The entrance was guarded by a zebra who barred admission until Miss Chim whispered the password in his ear Then he permitted them to enter and the chimpanzee immediately ushered the waggle-bug into the presence of King Weasel This monarch lay coiled upon a purple silk cushion half asleep and yet wakeful enough to be smoking a big cigar Beside him crouched two prairie dogs who were combing his hair very carefully while a red squirrel perched near his head and fanned him with her bushy tail Dear me, what have we here? exclaimed the king of the jungle in a quarrelous tone is it an overgrown pinch-bug or is it a kissing-bug?  Then two little weasels a boy weasel and a girl weasel came into the bower and threw their school-books at the squirrel so cleverly that one hit the king upon the nose and smashed his cigar and the other caught him fairly in the pit of his stomach At first the monarch howled a bit Then he wiped the tears from his face and said Ah, what delightful children I have What do you wish, my darlings?  Pop went the weasel Our billy goat has swallowed the hair you gave me to play with Dear me, sighed the king How often I find a hair in the butter Whenever I reign people carry umbrellas And my son, although quite polished indulges only in mucky shines Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown But if one is scalped the loss of the crown renders the head still more uneasy Couldn't they find a better king than you? Inquired the waggle-bug curiously as the children left the bower Yes, but no worse, answered the weasel And here in the jungle honors are conferred only upon the unworthy For if a truly great animal is honored he gets a swelled head and that renders him unbearable They now regard the king of the jungle with contempt That makes all my subjects self-respecting There is wisdom in that declared the waggle-bug approvingly A single glance at you makes me content with being so excellent a bug True, ah, murmured the king yawning But you tire me, good stranger Miss Chim, will you kindly get the gasoline can It's high time to eradicate this insect With pleasure, said Miss Chim, moving away with a smile But the waggle-bug did not linger to be eradicated With one wild bound he cleared the door of the palace and sprinted up the entrance of the jungle The bare soldiers saw him running away and took careful aim and fired But the gold-plated muskets would not shoot straight and now the waggle-bug was far distant and still running with all his might Nor did he pause until he had emerged from the forest and crossed the plains and reached at last the city from whence he had escaped in the balloon And once again in his old lodgings he looked at himself in the mirror and said After all, this necktie is my love and my love is now mine forever Why should I not be happy and content? The End P.S., a full account of the waggle-bug is given in Mr. Baum's delightful counter-story The Marvelous Land of Oz in which is also narrated the amazing adventures of the Scarecrow, the Tin-Woodman, Jack Pumpkinhead and the animated Saw-Horse Story 1 This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Read by Clarika Wonder Wings and Other Fairy Stories by Edith Howes Story 1 Wonder Wings Poppy Pink sat up in bed and yawned Why is everybody getting up so early, she asked Is it a holiday? The older fairies were dressing themselves and brushing their long, fine hair Wonder Wings is coming to see us, they said Jump up, little Poppy Pink Who is Wonder Wings, she asked You will see when you are dressed Hurry or you will miss her Oh dear, I am so sleepy, said Poppy Pink and she yawned again I don't care about Wonder Wings She snuggled down into the bed-clothes again and went to sleep Presently she was awakened by the sound of the sweetest singing she had ever heard and a flash of brilliant color went past her window-pane of crystal set in pearl That must be Wonder Wings, she said Oh, I must see her I hope I am not too late She sprang from bed and dressed so hurriedly that I'm afraid her hair did not receive its due amount of brushing Then she ran out into the garden The older fairies stood all in a group saying loudly, I will go and I will go And before them, scarcely touching the ground with the tip of her foot stood poised a glorious fairy taller than any other there She was altogether beautiful and her wings As soon as Poppy Pink saw them she knew why the visitor had been called Wonder Wings for they reached high above her head and almost to the ground and they glowed with so many colors that it seemed as if a million jewels had been hung upon them and had stuck growing into a million flashing stars that made a million little rainbows with every sway and movement of her body How lovely, oh how lovely cried Poppy Pink who was nearer to the beautiful fairy and sat among the daisies at her feet See, she cried My wings are small and colorless Tell me how I may grow wings like yours Just as little girls adore beautiful hair so do little fairies adore beautiful wings Wonder Wings smiled down at her Such wings as mine are only to be one in sadder lands than these, she said If you would have them you must leave your fairyland and come where humans live and where hunger and sorrow and death trample the city streets I will come, cried Poppy Pink, I will come Come then said Wonder Wings She took the little fairies hand and up they all rose into the clear air flying far and far away till they left their fairyland behind and came at last to the sadder lands where humans lived Their Wonder Wings showed them where hunger and sorrow and death trampled the city streets and the bands of fairies flew lower and lower to look The children tumble and fight in the dirty lanes and cry for bread cried Poppy Pink the little ones I cannot bear to hear them sob Perhaps you can help them, said Wonder Wings I'm only a little fairy What can I do? asked Poppy Pink I have no bread to give them She flew a little lower to gaze at them more nearly What can I do? she asked again No answer came She looked around and found herself alone Wonder Wings and the older fairies had in a moment gone from sight Below a crippled child sat among some rags in a dark corner of a dreary room and tears ran down her cheeks The sunshine, the pretty yellow sunshine she wailed If only I could run and play in the pretty sunshine Here is something I can do, thought Poppy Pink She gathered armfuls of the golden sunbeams and flying with them through the glass as only a fairy can fly herself unseen She heaped them over the twisted hands and pale thin face of the child and left her playing with them and smiling happily Lower she flew to help the little ones who cried about the gutters She led the starving and shelterless to comfort, the toddlers to safety She brought a flower to the hopeless Ease to sick ones wracked with pain At night she flew with glittering dreams from room to room so that even sad-eyed feeble babies laughed for pleasure in their sleep Day after day, night after night she toiled for weeks and months and years There was so much to do the time passed like a moment so busy was she that she had forgotten all about her wings One day there came a flash of colour in the air beside her and wonder wings and all the older fairies stood around her Dear Poppy Pink cried one How your wings have grown and how beautiful they are They are so tall that they reach above your head and almost to the ground and they glow with so many colours that it seems as if a million jewels had been flung upon them and had stuck growing into a million flashing stars that make a million little rainbows with every sway and movement of your body Poppy Pink laughed with joy I am so glad, so very glad she said I had forgotten all about my wings Yet they have grown with use said wonder wings and for every deed of kindness done a star has sprung to shine in beauty there forevermore End of Wonder Wings