Harper's Round Table, September 24, 1895 Part 15

GREEDY THOMAS.

BY KATHARINE PYLE.

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"No, Thomas, no," his good nurse said.

"Indeed, you should not take At tea-time such a very large And plummy piece of cake."

In vain it was for nurse to speak, Young Thomas paid no heed; The slice of cake, both plum and crumb, He ate with eager greed.

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But, ah! that night, when all the house Was wrapped in slumber deep, Then Thomas had a dreadful dream, For he was fast asleep.

He dreamed he was a plummy cake Of most enormous size.

The icing was his nose and mouth, And currants were his eyes.

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He dreamed the door swung softly back, The dream-man entered in; And spectacles were on his nose, And bristles on his chin.

He held a great knife in his hand, And tiptoed to the bed.

"Oh, pray don't cut! I'm not a cake, I'm Tommy," Thomas said.

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In vain to speak, for Thomas knew He looked too brown and nice; He saw the dream-man lift his knife As if to cut a slice,

And then--young Thomas shrieked and woke, And sat up straight in bed.

"Oh, dear! I'll never eat rich cake Again at night," he said.

STORIES BY GRANDMA.

SOME TERRIBLE ADVENTURES WITH WOLVES.

"Grandma," said Ralph, "what do you suppose Uncle Henry said?"

"Well," answered grandma, "it wouldn't surprise me if he said it was a cold day, or--"

"No; I mean what do you suppose he told me; what kind of a story?"

"Oh, dear! your uncle Henry is _such_ a hand to tell stories that I could hardly guess. About animals, I suppose, though, and nothing smaller than elephants, I'll warrant."

"No; wolves. They chased him once. Got away by climbing a tree and pulling the tree up after him."

"Dear me! what an extraordinary occurrence!" exclaimed grandma.

"But do you _believe_ it, grandma?" asked Ralph.

"Oh no; certainly not. I never believe any of your uncle Henry's animal stories."

"Well," said Ralph, slowly. "I've been a little afraid of some of them myself. He _couldn't_ pull up a tree he was in, _could_ he, grandma?"

"I don't believe he could, unless he pulled pretty hard. I remember _my_ uncle Henry used to tell a wolf story when I was a little girl. He said that one day, when he lived in Vermont, two wolves came after him, and he ran as fast as he could. By-and-by he began to get tired. Just then he came to a big rock, half as big as a house, and leaped upon it. The wolves were close behind, and so furious that they were almost or quite blind. One rushed around the rock one way, and the other the other way.

They met on the farther side, and each thought he had caught Uncle Henry, and they began to fight like cats and dogs. Pretty soon they stopped to rest, and saw their mistake, and Uncle Henry said he never saw two wolves look so disgusted."

"Do you believe _that_ story?" asked Ralph.

"Well," answered grandma, "it does seem to have its hard points. I think he may have stretched it a little."

"Tell me a true wolf story, grandma," pleaded Ralph.

"I'm afraid I don't know any more wolf stories--except the one about Little Red Riding-hood. Once on a time--"

"Oh, I've heard that, grandma. Tell me another about your uncle Henry."

"Well, another time, when Uncle Henry was living in Vermont a long time ago, two wolves came and sat down on his door-step. His house was a little log cabin with only one door. It was a very cold winter, with deep snow, so there wasn't much for wolves to eat. These two wolves were pretty hungry, and they thought that they would wait on the door-step till Uncle Henry came out, and just eat him for dinner, and perhaps stir around and get the stage-driver for supper, and depend on luck for breakfast the next morning.

"Uncle Henry happened to look out of the window and saw the two wolves sitting on the door-step; so he just staid in and said nothing. He staid in and kept on saying nothing for two whole days, and still those wolves sat there and waited for dinner to serve itself. They were friendly for a long time, and sat facing each other, discussing the weather and other things, I suppose; but after a while, when they began to get pretty hungry, they had a little tiff, and turned their backs on each other.

Then Uncle Henry took a clothes-pin, reached through the crack under the door, and slipped it on their tails where they crossed just as cool as if he had been pinning a wet stocking on a clothes-line. It held their tails together like a vise. 'Stop pinching my tail,' said one wolf.

'You--'"

"Now, grandma!" broke in Ralph, reprovingly.

"I'm telling this story just as Uncle Henry told it to me when I was a little girl. I don't suppose he meant that the wolf really _said_ that out loud, but _thought_ it, and _looked_ it. 'Let go my tail,' said one wolf; and he scowled over his shoulder at the other. 'Quit pinching _my_ tail,' said the other; and _he_ looked over _his_ shoulder and scowled.

Then they sprang at each other, and began to fight as hard as they knew how. Uncle Henry said he never heard such a noise in his life. But after a while it became all still, and he went out; but he couldn't find anything except a little wolf fur floating about in the air, and the clothes-pin; so he concluded that they had either fought each other completely out of existence, or got tired out and gone off."

H. C.