LITTLE SIR CAT
"Little fishy in the brook,
Papa catch him with a hook,
Mamma fry him in the pan,
Johnny eat him like a man,"
sang a sweet voice, and in came Dame Trot with a big platter of fish. "Did Mr. Trot catch them?" asked Little Sir Cat politely, sitting down to the table and tucking the napkin under his chin.
"Of course," answered Dame Trot, "fish don't catch themselves, unless they're playing tag in the pool."
Well, it didn't take Little Sir Cat long to finish his meal, and when Dapple Gray was saddled, he set out again on his journey through Mother Goose Land, and by-and-by, after a while, he came to a bridge, and when he looked over the railing, he saw a pretty silver fish swimming on the top of the water.
"Helloa there, silver fish! If I had a hook and line I'd soon catch you," and Little Sir Cat grinned at his own reflection in the clear water. But if the fish had seen it I guess he would have darted away, for it looked just like a real cat in the water.
LITTLE SIR CAT AND DAME TROT
"You can drop me a line," replied the fish with a swish of his tail, "but I won't promise to bite."
"I don't care for any more fish to-day," answered Little Sir Cat, "I've just had a feast at Dame Trot's little Inn."
"If that's the case," replied the fish,
Giving his tail a shimmery swish,
"I'll go right home to Mrs. Trout
And tell her it's safe for her to go out."
And away went that poetical old trout, and so did Little Sir Cat, and after he had ridden for maybe a mile or three, he met the Maiden All Forlorn Who Milked the Cow with the Crumpled Horn. But she wasn't miserable now at all. No, Siree. She wore a lovely smile and a pink sun-bonnet with a bit of ribbon on it. And as soon as she saw Little Sir Cat her smile broke into a laugh: "Here is my dear little puss. Where has he been this long time?"
"Oh, just traveling," he answered. "What have you been doing?"
"You remember the tramp all tattered and torn?
Well, he made lots of money in cotton and corn.
So he bought me an automobile and a ring,
And the minister married us both in the spring,"
she answered, taking the pink ribbon off her sun-bonnet and tying it around Little Sir Cat's neck.
"There, you look like a prize winner," she laughed, and after that she ran back into the farm yard to see if the Little Black Hen had laid a white egg for breakfast.
By-and-by Little Sir Cat met the Spider who frightened Miss Muffet. She was busy spinning a big web and said to him,
"Please go 'way, don't bother me,
For I'm as busy as can be."
So you must wait for the next story to hear what happened to Tommy Green, unless
That little Black Spider
Puts salt in her cider.
[THE LOST PUSSY CAT]
I've been waiting at the door
To see if pussy comes no more.
Yesterday he left the house
To go a-hunting for a mouse.
[ACROSS THE PRAIRIE!]
'Way back in the early days of this country, when there weren't any railroad trains crossing the great Western plains, only big herds of wild buffalo by day and fierce wolves by night; when the only way to reach one's destination was in a big, canvas-covered wagon drawn by oxen; when every man rode a horse and carried a gun, and when even the women knew how to handle a rifle—then there were lots of Indians.
Those were dangerous times, and it needed a brave heart and a quick hand and a steady head to overcome the perils of crossing the great plains in search of a new home and a fortune.
This was what Dick's father was doing, however, and Dick was the happiest boy on earth, he thought, when they started out on their journey. The big "prairie schooner" was their Pullman car, and the patient team of oxen the motive power. Dick was old enough to straddle a mustang, and so he rode by father and Uncle Billy. Mother and Aunt Mary, Sister Lou and Cousin Tommy all rode in the wagon, and when night came on they got the supper, all except Billy, of course; he just watched.
Father and Uncle Billy made the fire and unhitched the oxen and tethered the ponies.
Dick soon learned that the most important thing to do as the day came to a close was to find a good grazing place on which to pitch tent for the night, as the best grass for the animals must be selected with care, near water if possible. The animals must be looked out for first, otherwise how would they ever get anywhere if these faithful friends should become sick and die?
The next thing Dick did was to collect for the fire the dry buffalo dung which covered the prairie, and after making a pile in the shape of a huge cone he lighted a few sticks of kindling, a supply of which was always carried in a sack hung from the bottom of the wagon, and soon the heap was a mass of dull, glowing coals; then the tin coffee pail and the frying pan, and then, thank goodness!—for Dick was always hungry—supper.
After that they pulled down the big, long canvas back of the wagon cover, which was spread double over the top of the wagon during the day, and fastened it to the ground with pegs, and under this slanting roof, with their blankets between them and the earth, with their toes towards the fire, they slept quite comfortably through the night.
The oxen and the ponies knew enough not to stray any great distance from the campfire, and if frightened at anything would come rushing back, helter-skelter, for protection. They know that on the prairie man is their best friend and protector.
"What are those figures away over there to the westward?" said Dick's father. Uncle Billy shaded his eyes with his hand and looked in that direction for a few minutes without answering. "Don't know," he replied, uneasily. "They look like horses, but I don't see any riders." "Nor I," replied Dick's father, "but those wily redskins have a way of hanging over the far-side of the animal so's to deceive any one who happens to catch sight of them. They don't act like wild horses."
It was an anxious moment. Neither man spoke for some time, but rode along quietly, keeping a sharp look-out, however, in order to detect the slightest change in the appearance of the figures to the westward. "They seem to be following our way," suggested Uncle Billy about an hour later. "Supposing we pitch camp to-night a little earlier. That clump of trees yonder will give us some protection in case they turn out to be redskins."
"Good plan," murmured Dick's father, turning in the direction of the trees. "We needn't let on we're worried to the women folks," he added, "we'll just wait and see how things turn out. Maybe nothing will happen."
But something did happen. About midnight Dick's father awoke with a start. A shadow fell across the opening in the canvas. In another moment he was grappling with an Indian. Over and over he rolled, but the Indian had found his match. Dick's father was a powerful man, and, whipping out his revolver, shot him dead. None too soon, for Uncle Billy was being hard pressed by a number of redskins, two of whom he had already laid low with his rifle.
"Get into the wagon, Mother!" yelled Dick's father, "and pick off a few with your rifle!" Mother and Aunt Mary were soon blazing away from the canvas fort, and after a short time the Indians retired, evidently to consider what was the next best move.
"Where's Dick?" said his father, looking around anxiously.
"Here I am!" came a voice, and sure enough, under the wagon, crouching down behind the bag of kindling wood, which he had used for a shield, was Dick. "I cracked two, dad!" he called out, "one Injun was sneaking up by the pole, when I dropped him; he's out there now, I can just see his outline."
Just then, a number of arrows fell around the wagon, and Uncle Billy caught sight of half a dozen shadowy figures creeping along the grass in the shadows of the trees to the right. "Look out," he whispered, "let 'em get pretty close and then give 'em hail Columbia."
It was a fierce struggle, for the Indians outnumbered our brave defenders. Twice the redskins rushed up close to the wagon, only to be beaten off in time by courage and good marksmanship. Both Dick's father and Uncle Billy were "nipped" by arrows, but not seriously hurt, and Dick himself had a narrow escape from being captured by a daring enemy who sneaked up behind. But Dick turned and saw him just in time, otherwise our story would have had a sad ending. Mother and Aunt Mary bravely kept up the firing, and the Indians, thinking that there were more defenders than there were, finally withdrew, much to the relief of the besieged.
There was no more sleep in the camp that night, and in the morning, at the first break of day, Dick's father went out to investigate. Two dead Indians close to the camp testified to the good aim of its defenders. "They took the other dead and wounded with them," said Dick's father, turning to his brave boy, "they didn't dare come in so close to get them. Here's the fellow you shot, sonny—I remember he was just about to tomahawk me as you shot him in the nick of time—guess you saved your dad's life," and Dick felt as proud as Punch when his father slapped him on the back like a man.
