The Little Red House looked up, and what he saw terrified him. The
big Blue-gum, in the clutch of the wind, was bent right over him,
so that the top branches seemed to be just above his roof; and the
great tree appeared to be falling, falling, helplessly.
"Don't fall on me!" shrieked the Little Red House. "Oh, don't fall
on me; because, if you do, you know you'll squash me! I don't want
to be squashed!"
But the big Blue-gum said, "There is just one little root holding
now. If that gives way we are both done for."
"Be brave! Oh, be brave!" shrieked the Little Red House.
Then slowly, very slowly, the big Blue-gum began to straighten up
again, away from the Little Red House.
"I have stood upon this mountain, tree and sapling, for over a
hundred years," he said when he had recovered; "but if it blows like
that again, it is the end of me."
But it did not blow like that again; though the wind howled and
shrieked all that day as if it was very angry and disappointed that
it could not blow down the big Blue-gum.
Then, towards evening, the wind fell; the heavy clouds went away
beyond the edge of the sky, and all became very calm and peaceful.
The birds came from their hiding places and sat in the branches of
the Blue-gum and chattered away to him, until he began to feel quite
cheerful once more, in spite of his trouble. And when a certain
little Tree-creeper--a very wise bird--came and had a long, serious
talk with the Blue-gum, he became very much interested indeed and
quite happy.
But the Little Red House was miserable still; and the beauty of
the evening didn't cheer him up one bit.
"Ah, well," said the Blue-gum, when the darkness came to the mountain,
"I am going to have a good sleep tonight. I'm a match still for old
Daddy Wind, in spite of all his noise and bluster. And there are ways
of dealing with white-ants, too. I've lived upon this mountain, tree
and sapling, for--"
But as he was talking he fell fast asleep.
The Little Red House did not sleep. How could he, with his eyes wide
open? So he just stood there all night staring before him, lonely and
wretched. And when an owl came and sat in the tree and began to call,
"Mopoke," the Little Red House told him rudely to stop his silly noise
and clear out. That will just show you how very miserable he was.
It was quite late next morning when the Blue-gum awoke. He stretched
his big limbs, and began to wonder what he might say to comfort the
Little Red House. But when the Blue-gum looked down, he saw that the
Little Red House was smiling all over his face.
"Well, now!" cried the big Blue-gum cheerfully. "That's the kind of
face I like to see in the morning! So you've decided to be sensible
and forget your loneliness?"
But the Little Red House didn't say a word. He just went on smiling.
Then the big Blue-gum began to get uneasy.
"I do hope your troubles haven't turned you silly," he said. "You
haven't lost your senses, have you?"
"I?" cried the Little Red House. "Why, look down the valley! See
who's coming!"
Down, far down, the valley, just coming through the white gate, were
two figures that looked like tiny specks. And much nearer was another
speck, which was certainly a little dog.
"It's them--I mean those are they!" shouted the Little Red House
happily. "Sym and Emily Ann! And here comes our little dog."
"Well, you certainly have sharp eyes," replied the Blue-gum. "But I
suppose I'm getting old--over a hundred years, you know."
The two figures were through the white gate now, and had crossed the
red road out on to the stony flat--getting bigger and bigger as they
came; and the smile on the Little Red House seemed to grow broader
and broader. On they came, under the tree-ferns, up by the big rocks,
past the sign-post. And now the Little Red House could hear Sym
singing his Tinker's song.
But it was not quite the same song this time:
"Kettles and pans! Ho, kettles and pans!
Where's there a home like the tinkering man's?
Weary of wandering, home is the place--
The Little Red House with the smile on his face--
Weary and hungry, my Emily Ann.
Then put on the kettle! Ho, put on the pan!"
"Now THAT is the sort of song I DO like," said the Little Red House,
as he watched them coming up the mountain.
On they came, growing bigger and bigger--through the sliprails, across
the potato paddock, over the bridge, round by the bracken-patch, past
the black stump, through the gate, and here they were, right at the
front door.
"Oh, I AM glad to be home again," cried Emily Ann. "And do look at the
Little House. He seems to be smiling."
"Of course he is smiling," answered Sym; "but he has a very dirty face."
"The storm did that," said Emily Ann. "Now hurry and get the fire
alight, and I'll put the kettle on." And they went inside laughing
and singing, while the little dog flew round the house, barking for
dear life, and pretending he was very busy seeing everything was
in order.
"Now I suppose you're happy," said the big Blue-gum to the Little
Red House.
"Happy?" cried the Little House. "Of course I am. Why, I'm a home
again!" But suddenly he remembered that his own happiness had made
him forget all about his old friend's troubles; and he tried his best
to look serious, as he said: "But what about YOU? Are the white-ants
still troubling you?"
"Ah!" replied the Blue-gum. "Don't let that worry you. Yesterday I
had a talk with the doctor--Doctor Tree-creeper, you know--a very
clever little bird he is, and he knows all about white-ants. He
examined me thoroughly all over. He says that they have hardly got
under my skin yet, and he will have them all out in a couple of days.
So THAT'S all right."
"Well, I am glad," shouted the Little Red House. "Now we are ALL happy!"
Then Sym got the fire started, and the smoke curled up, and the Little
House had his gay blue feather once again. Sym began to sing his
Tinker's Song louder than ever, and Emily Ann, who was getting the
meal ready, joined in and sang too. Very soon the kettle also began
to sing, and, when the pan heard that HE began to sing. Then Doctor
Tree-creeper arrived to attend to the white-ants, and, as he walked
round the trunk of the big Blue-gum, tapping it just like a doctor,
HE began to sing. And two Kookaburras, who were sitting on the fence,
were so tickled with it all, that they laughed and laughed till they
made everyone else laugh with them.
"This is quite like old times," laughed the big Blue-gum. "Are you
contented now?"
"Am I contented?" cried the Little Red House. "Am I contented? Well,
what would you think?"
And then--well, most ordinary grown-up folk would tell you that just
then Emily Ann drew down one of the front blinds. But all the big
Blue-gum knew, and all you and I know, is that the Little Red House
winked.
And when I saw him last, his smile was as broad as ever, and he was
still winking.
I'd like to be a pieman, and ring a little bell,
Calling out, "Hot pies! Hot pies to sell!"
Apple-pies and Meat-pies, Cherry-pies as well,
Lots and lots and lots of pies--more than you can tell.
Big, rich Pork-pies! Oh, the lovely smell!
But I wouldn't be a pieman if . . .
I wasn't very well.
Would you?
THE TRIANTIWONTIGONGOLOPE
There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy,
And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly;
It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee,
But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree.
Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.
It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face;
Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.
When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare,
But when you look for it again, you find it isn't there.
And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.
It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes;
It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.
If you snear at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame,
But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name,
And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope .
But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess
That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address.
For there isn't such an insect, though there really might have been
If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle green.
It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I hope.
Oh, try!
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.
THE CIRCUS
