On the Tree Top

by Clara Doty Bates

Hop-o’-my-Thumb, who heard again the plotting,

Crept from his trundle-bed,

But in the place of pebbles in his pockets

Put only crumbs of bread.

Again they went, through brier and through thicket, Into the darksome wood; Again he dropped his clues along the pathway Behind him when he could.

But when once more they found themselves deserted, And little Hop-o’-my-Thumb Felt sure to lead them out, he found the finches Had eaten every crumb! Then what to do! They wandered hither, thither, For hours in dread and fear, Until at last they saw, with fitful glimmer, A feeble light appear. It shone but faintly, like a single candle, But, trudging towards the ray, They reached a house and knocked; the door was opened After a brief delay,

And a kind woman asked them what they wanted. They said: “To stay all night.” “Run, run away! The faster you run the better!” She answered in affright. [THUMB] [PAGE] “An Ogre lives here, cruel and bloody minded! He eats up little boys! Run, run! I hear him coming from the mountains, I know him by the noise!”

“But we can’t run, we are so faint and tired!” Hop-o’-my-Thumb began— “’Tis all the same whether the wolves shall eat us, Or your good gentleman.” And so she took them in, fed them, and hid them All underneath her bed; And in a minute more they heard approaching, Tramp! tramp! an awful tread! It was the Ogre coming home; his supper Was steaming nice and hot,— Two calves upon a spit, ten rabbits roasting, A whole sheep in the pot. He banged the door wide open, sniffed and snorted, Then, in a dreadful voice, Roared out, while his poor wife stood by and trembled, “I smell seven little boys!” In vain she told him ’twas the mutton scorching; The veal had browned too fast; He searched the house, peering around and under, And reached the bed at last,

	Then dragged them one by one out, fairly shouting At little Hop-o’my-Thumb, Saying the lads would make, towards a dinner, Six mouthfuls and one crumb.
		“O, leave them till to-morrow!” cried the woman; “You’ve meat enough to-night.” “Well, so I have,” he said, “I’ll wait a little. Ah! ugh! they’re plump and white.”
			Now it so chanced the Ogre had seven daughters, And all slept in one bed, In a large room, and each wore for a nightcap A gold crown on her head.
				And Hop-o’-my-Thumb, when all the house was quiet, Into their chamber crept,
			And the gold head-bands for himself and brothers Stole from them while they slept.

Wicked and sly it was; he knew the Ogre Would, no doubt, rise at dawn, And, being but half awake, would kill the children Who had no night-caps on. And, sure enough, he did! He was so drowsy, And fogs so veiled the sun, That, whetting up a huge, broad-bladed dagger, He slew them, every one. Then Hop-o’-my-Thumb, awakening his brothers, Whispered: “Make haste and fly!” Without a word they did as they were bidden, In twinkling of an eye,
	Out in the drizzly mist of a gray morning, Off through the chill and dew, And none too soon! Within an hour the Ogre His dreadful blunder knew. “Wife, fetch my seven-league boots at once!” he shouted; “I’ll catch the vipers yet!” He stamped his feet into the magic leather With many a muttered threat;
And off he started, over hill and valley, Seven leagues at every stride; The children saw him like a giant shadow, But they could only hide. He scoured the country, rumbling like a tempest; Far, near, they heard his roar, Until at last his seven-league feet grew tired, And he could go no more. And down he lay to rest him for a minute— The day had grown so hot— Close to a rock where lay the seven children, Although he knew it not.

	Hop-o’-my-thumb spoke softly to his brothers: “Run! fast as ever you can, And leave me to take care of Mr. Ogre.” And hurry-scurry they ran.
		And Hop-o’-my-Thumb, creeping from out his crevice, With greatest caution drew The Ogre’s boots off (these would shrink or widen Just as you wished them to),