Five Mice in a Mouse-trap, by the Man in the Moon.

by Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards

So when he had eaten them all, they all disagreed with him, and he died. And there was an end of the Chinaman, Ting-Pan.

This was Puff's favorite story, and I had to tell it at least once every night, and often twice. Then when that was done, she would call for "Michikee Moo." You have never heard that, I'll warrant, for you do not, most of you, understand the Pawnee dialect, and "Michikee Moo" is a Pawnee ballad. The Indian mammas sing it to their pappooses, as they rock them in their bark cradles under the trees, in the western forests. I had to translate it into English, of course, for Puff; so here it is.

MICHIKEE MOO.

AN INDIAN BALLAD.

Whopsy Whittlesy Whanko Whee,
Howly old growly old Indian he,
Lived on the hill of the Mungo-Paws,
With all his pappooses and all his squaws.
There was Wah-wah-bocky, the Blue-nosed Goose,
And Ching-gach-gocky, the Capering-Moose;
There was Peeksy Wiggin, and Squawpan too,
But the fairest of all was Michikee Moo.
Michikee Moo, the Savoury Tart,
Pride of Whittlesy Whanko's heart.
Michikee Moo, the Cherokee Pie,
Apple of Whittlesy Whanko's eye.
Whittlesy Whanko loved her so
That the other squaws did with envy glow.
And each said to the other "Now what shall we do
To spoil the beauty of Michikee Moo?"
"We'll lure her away to the mountain top,
And there her head we will neatly chop!"
"We'll wile her away to the forest's heart,
And shoot her down with a poisoned dart!"
"We'll 'tice her away to the river side,
And there she shall be the Manitou's bride!"
"Oh! one of these things we will surely do,
And we'll spoil the beauty of Michikee Moo!"
"Michikee Moo, thou Cherokee Pie,
Away with me to the mountain high!"
"Nay, my sister, I will not roam;
I'm safer and happier here at home,"
"Michikee Moo, thou Savoury Tart,
Away with me to the forest's heart!"
"Nay, my sister, I will not go;
I fear the dart of some hidden foe."
"Michikee Moo, old Whittlesy's pride,
Away with me to the river-side!"
"Nay, my sister, for fear I fall.
And wouldst thou come if thou heardst me call?"
"Now choose thee, choose thee thy way of death,
For soon thou shalt draw thy latest breath.
We all have sworn that to-day we'll see
The last, fair Michikee Moo, of thee!"
Whittlesy Whanko, hidden near,
Each and all of these words did hear.
He summoned his braves, all painted for war,
And gave them in charge each guilty squaw.
"Take Wah-wah-bocky, the Blue-nosed Goose!
Take Ching-gach-gocky, the Capering Moose!
Take Peeksy Wiggin, and Squawpan too,
And leave me alone with my Michikee Moo!
This one away to the mountain-top,
And there her head ye shall neatly chop.
This one away to the forest's heart,
And shoot her down with a poisoned dart.
This one away to the river-side,
And there let her be the Manitou's bride.
Away with them all, the woodlands through.
For I'll have no squaw save Michikee Moo!"
Away went the braves, without question or pause,
And they soon put an end to the guilty squaws;
They pleasantly smiled when the deed was done,
Saying "Ping-ko-chanky! oh! isn't it fun?"
And then they all danced the Buffalo dance,
And capered about with ambiguous prance;
While they drank to the health of the lovers so true,
Brave Whittlesy Whanko and Michikee Moo.

"I wish I had an Indian doll, Mr. Moonman!" said Fluff one night, after I had sung this ballad to her. "A little pappoose! it would be so nice!"

"Nothing is easier!" I replied. "Take Katinka, there, who has long black hair; stain her face and neck with walnut juice, and paint her with stripes and spots of red and yellow. Then wrap her up in a blanket and put some beads round her neck, and you have an Indian doll. She will be a truly lovely object, according to Indian ideas, which indeed may not be quite the same as your own, but what of that?"

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Moonman!" said Katinka, who was spending the night on Puff's bed. "I am very sure my dear little mother will do nothing of the kind. Walnut juice, indeed! and for me, who have the finest complexion in the doll-house! You might take Sally Bradford, now, and she would not look more like a witch than she does now; but I am a French doll, and am not used to such treatment."

"Don't abuse Sally Bradford, Miss!" I said. "She is an excellent doll, for whom I have a great respect; and as for your fine complexion, why, we all know that 'handsome is as handsome does;' and I should like to know who does all the work in the doll-house. But speaking of witches, I wonder if Puff has ever heard the story of the witch who came to see little Polly Pemberton. That is a queer story."

"No, I have never heard it, Mr. Moonman!" cried Puff eagerly. "Was it a real witch? do tell me the story!"