A Little Boy Lost

by W. H. Hudson

"Child, you have followed me far," said the Queen, "and now you are rewarded, for you have looked on my face and I have refreshed you; and the Sun, my father, will never more hurt you for my sake."

"He is a naughty boy and unworthy of your goodness," spoke one of the bright beings standing near. "He killed the spoonbill."

"He cried for the poor slain bird," replied the Queen. "He will never remember it without grief, and I forgive him."

"He went away from his home and thinks no more of his poor old father and mother, who cry for him and are seeking for him on the great plain," continued the voice.

"I forgive him," returned the Queen. "He is such a little wanderer—he could not always rest at home."

"He emptied a bucketful of water over good old Jacob, who found him and took him in and fed him, and sang to him, and danced to him, and was a second father to him."

At that there was great laughter; even the Queen laughed when she said that she forgave him that too. And Martin when he remembered old Jacob, and saw that they only made a joke of it, laughed with them. But the accusing voice still went on:

"And when the good old shepherd went to sleep a second time, then the naughty little boy climbed on the table and picked a hole in the thatch and got out and ran away."

Another burst of laughter followed; then a youth in a shining, violet-coloured dress suddenly began twanging on his instrument and wildly capering about in imitation of old Jacob's dancing, and while he played and danced he sang—

"Ho, sheep whose ways are known to me,
Both ewe and lamb
And horned ram
Wherever can that Martin be?
All day for him I ride
Over the plains so wide,
And on my horn I blow,
Just to let him know
That Jacob's on his track,
And soon will have him back,
I look and look all day,
And when I'm home I say:
He isn't like a mole
To dig himself a hole;
Them little legs he's got
They can't go far, trot, trot,
They can't go far, run run,
Oh no, it is his fun;
I'm sure he's near,
He must be here
A-skulking round the house
Just like a little mouse.
I'll get a mouse-trap in a minute,
And bait with cheese that's smelly
To bring him helter-skelly—
That little empty belly,
And then I'll have him in it.
Where have he hid,
That little kid,
That good old Jacob was so kind to?
And when a rest I am inclined to
Who'll boil the cow and dig the kittles
And milk the stockings, darn the wittles?
Who mugs of tea
Will drink with me?
When round and round
I pound the ground
With boots of cowhide, boots of thunder,
Who'll help to make the noise, I wonder?
Who'll join the row
Of loud bow-wow
With din of tin and copper clatter
With bang and whang of pan and platter?
O when I find
Him fast I'll bind
And upside down I'll hold him;
And when a-home I gallop late-o
I'll give him no more cold potato,
But cuff him, box him, bang him, scold him,
And drench him with a pail of water,
And fill his mouth with wool and mortar,
Because he don't do things he oughter,
But does the things he ought not to,
Then tell me true,
Both ram and ewe,
Wherever have that Martin got to?
For Jacob's old and deaf and dim
And never knowed the ways of him."