Chapter I: Part 1

A Book for Kids by C J Dennis (1921)

reissued as Roundabout (1935)

A very charming gentleman, as old as old could be, Stared a while, and glared a while, and then he said to me: "Read your books, and heed your books, and put your books away, For you will surely need your books upon a later day." And then he wheezed and then he sneezed, and gave me such a look. And he said, "Mark--ME--boy! Be careful of your book."

A very charming gentleman, indeed, he seemed to be. He heaved a sigh and wiped his eye, and then he said to me: "Take your books and make your books companions--never toys; For they who so forsake their books grow into gawky boys." I don't know who he was. Do you? he snuffled at the end; And he said, "Mark--ME--boy! Your book should be your friend."

DEDICATION

To all good children over four
And under four-and-eighty
Be you not over-prone to pore
On matters grave and weighty.
Mayhap you'll find within this book
Some touch of Youth's rare clowning,
If you will condescend to look
And not descend to frowning.

The mind of one small boy may hold
Odd fancies and inviting,
To guide a hand unsure and old
That moves, these days, to writing.
For hair once bright, in days of yore,
Grows grey (or somewhat slaty),
And now, alas, he's over four,
Though under four-and-eighty.

CONTENTS:

Dedication

A Very Charming Gentleman The Baker The Dawn Dance Cuppacumalonga The Swagman The Ant Explorer Riding Song The Funny Hatter The Postman The Traveller Our Street The Little Red House The Pieman The Triantiwontigongolope The Circus You and I Going to School Hist! Bird Song The Music of Your Voice The Boy who Rode into the Sunset The Tram-man The Axe-man The Drovers The Long Road Home The Band Bessie and the Bunyip Good Enough The Porter Growing Up The Unsociable Wallaby The Song of the Sulky Stockman Our Cow The Teacher The Spotted Heifers Tea Talk The Looking Glass Woolloomooloo The Barber Farmer Jack Old Black Jacko Bird Song The Sailor The Famine The Feast Upon the Road to Rockabout A Change of Air Polly Dibbs Lullaby The Publisher Good Night

THE BAKER

I'd like to be a baker, and come when morning breaks, Calling out, "Beeay-ko!" (that's the sound he makes)-- Riding in a rattle-cart that jogs and jolts and shakes, Selling all the sweetest things a baker ever bakes; Currant-buns and brandy-snaps, pastry all in flakes; But I wouldn't be a baker if . . . I couldn't eat the cakes. Would you?

THE DAWN DANCE

What do you think I saw to-day when I arose at dawn? Blue Wrens and Yellow-tails dancing on the lawn! Bobbing here, and bowing there, gossiping away, And how I wished that you were there to see the merry play!

But you were snug abed, my boy, blankets to your chin, Nor dreamed of dancing birds without or sunbeams dancing in. Grey Thrush, he piped the tune for them. I peeped out through the glass Between the window curtains, and I saw them on the grass--

Merry little fairy folk, dancing up and down, Blue bonnet, yellow skirt, cloaks of grey and brown, Underneath the wattle-tree, silver in the dawn, Blue Wrens and Yellow-tails dancing on the lawn.

CUPPACUMALONGA

'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, where go you to-day?'
I go to Cuppacumalonga, fifty miles away;
Over plains where Summer rains have sung a song of glee,
Over hills where laughing rills go seeking for the sea,
I go to Cuppacumalonga, to my brother Bill.
Then come along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga!
Come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!

'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, how do you get there?'
For twenty miles I amble on upon my pony mare,
The walk awhile and talk awhile to country men I know,
Then up to ride a mile beside a team that travels slow,
And last to Cuppacumalonga, riding with a will.
Then come along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga!
Come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!

'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, what do you do then?'
I camp beneath a kurrajong with three good cattle-men;
Then off away at break of day, with strong hands on the reins,
To laugh and sing while mustering the cattle on the plains--
For up to Cuppacumalonga life is jolly still.
Then come along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga!
Come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!

'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, how may I go too?'
I'll saddle up my creamy colt and he shall carry you--
My creamy colt who will not bolt, who does not shy nor kick--
We'll pack the load and take the road and travel very quick.
And if the day brings work or play we'll meet it with a will.
So Hi for Cuppacumalonga!
Come Along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!

THE SWAGMAN

Oh, he was old and he was spare; His bushy whiskers and his hair Were all fussed up and very grey He said he'd come a long, long way And had a long, long way to go. Each boot was broken at the toe, And he'd a swag upon his back. His billy-can, as black as black, Was just the thing for making tea At picnics, so it seemed to me.

'Twas hard to earn a bite of bread, He told me. Then he shook his head, And all the little corks that hung Around his hat-brim danced and swung And bobbed about his face; and when I laughed he made them dance again. He said they were for keeping flies-- "The pesky varmints"--from his eyes. He called me "Codger". . . "Now you see The best days of your life," said he. "But days will come to bend your back, And, when they come, keep off the track. Keep off, young codger, if you can." He seemed a funny sort of man.

He told me that he wanted work, But jobs were scarce this side of Bourke, And he supposed he'd have to go Another fifty mile or so. "Nigh all my life the track I've walked," He said. I liked the way he talked. And oh, the places he had seen! I don't know where he had not been-- On every road, in every town, All through the country, up and down. "Young codger, shun the track," he said. And put his hand upon my head. I noticed, then, that his old eyes Were very blue and very wise. "Ay, once I was a little lad," He said, and seemed to grow quite sad.

I sometimes think: When I'm a man, I'll get a good black billy-can And hang some corks around my hat, And lead a jolly life like that.

THE ANT EXPLORER

Once a little sugar ant made up his mind to roam-- To fare away far away, far away from home. He had eaten all his breakfast, and he had his ma's consent To see what he should chance to see and here's the way he went-- Up and down a fern frond, round and round a stone, Down a gloomy gully where he loathed to be alone, Up a mighty mountain range, seven inches high, Through the fearful forest grass that nearly hid the sky, Out along a bracken bridge, bending in the moss, Till he reached a dreadful desert that was feet and feet across. 'Twas a dry, deserted desert, and a trackless land to tread, He wished that he was home again and tucked-up tight in bed. His little legs were wobbly, his strength was nearly spent, And so he turned around again and here's the way he went-- Back away from desert lands feet and feet across, Back along the bracken bridge bending in the moss, Through the fearful forest grass shutting out the sky, Up a mighty mountain range seven inches high, Down a gloomy gully, where he loathed to be alone, Up and down a fern frond and round and round a stone. A dreary ant, a weary ant, resolved no more to roam, He staggered up the garden path and popped back home.

RIDING SONG

Flippity-flop! Flippity-flop!
Here comes the butcher to bring us a chop
Cantering, cantering down the wide street
On his little bay mare with the funny white feet;
Cantering, cantering out to the farm,
Stripes on his apron and basket on arm.
Run to the window and tell him to stop--
Flippity-flop! Flippity-flop!

THE FUNNY HATTER

Harry was a funny man, Harry was a hatter; He ate his lunch at breakfast time and said it didn't matter. He made a pot of melon jam and put it on a shelf, For he was fond of sugar things and living by himself. He built a fire of bracken and a blue-gum log, And he sat all night beside it with his big--black--dog.

THE POSTMAN

I'd like to be a postman, and walk along the street, Calling out, "Good Morning, Sir," to gentlemen I meet, Ringing every door-bell all along my beat, In my cap and uniform so very nice and neat. Perhaps I'd have a parasol in case of rain or heat; But I wouldn't be a postman if . . . The walking hurt my feet. Would you?

THE TRAVELLER

As I rode in to Burrumbeet, I met a man with funny feet; And, when I paused to ask him why His feet were strange, he rolled his eye And said the rain would spoil the wheat; So I rode on to Burrumbeet.

As I rode in to Beetaloo, I met a man whose nose was blue; And when I asked him how he got A nose like that, he answered, "What Do bullocks mean when they say 'Moo'?" So I rode on to Beetaloo.

As I rode in to Ballarat, I met a man who wore no hat; And, when I said he might take cold, He cried, "The hills are quite as old As yonder plains, but not so flat." So I rode on to Ballarat.

As I rode in to Gundagai, I met a man and passed him by Without a nod, without a word. He turned, and said he'd never heard Or seen a man so wise as I. But I rode on to Gundagai.

As I rode homeward, full of doubt, I met a stranger riding out: A foolish man he seemed to me; But, "Nay, I am yourself," said he, "Just as you were when you rode out." So I rode homeward, free of doubt.

OUR STREET

In our street, the main street
Running thro' the town,
You see a lot of busy folk
Going up and down:

Bag men and basket men,
Men with loads of hay,
Buying things and selling things
And carting things away.

The butcher is a funny man,
He calls me Dandy Dick;
The baker is a cross man,
I think he's often sick;

The fruiterer's a nice man,
He gives me apples, too;
The grocer says, "Good morning, boy,
What can I do for you?"

Of all the men in our street
I like the cobbler best,
Tapping, tapping at his last
Without a minute's rest;

Talking all the time he taps,
Driving in the nails,
Smiling with his old grey eyes--
(Hush) . . . telling fairy tales.

THE LITTLE RED HOUSE

Very few grown-up people understand houses. Only children understand them properly, and, if I understand them just a little, it is because I knew Sym. Sym and his wife, Emily Ann, lived in the Little Red House. It was built on a rather big mountain, and there were no other houses near it. At one time, long ago, the mountain had been covered all over with a great forest; but men had cut the trees down, all but one big Blue-gum, which grew near the Little Red House. The Blue-gum and the Little Red House were great friends, and often had long talks together. The Blue-gum was a very old tree--over a hundred years old--and he was proud of it, and often used to tell of the time, long ago, when blackfellows hunted 'possums in his branches. That was before the white men came to the mountain, and before there were any houses near it.

Once upon a time I put a verse about the mountain and the Little Red House into a book of rhymes which I wrote for grown ups. I don't think they thought much about it. Very likely they said, "0h, it's just a house on a hill," and then forgot it, because they were too busy about other things.

This is the rhyme:

A great mother mountain, and kindly is she, Who nurses young rivers and sends them to sea. And, nestled high up on her sheltering lap, Is a little red house, with a little straw cap That bears a blue feather of smoke, curling high, And a bunch of red roses cocked over one eye.

I have tried here to draw the Little Red House for you as well as I can; and it isn't my fault if it happens to look just a little like somebody's face. I can't help it, can I? if the stones of the door-step look something like teeth, or if the climbing roses make the windows look like a funny pair of spectacles. And if Emily Ann will hang bib fluffy bobs on the window blinds for tassels, and if they swing about in the breeze like moving eyes, well, I am not to blame, am I? It just happens. The only thing I am sorry for is that I couldn't get the big Blue-gum into the picture. Of course, I could have drawn it quite easily, but it was too big.

Sym and Emily Ann were fond of the Little Red House, and you may be sure the Little Red House was fond of them--he was their home. The only thing that bothered him was that they were sometimes away from home, and then he was miserable, like all empty houses.

Now, Sym was a tinker--a travelling tinker. He would do a little gardening and farming at home for a while, and then go off about the country for a few days, mending people's pots and pans and kettles. Usually Sym left Emily Ann at home to keep the Little Red House company, but now and then Emily Ann went with Sym for a trip, and then the Little Red House was very sad indeed.

One morning, just as the sun was peeping over the edge of the world, the big Blue-gum woke up and stretched his limbs and waited for the Little Red House to say "Good morning." The Blue-gum always waited for the greeting because he was the older, and he liked to have proper respect shown to him by young folk, but the Little Red House didn't say a word.

The big Blue-gum waited and waited; but the Little Red House wouldn't speak.

After a while the Blue-gum said rather crossly, "You seem to be out of sorts this morning."

But the Little Red House wouldn't say a word.

"You certainly do seem as if you had a pain somewhere," said the Blue-gum. "And you look funny. You ought to see yourself!"

"Indeed?" snapped the Little Red House, raising his eyebrows just as a puff of wind went by. "I can't always be playing the fool, like some people."

"I've lived on this mountain, tree and sapling, for over a hundred years," replied the big Blue-gum very severely, "and never before have I been treated with such disrespect. When trees become houses they seem to lose their manners."

"Forgive me," cried the Little Red House. "I didn't mean to be rude. I was just listening. There are things going on inside me that I don't like."

"I hope they aren't ill-treating you," said the Blue-gum.

"They are going to leave me!" sighed the Little Red House.

"And they are laughing quite happily, as if they were glad about it. There's a nice thing for you!--Going to leave me, and laughing about it!"

"But perhaps you are wrong," said the big Blue-gum, who was not so hard-hearted as he seemed.

"I always know," moaned the Little Red House. "I can't be mistaken. Sym was singing his Tinker's song this morning long before the sun was up. And then I heard him tell Emily Ann not to forget her umbrella. That means that she is going; and the little dog is going, and I shall be all alone."

"Well," answered the Blue-gum rather stiffly, "you still have ME for company."

"I know," sighed the Little Red House. "Don't think I'm ungrateful. But, when they both go away, I shan't be really and truly a home again until they come back--just an empty house; and it makes me miserable. How would YOU like to be an empty house?"

"Some day I might be," replied the Blue-gum, "if I don't grow too old. There is some fine timber in me yet."

Suddenly there was a great clattering and stamping inside the Little House, and Sym began to sing his Tinker's song.

"Kettles and pans! Kettles and pans! All the broad earth is the tinkering man's-- The green leafy lane or the fields are his home, The road or the river, where'er he way roam. He roves for a living and rests where he can. Then bring out your kettle! ho! kettle or pan!"

There's a nice thing for you!" said the Little Red House bitterly. "What kind of a song do you call that? Any old place is good enough for his home, and I am just nothing!"

"Oh, that's only his way of putting it," answered the Blue-gum kindly. "He doesn't really mean it, you know; he wants a change, that's all."

But the Little Red House wouldn't say a word.

"It looks a good deal like rain this morning, doesn't it?" said the Blue-gum cheerfully, trying to change the subject.

But the Little Red House wouldn't say a word.

Very soon Sym and Emily Ann, carrying bundles, came out of the Little Red House, laughing and talking; and Sym locked the door.

"Now for a jolly trip!" shouted Sym, as he picked up his firepot and soldering-irons.

But all at once Emily Ann ceased laughing and looked back wistfully at the Little Red House.

"After all I'm sorry to leave our little home," she said. "See how sad it looks!"

"Hurry on!" cried Sym, who was all eagerness for the trip. Then he, too, looked back. "Why, you forgot to draw down the blinds," he said.

"No, I didn't forget," answered Emily Ann, "but I think it a shame to blindfold the Little Red House while we are away. I just left the blinds up so that he could see things. Good-bye, little home," she called. And the Little Red House felt just the least bit comforted to think that Emily Ann was sorry to leave him. Then she went off down the winding path with Sym; and Sym began to shout his Tinker's Song again.

The Little Red House watched them go down the mountain.

Away they went: through the gate, past the black stump, round by the bracken patch and over the bridge, across the potato paddock, through the sliprails--getting smaller and smaller--past the sign-post, down by the big rocks--getting smaller and smaller--under the tree-ferns, out on to the stony flat, across the red road, until they were just two tiny specks away down in the valley. Then they went through a white gate, round a turn, and the high scrub hid them.

Had you been able to see the Little Red House just at that moment, you would have been sure he was going to cry--he looked so miserable and so lonely.

"Cheer up!" said the big Blue-gum.

But the Little Red House couldn't say a word.

Presently the big Blue-gum groaned loudly.

"Oo! Ah! Ah! Golly!" groaned the Blue-gum in a strange voice.

"I beg your pardon? said the Little Red House.

"Oh, I have a nasty sharp pain in my side," said the Blue-gum. "I do hope and trust it isn't white-ants. It would be simply horrible, if it were. Fancy getting white-ants at my time of life! Here I have lived on this mountain, tree and sapling, for over a hundred years; and to think those nasty, white, flabby little things should get me at last is horrible--horrible!"

"I am sorry," said the Little Red House. "I'm afraid I've been very selfish, too. I was forgetting that everyone has troubles of his own; but I hope it isn't so bad as you fear."

"It is bad enough," groaned the Blue-gum. "Ow! There it is again. I'm afraid it IS white-ants. I can feel the wretched little things nipping."

But the Little Red House hardly heard him. He was thinking again of his own troubles.

So they stood all through that day, saying very little to each other. Rabbits came and played about the Little Red House, and lizards ran over his door-step, and once a big wallaby went flopping right past the front gate. But the Little Red House paid no attention. He was too busy thinking of his loneliness.

Birds came and perched in the branches of the big Blue-gum, and chattered and sang to him, trying to tell him the news of other trees on distant mountains. But the big Blue-gum took no notice. He was too busy thinking about white-ants.

So the sun sank low behind the Little House, and the shadow of the tall Blue-gum began to creep down the mountain and get longer and longer.

Just as it was growing dark, the big Blue-gum said Suddenly, "It certainly looks more like rain than ever. The heavy clouds have been gathering all day, and we shall get it properly to-night."

But the rain did not come that night, nor the next day, nor for two days and nights. And all this while the Little Red House and the Big Blue-gum remained silent and miserable--one through loneliness, the other through white-ants.

But on the evening of the third day the big Blue-gum said, "The rain will come to-night for certain. I know by the feel of the air."

"Let it come!" said the Little Red House. "I don't care. I couldn't be more miserable than I am."

Just as he said that, one great rain-drop fell right on the middle of his roof--Plop!

"It's coming already," cried the Blue-gum, "and it's going to pour."

Then three more big drops fell--Plop! Plop! Plop!

"I have never in my life seen such big rain-drops," said the Blue-gum. "I've lived on this mountain, tree and sapling, for--"

But--Crash! came rain before he could finish; and in two seconds everything was sopping wet. The noise of it was deafening,

"Why, it's a cloud-burst!" shouted the Blue-gum. "Half of my leaves have been stripped off already." Then he peered through the rain and the dark to see how the Little Red House was taking it. "Why, what's the matter with your face?" he cried. "You look awful."

"I'm crying!" sobbed the Little Red House. "That's all--just crying. "Can't you see the tears?"

"Nonsense!" said the Blue-gum. "Those are not tears. It's just the rain-water running off your window-sills."

"I tell you I'm crying!" wailed the Little Red House. "I'm crying bitterly. I should know, shouldn't I? I'm shivering and crying because I'm cold and lonely and miserable."

"Oh, very well," agreed the Blue-gum. "You are crying. But if this rain doesn't stop soon, you'll cry the front path away. It certainly is wet."

Very late that night the rain eased a little and then stopped altogether. The tears ceased to run from the eyes of the Little Red House, and they now came only in drops, slower and slower, falling into the great pool by the front door.

"It's a hard world!" sobbed the Little Red House, squeezing out another tear.

"Listen!" cried the Big Blue-gum. "Do you hear THAT?"

From far away on the distant ranges came a dull, moaning sound. As they listened it grew louder, and right in the middle of of it came another sound--Thump!

"That's wind," said the Blue-gum; "and a big wind, too."

"Let it come!" sighed the Little Red House. "I couldn't be more miserable than I am."

As he spoke, the moaning grew louder, and there were three or four quite big thumps one after another.

"What's that thumping?" asked the little House.

"Those are my poor brothers," answered the big Blue-gum very sadly, "Those are trees going down before the big wind. The birds were bringing me messages from those poor fellows quite lately; and now I shall never hear from them again. It's very sad."

"I never thought the wind could blow down big trees," said the Little House.

"No tree knows when his time will come," the big Blue-gum answered gravely. "I've had some very narrow escapes in my time, as tree and sapling on this mountain."

The Little Red House was very quiet and thoughtful for a long time after that. Then he asked suddenly, "Which way do you think you would fall if you did fall?"

But the big Blue-gum said that he couldn't tell. It depended on the wind, and he might fall any way.

"Not on me!" cried the Little House.

The Blue-gum said that he didn't know; but he hoped not.

"If you DID fall on me," said the Little Red House, "I suppose it would hurt me."

The Blue-gum said it certainly would, and there would be very little left but splinters and glass.

"Then don't! Please don't," yelled the Little Red House.

But before they could say another word the great wind struck them with a roar. It tossed the roses about so that the eyebrows of the Little House seemed to be twitching horribly; and it swayed the big Blue-gum this way and that till he appeared to be fighting for his very life. It picked up the fallen leaves and twigs, and even small stones, and hurled them down the mountain in a cloud.

In the midst of all the uproar the Little House heard the Blue-gum calling to him.

"As long as I've lived upon this mountain, tree and sapling," he shouted, "I've never known such a wind. I'm not so young as I used to be, and I fear that my end has come."

"Be brave! Oh, be brave!" implored the Little Red House. "Don't let him blow you down. I should be so sorry to lose you, What are you grunting for?"

"I'm not grunting," answered the Blue-gym in a pained voice. "Those are my roots giving way, one by one. I can't stand much more of this. Look out!"

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.

THE PIEMAN

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

Hey, there! Hoop-la! the circus is in town! Have you seen the elephant? Have you seen the clown? Have you seen the dappled horse gallop round the ring? Have you seen the acrobats on the dizzy swing? Have you seen the tumbling men tumble up and down? Hoop-la! Hoop-la! the circus is in town!

Hey, there! Hoop-la! Here's the circus troupe! Here's the educated dog, jumping through the hoop. See the lady Blondin with the parasol and fan, The lad upon the ladder and the india-rubber man. See the joyful juggler and the boy who loops the loop. Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Here's the circus troupe!

YOU AND I

They say the eagle is a bird That sees some splendid sights When he soars high into the sky Upon his dizzy flights: He sees the ground for miles around Our house, and Billy Johnson's; But we cannot be eagles, for That would, of course, be nonsense.

But you and I, some summer day, Providing we're allowed, Will go up in an aeroplane And sail right through a cloud. But, if they say we may not go, We'll stay upon the ground With other things that have no wings, And watch them walk around.

They say the bottom of the sea Is beautiful to view; They say the fish, whene'er they wish, Can sail and see it, too; The shining pearls, the coral curls, The sharks, the squids, the schnappers, And fish with fins (though not in tins) And fish with funny flappers.

But you and I, some sunny day, When weather's in condition, Will go there in a submarine, Providing we've permission.

But if they say we may not go We must respect their wishes; And you and I will just keep dry Because we are not fishes.

The earth is quite a jolly place, And we don't care for flying; And things that creep down in the deep Are sometimes rather trying. So, if they'll grant a holiday Or even only half, We'll lie upon some grassy place, And think of things, and laugh.

GOING TO SCHOOL

Did you see them pass to-day, Billy, Kate and Robin, All astride upon the back of old grey Dobbin? Jigging, jogging off to school, down the dusty track-- What must Dobbin think of it--three upon his back? Robin at the bridle-rein, in the middle Kate, Billy holding on behind, his legs out straight.

Now they're coming back from school, jig, jog, jig. See them at the corner where the gums grow big; Dobbin flicking off the flies and blinking at the sun-- Having three upon his back he thinks is splendid fun: Robin at the bridle-rein, in the middle Kate, Little Billy up behind, his legs out straight.

HIST!

Hist! . . . . . . Hark! The night is very dark, And we've to go a mile or so Across the Possum Park.

Step . . . . . . light, Keeping to the right; If we delay, and lose our way, We'll be out half the night. The clouds are low and gloomy. Oh! It's just begun to mist! We haven't any overcoats And--Hist! . . . . . . Hist!

(Mo . . . . . . poke!) Who was that that spoke? This is not a fitting spot To make a silly joke.

Dear . . . . . . me! A mopoke in a tree! It jarred me so, I didn't know Whatever it could be. But come along; creep along; Soon we shall be missed. They'll get a scare and wonder where We--Hush! . . . . . . Hist!

Ssh! . . . . . . Soft! I've told you oft and oft We should not stray so far away Without a moon aloft.

Oo! . . . . . . Scat! Goodness! What was that? Upon my word, it's quite absurd, It's only just a cat. But come along; haste along; Soon we'll have to rush, Or we'll be late and find the gate Is--Hist! . . . . . . Hush!

(Kok!. . . . . . Korrock!) Oh! I've had a shock! I hope and trust it's only just A frog behind a rock.

Shoo! . . . . . . Shoo! We've had enough of you; Scaring folk just for a joke Is not the thing to do. But come along, slip along-- Isn't it a lark Just to roam so far from home On--Hist! . . . . . . Hark!

Look! . . . . . . See! Shining through the tree, The window-light is glowing bright To welcome you and me.

Shout! . . . . . . Shout! There's someone round about, And through the door I see some more And supper all laid out. Now, run! Run! Run! Oh, we've had such splendid fun-- Through the park in the dark, As brave as anyone.

Laughed, we did, and chaffed, we did, And whistled all the way, And we're home again! Home again! Hip . . . . . . Hooray!

BIRD SONG

I am friendly with the sparrow Though his mind is rather narrow And his manners--well, the less we say the better. But as day begins to peep, When I hear his cheery "Cheep" I am ready to admit I am his debtor

I delight in red-browed finches And all birds of scanty inches. Willie wagtail is a pleasant bird, and coy. All the babblers, chats and wrens, Tits and robins, and their hens, Are my very special friends, and bring me joy.

THE MUSIC OF YOUR VOICE

A vase upon the mantelpiece,
A ship upon the sea,
A goat upon a mountain-top
Are much the same to me;
But when you mention melon jam,
Or picnics by the creek,
Or apple pies, or pantomimes,
I love to hear you speak.

The date of Magna Charta or
The doings of the Dutch,
Or capes, or towns, or verbs, or nouns
Do not excite me much;
But when you mention motor rides--
Down by the sea for choice
Or chasing games, or chocolates,
I love to hear your voice.

THE BOY WHO RODE INTO THE SUNSET

Once upon a time--it was not so very long ago, either--a little boy, named Neville, lived with his people in a house which was almost in the country. That is to say, it was just at the edge of the city; and at the back of the house was a rather large hill, which was quite bald.

Neville, who was fond of playing by himself, would often wander to the top of the bald hill; and if he stood right on top of it and looked one way, toward the East, he could see right over the city, with all its tall buildings and domes and spires and smoking chimneys. But looking the other way, to the West, he could see for miles over the beautiful country, with its green fields and orchards and white roads and little farm houses.

One evening Neville was playing alone on the top of the hill when he noticed that one of the very finest sunsets he had ever seen was just coming on. The sky in the West, away over the broad country lands, was filled with little clouds of all sorts and shapes, and they were just beginning to take on the most wonderful colours.

Neville had often before amused himself with watching clouds and the strange shapes into which they changed themselves--sometimes like great mountain ranges, sometimes like sea-waves, and very often like elephants and lions and seals and all manner of interesting things of that sort. But never before had he been able to make out so many animal shapes in the clouds. The sky was almost as good as a Zoo. There were kangaroos and elephants and a hen with chickens and wallabies and rabbits and a funny man with large ears and all sorts of other peculiar shapes.

The sun was sinking behind a distant range of hills, where a golden light shone out as if through a gateway. It was so much like a great golden gateway that Neville fell to wondering what might be found on the other side of it.

Suddenly, right in the middle of all the coloured clouds, he saw one little cloud which was perfectly white, and, as he watched it, he noticed that it seemed to be shaped like a small horse. A very small horse it seemed at that distance; but, as Neville gazed, it grew bigger and bigger, just as if it were coming toward him very fast, and he was almost certain he could see its legs moving.

That startled him a little, and so he rubbed his eyes to make sure that they were not playing him tricks.

When he looked again he was more startled than ever; for the little white cloud was no longer a cloud, but a little white horse in real earnest. Besides, it had just left the sky and was galloping down the mountain range which he could see away in the West.

In two minutes it had left the range, and was coming across the fields towards him, jumping the fences, dodging under the trees, and racing across the plain with its white mane and tail tossing as it came. It seemed to be making straight for him.

He was not really frightened--you must not think that about him--but he was just beginning to wonder if it were not nearly time to go home to dinner, when he noticed that the white horse had stopped, just at the foot of the bald hill. It was looking up at him, tossing its head and pawing the ground--the most beautiful white horse that he had ever seen, even in a circus. Then it appeared to get over its excitement and began to trot quietly up the hill toward him.

I do not think anyone would have blamed Neville if he had decided then to go home to dinner at once. But he was rather a brave boy, and he was certainly very curious, so he just stood still and waited.

And here is where the most wonderful part of the story begins. The white horse trotted up to Neville and spoke to him. That would surprise most people; and Neville was certainly as much surprised as anyone else would have been.

"What are you frightened of?" asked the white horse in a loud voice.

Now, Neville WAS just a little frightened by this time; but he was not going to show it, so he just said, "Who's frightened?"

"YOU'RE frightened," said the white horse, louder than ever. "You're only a timid little boy. I thought when I saw you in the distance that you were one of the plucky ones; but I was mistaken. You're just a little cowardly-custard."

"You'd better be careful who you're talking to," said Neville, suddenly losing his fear. (Little boys do not always talk good grammar; otherwise he would have said "whom" not "who.") He hated to be called a "cowardly-custard." "You'd better be careful, or I'll give you a bang!"

"Ah ha!" cried the white horse. "Very brave all at once, aren't you? All the same, you're afraid to come near and stroke me."

"But I don't want to stroke you," said Neville.

"I thought not," replied the white horse. "I thought not, the moment I got close to you. You're one of the frightened ones, and I've been wasting my time."

"Who's frightened?" said Neville again.

"You asked that before," replied the white horse, "and I told you. If you're not frightened, come along and stroke me. There's nothing to be afraid of."

So Neville walked right up to the white horse and stroked his shoulder. And at once he felt that he had been foolish to hold back. For of all the smooth, soft, silky coats he had ever stroked, that of the white horse was certainly the smoothest, and the softest, and the silkiest. He felt that he could go on stroking it for hours.

"There now," said the white horse in a voice as soft and silky as his coat. "There was nothing to be afraid of, was there? And I think that perhaps I was mistaken about you. I rather think you might be one of those daring boys that one reads about in stories. What about jumping on my back for a little ride?"

Neville ceased to stroke the white horse and drew back a little.

"I'm afraid they'll be expecting me home for dinner," he said. "I'm very pleased indeed to have met you." Neville was always a polite little boy.

"The very thing!" cried the white horse. "Jump on my back and I'll take you home. You liked stroking me, didn't you? Well that's nothing to the ride you will enjoy--simply nothing. Why, all the boldest riders in the world would give their ears just for one little ride on my back. Now then! One, two, three, and up you go!"

Then before Neville quite knew what he was doing, he made a little run and leapt up astride of the white horse.

"I live just over there," said Neville, pointing towards his home.

But before he could say "knife", or even "scissors" (supposing he had wished to say either of these words), the white horse laughed a nasty hollow laugh, sprang upwards from the ground, and was soaring through the air toward the dying sunset, right away from home and dinner.

Neville clung on tightly, for he was so high above the earth that to fall off would mean the end of him. And far beneath him he saw the green fields and the white road, which now seemed like a mere thread.

"That's not fair! Whoa back! Whoa back!" he shouted to the white horse; but the white horse made no reply. Indeed, he seemed suddenly not so much like a white horse as like a white cloud shaped like a horse, and Neville saw that he no longer sat upon the horse's silky coat, but upon something soft and downy like a white fleece, and it was slightly damp. Then he knew that he was riding upon a cloud; and, as it was quite absurd to go on talking to a cloud, he ceased to cry out. He just sat tight and wondered what would happen next.

He was high over a farm-house now: one that he used to see from the bald hill. He knew it by the tall pine-trees that grew round it; and down in the farm-yard he saw a man with a bucket going out to feed the calves. Neville called loudly to him, but the man did not even look up. Now he was far beyond that farm-house and above an orchard, where he saw the fruit-trees standing in straight rows; and a few seconds later the mountain range was beneath him, and Neville knew that the cloud that looked like a horse was making straight for the golden gateway, which was now glowing dully in a grey sky. He was riding into the sunset.

Swiftly as the wind that drove it, the Cloud Horse drifted over the mountain range. There was a sudden glow of golden light all about him, and then a flash of colour so wonderful that Neville could not bear to look. He closed his eyes, and, as he did so, he felt that the Cloud Horse had come to a halt at last.

So Neville sat upon the cloud, not daring to open his eyes for quite a long time. When at last he did look again he almost fainted with the wonder of it. He was inside the sunset.

But scarcely had he begun to enjoy the wonderful sight, when he was startled by the sound of a funny, shrill little voice close by his side. Looking down, he saw a strange little man, no taller than a walking-stick, and dressed from top to toe in golden-yellow clothes. "My stars!" said the wee yellow man. "How did YOU manage to get in here? Don't you know this is private?"

"I'm very sorry," said Neville, "but I couldn't help it. The Cloud Horse brought me, you know."

"Ah!" said the wee yellow man. "He tricked you, did he? He's much too playful, that Cloud Horse; and, I must say, he's put you in a pretty fix."

"Excuse me," said Neville, "but do you mind telling me who you are?"

"I?" cried the little yellow man. "Why, I'm the Last Sunbeam, of course. I thought you knew that. My job, you know, is to shut up the show when the sunset is over. And it's pretty hard work, I can tell you, because I've got to keep on doing it all round the earth every few minutes or so. And it gets very tiresome at times. Would you believe it? I've never seen a dawn or a bright mid-day in all my life--just sunsets all the time. Sunsets for breakfast, sunsets for dinner, sunsets for supper. And if I make the tiniest little slip, the head scene-shifter is down on me like a ton of bricks."

"Goodness me!" said Neville. "I didn't know you had scene-shifters here." Neville had been to see pantomimes, and therefore knew what a scene-shifter was.