Chapter III: How Humpty Dumpty Went to the King’s Party

It was the fourteenth of March and there was a great stir and bustle in Pudding Lane. The ladies, in curl papers, were washing and ironing and mending like women possessed; the men hustled about their work at topmost speed; even the children had no time for play, but were busy running errands, taking baths, helping their mothers, fast and furiously.

And what was the reason for all this industry? Why, the day of the month was the reason. But perhaps you don’t know what the fourteenth of March stands for; I have met children who didn’t. The fourteenth of March is Old King Cole’s birthday, and on this particular day the merry old soul was going to have a party in the palace, to which he had invited every single person in Pudding Lane.

“I declare,” said Mrs. Claus suddenly, as she rushed about her tiny house with even more energy than ever, “I declare, I forgot all about Humpty Dumpty!”

She looked up at the baker, who was baking--well, it’s a secret what Mr. Claus was baking, and a surprise, so I think I’d better not tell even you what it was. “Well,” went on Mrs. Claus, “I _am_ be-twittered, or I never should have forgotten Humpty Dumpty, Mr. Claus.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” agreed Mr. Claus, adding an extra flourish to the--well, to _it_.

Mrs. Claus ran to the door.

“Santa,” she called, “run right down to the Dumpties’ and see who’s going to sit up with Humpty to-night. I clean forgot about him. Tell Mrs. Dumpty I’ll sit myself, if nobody else has offered.”

Mr. Claus looked up in alarm.

“You’d never miss the birthday party to sit up with Humpty Dumpty, would you?” he asked.

“I would if there was nobody else to sit up with him,” replied his wife stoutly, though in her heart she did hope she would not have to miss the King’s birthday party, for she had made herself a fine new yellow waist, had Mrs. Claus, and she was expecting to make quite a sensation in it.

“Dear me,” said Mr. Claus, “I don’t want to go to the party alone with five children, Mrs. Claus.”

“Well, you may have to,” was his wife’s comforting reply. “Poor Humpty Dumpty! He’s a public charge, Mr. Claus, what with having no father, and I’m not the one to neglect him, I’m really not.”

Mrs. Claus, for all her tart speech, _was_ a good soul, wasn’t she? It’s not hard to see where Santa Claus got his kind heart.

But when Santa came back from the Dumpties’, it was to report that Jack and Jill, who lived in the Dumpty block, had offered to stay with the invalid while Mrs. Dumpty disported herself with royalty for one evening. Jack, who still had his crown bandaged up, and Jill, who wore a patch on her cheek even now, had painful memories of their own tumble, you see, and so naturally felt most sympathetic toward poor Humpty in his misfortune.

“Why, bless their little hearts,” said Mrs. Claus, “aren’t they good children? I never would have thought it of that tomboy Jill, to be frank with you.”

After which display of candor, Mrs. Claus went on with her ironing and mending, to the end that the Clauses should make a respectable appearance before Old King Cole and the Queen of Hearts.

But even if Mrs. Dumpty were going to the party, her heart felt heavy about it, poor soul. For there sat her Humpty, confined to his chair, the most dejected of boys. And who wouldn’t have been dejected under those circumstances? This was the first time that Old King Cole had ever celebrated his birthday with the humble people of Pudding Lane. Once the King of France had come for that great occasion, and Mother Goose was often invited to share his birthday cake, but until to-day the people of Pudding Lane had never been invited for the festivity.

And such an occasion as this was going to be too! There was to be a supper two hours long; there was to be music from London; there was to be a Punch-and-Judy show; but wonder of all wonders, there was to be a trained bear! All this, not to mention the surprise that Mr. Claus was baking. Oh, dear, Humpty Dumpty did wish he could walk up the hill to the palace. If he just could! Or if somebody could carry him. But, alas, it was impossible. Humpty was too heavy, the hill was too steep. So that all the poor boy could do was to sit in his chair and think, think, think and wish, wish, wish.

Mrs. Dumpty came in when she was dressed and looked at him anxiously.

“You know Jack and Jill are only going to stay until you fall asleep,” she told him. “It wouldn’t be right to ask them to miss all of the party.”

“Oh, no,” replied Humpty, but he could not, for the life of him, look as cheerful as he wanted to.

“Poor boy,” said Mrs. Dumpty. Then she added with sudden conviction, “I’m not going at all. I’m not going. I shall stay right here with you.”

But Humpty protested so vigorously that Mrs. Dumpty finally yielded to his entreaties. It _would_ be disrespectful to the King to stay home, she admitted, though she certainly didn’t feel very partyfied, she added. Then she asked Humpty if he liked her beads, and Humpty told her he liked them very much, though what that boy knew about beads was very little, I suspect.

“I always did like a red bead,” said Mrs. Dumpty. “Good-by, darling Humpty. I’ll bring you a piece of birthday cake, whether or no.”

I don’t believe Pudding Lane ever saw anything half so grand as that party at Old King Cole’s palace. There were flowers and music, fruits and confections, jewelry and satins, all mixed up, until it made your head swim.

The King and Queen stood up to receive their guests in the most cordial manner possible. It was true that the Queen of Hearts could think of nothing else to say but “And how are you this evening?” and then didn’t listen as the good, honest people of Pudding Lane started to tell her in great detail just exactly how they were that evening. It is equally true that Old King Cole laughed immoderately, no matter what anybody said, and that he even laughed at Mrs. Dumpty when she tearfully offered Humpty’s regrets,--behavior that made that devoted mother highly indignant. But that was just Old King Cole’s way of being pleasant; and it was certainly much better than folding your arms and frowning prodigiously, as the butcher did; or pulling a long, melancholy face, like the baker; or bowing and jerking forward incessantly, as the candlestick-maker seemed to think it necessary to do. There are all kinds of ways of being polite, but it does seem as if the butcher and the baker and the candlestick-maker might have selected more winning methods.

“Dear me, Mr. Claus,” said Mrs. Grundy, coming up to him as he stood between his neighbors, the picture of dismal woe, “is it such a sad occasion as that?”

Mr. Claus jumped and looked at her even more solemnly than ever, and the butcher glared ferociously at her, and the candlestick-maker, bowing low, bumped the good lady’s fan out of her hand.

“Mercy on us!” ejaculated Mrs. Grundy. “Somebody rescue me from these creatures.”

Whereupon up came Jack Spratt to offer her his arm.

“There’s lean meat on the banquet table,” he whispered. “Come, let’s have some of it.”

So Mrs. Grundy disappeared on the arm of the accomplished Jack Spratt as Mr. Claus watched them enviously.

“I wonder how he does it,” thought the baker to himself. Poor Mr. Claus, he was but a humble fellow, more at home with his pies and cakes than in such brilliant company as this.

Mrs. Claus, however, was no dullard in society, for she could speak her mind to anybody, and was even now telling the Queen of Hearts how she had made that yellow waist she wore out of just one yard and an eighth of cloth, not counting the cuffs. Santa, too, was having a fine time with all the other children, Bo-Peep, Jack Horner, Little Miss Muffett, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John and all the rest.

Yes, they were all having a delightful time at Old King Cole’s party. Even Simple Simon felt at home in the palace, as he went happily about, eating and drinking, smiling and nodding. He even danced a bit, did Simple Simon, and did not seem to mind at all that while he was doing the polka, everybody else, including his partner, was dancing a waltz. But his partner minded, I can tell you, and if any little girl wants to have her toes stepped on and her shoes completely spoiled, just let her try to dance with Simple Simon as Polly Flinders did on that night of the fourteenth of March.

At last, when everybody had danced a little, and eaten and drunk quite a lot, and talked some, and stared at all the trappings of the palace a great deal, at last it came time for the trained bear. At the announcement the little boys yelled with delight, the little girls shivered, the mothers and fathers sat up importantly and looked exceedingly brave.

For this was no common bear, but a noted beast from London who had made that great city laugh and gasp many a night with his antics and tricks. And here he came! Oh, how funny he was, that bear. The way he walked was funny, as he ambled slowly in, straight past the King and Queen without so much as a glance at their royal personages. The way he looked was funny, as his little eyes glimmered from their depth of brown fur, and he yawned softly in the most bored fashion possible. The way he acted was funny, too, and the children screamed as he put up one paw and slowly rubbed his nose, for all the world like a meditative old man.

But his tricks were funnier still, and as Tubby Tim, the old bear trainer, cracked his whip and shouted his commands, the children of Pudding Lane, and the grown-ups, too, thought they had never seen such a remarkable bear. As indeed, they had not, never having seen any bear at all before.

“Up, Bumbo, old boy!” shouted Tubby Tim, and the bear stood on his hind legs.

“Waltz, Bumbo! One, two, three!” ordered Tubby Tim, and lo, the bear was swaying around on his hind feet in a waltz that nobody would have been ashamed of. In truth, Polly Flinders was thinking to herself that she’d a great deal rather dance with the bear than with Simple Simon.

But at last, when the old bear had roared loud and alarmingly at the children (who stopped laughing then), when he had stood on his head and shown his teeth and rolled a hoop and done a great many other astounding things, Tubby Tim said abruptly, “That’s all”, and led him out. But the party wasn’t over yet by a good deal, for there was still the puppet show, which Tubby Tim now started to make ready.

Jack and Jill and Humpty Dumpty down in the Dumpty house meanwhile were having a quiet little game of “Button, button” when they heard a noise at the door.

“What’s that?” asked Jack.

“The Lady Wind,” answered Jill. “March is her month, you know.”

“It sounds more like a dog than a lady,” said Jack.

“Ho, ho,” scoffed Jill, “you don’t even know wind when you hear it.” With which Miss Jill flounced to the door and flung it wide open. But goodness, what was that in the doorway? No Lady Wind was that. No dog either. But a _bear_ that stood before her, yellow-eyed and open-mouthed!

“Oh!” gasped Jill faintly.

“Oh, oh!” breathed Jack and Humpty together.

The bear ambled into the room.

“Run,” cried Jack to Jill. “Run upstairs and shut the door tight, or he’ll eat you!”

“But he’ll eat you too! Come along,” whispered Jill.

Then they both looked at Humpty Dumpty, who sat quaking and white in his chair. For Humpty could not run, of course, and he saw himself a fine meal for that open mouth.

“No, we must stay with Humpty,” said Jill, shivering with fear.

“Of course,” answered Jack, trembling.

“Perhaps if we all fight him, we can get him out,” suggested Jill.

“Yes, come on, let’s fight him,” replied Jack.

“I can’t fight,” said Humpty from his chair, “but I can glare mighty hard. I’ll glare at him, Jill.”

“Yes, you glare, Humpty Dumpty,” said Jill encouragingly.

Jack by this time had rolled up his sleeves, ready for battle, and Jill, flinging back the hair from her eyes, rushed at the bear headlong. But what was that bear doing, anyway, if he were not rubbing against Jill’s knees with the affection of an old family cat? What was he pawing at her so softly, so gently for, if it were not because he wanted her to play with him? Why did he look up at her with those funny little yellow eyes, if it were not to reassure her as to his good intentions?

“Why,” cried Jill, “I believe he’s a pet bear!”

“I think he is!” answered Jack.

“I wonder if he’d like to be patted,” ventured Humpty, putting a timid hand on Bumbo’s back. The bear dropped on his back and pawed playfully in the air.

“He does want to play,” cried Humpty Dumpty.

What a fine playfellow he was, too, that Bumbo bear, as the three children romped with him there in Mrs. Dumpty’s back parlor. How he rolled and pawed and growled--just a pretend-growl, though; you could tell he didn’t mean a thing by it. How he tumbled and jumped and trotted around the room. He even seemed to understand that Humpty could not play as the other children could, but went to Humpty’s chair and nosed and pawed around so amusingly that the poor invalid quite forgot himself in his delight.

The Punch-and-Judy show was meanwhile progressing at the palace, and Judy had just given Punch a mighty cuff on the cheek, to the infinite pleasure of the audience, when Mr. Claus, who had laughed until the tears came, began to fish for his pocket handkerchief. But, as he fished, his eye was arrested by a startling vision at the door.

“Great snakes!” he roared suddenly.

Tubby Tim dropped his puppets and everybody looked up quickly.

“Saints preserve us!” shrieked Mrs. Grundy.

And immediately there arose such a bellowing and crying, such a tumbling of chairs and confusion of figures, as to make Old King Cole’s birthday party look like a riot instead. Mr. Horner was seen to throw off his coat in great haste, Simple Simon began to call loudly and insistently for help, Mrs. Dumpty started to faint, then thought better of it, and came to again. As for the Queen of Hearts, that royal lady straightway went into a fine fit of hysterics, deportment which she considered highly becoming to queens in time of stress.

And what do you suppose was the cause of all this uproar? What was this vision in the doorway that had suddenly set all of Pudding Lane to screaming and bawling?

It was nothing more than our friend Bumbo, who stood in the doorway blinking soberly, with Humpty Dumpty on his back and Jack and Jill on each side of him. Which, you’ll have to admit, was pretty much of a surprise for people who had supposed that the bear was snoozing in the pantry; and which looked indeed like a dangerous business to folks that didn’t know what a very friendly bear Bumbo was.

But so smiling and serene were those three children, so extremely placid was Bumbo himself, that it finally became apparent that there was really nothing to howl about. And so at last the noise did subside somewhat, save for the exceedingly loud sniffling of Jill’s mother, who was having a little weep all to herself, and quite naturally too.

Then Jill explained the business.

“He was such a friendly bear,” she ended, nodding brightly at Tubby Tim, “so well-trained, that Jack and I thought there would be nothing easier than to bring Humpty up here on his back. And it was; it was as easy as pie. And here he is.”

But Mr. Claus had started up suddenly at the mention of “pie” and bolted through the assemblage and out of the door. Old King Cole looked over at Mrs. Claus in a rather annoyed manner.

“What’s happened now, Mrs. Claus?” he asked crustily. “Is your husband ill, perhaps?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, your Majesty,” replied Mrs. Claus, who, if the truth must be told, was deeply ashamed of her husband’s odd company manners. “He was all right when we left home,” and to herself she muttered that it wasn’t her fault if the man acted like a zany. Do you know what a zany is? Well, Mrs. Claus didn’t either, but she supposed it was some kind of animal, and she liked to apply the word to Mr. Claus in what she called his “off” moments.

But bless you, it was Mrs. Claus who was having the off moment this time, for what the baker had gone for was the secret, a thing that everybody had completely forgotten in the hubbub and excitement. So that not only Old King Cole, but everybody else was surprised when Mr. Claus came strutting back with it, the secret, in his hands. When they did see it, they remembered again, and all started to sing a verse that Mrs. Grundy had composed for the occasion, which began, “Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rye.” And now you know, don’t you, what the surprise was that Mr. Claus had baked for Old King Cole’s birthday? And sure enough, when that merry old soul cut open his birthday pie, out flew the four and twenty blackbirds and began to sing; and, as Mrs. Grundy said, was that not a dainty dish to set before a king?

Old King Cole thought it was. He was the most surprised and delighted man you ever saw, and as the birds flew around the room and sang, he became more charmed and bewildered than ever, so that he really was in no condition to make a speech when the people called for one. But he arose just the same and, taking off his crown, fumbled nervously with it, as he tried to think of something to say. His people the meanwhile beamed loyally at him, so happy that they had really pleased Old King Cole, who was always doing something to please them.

“Friends,” began the King, “I am deeply obliged--” Then he stopped and burst into a hearty laugh, which rang and reverberated down the great halls and rooms of the palace until the building almost shook.

And that was as far as Old King Cole ever got, for every time he’d try to sober down and go on with the speech, laughter overcame him, until at last all the people there began to laugh just to see him. They roared, they shook, they rocked with laughter, did those good people of Pudding Lane, until it began to look as if they would never get their faces straight again, never get their breath again, never stop holding their sides. Even the butcher left off frowning, the baker stopped looking dismal, the candlestick-maker ceased bowing, as they all laughed there together. And of course Jack and Jill laughed, and Humpty Dumpty, too, for they were the ones to whom it was the most fun of all, because they were the ones who had nearly missed the party.

And let me tell you something. The bear laughed too. He didn’t make a noise about it, and he didn’t shake, but there was a look in his eye that was plainly a look of laughter, and there was a twist to his mouth, as he stood there by Tubby Tim’s legs, that was unmistakably a grin. Yes, Bumbo laughed too. And if anybody wants to know, he laughed many times after that as he thought of King Cole’s birthday party and of his part in the whole performance. For, of course, if Bumbo had not trotted off adventuring as he did, Humpty Dumpty would never have got to the party, and if--oh, well, he did go trotting off, so what’s the use of if-ing about it?