PUSS, JUNIOR, accepted the invitation of Mr. Fox to dine, for he was hungry, and the very thought of roast duck for supper made his mouth water.
"Thank you, Mister Fox," he answered. "Let me carry the duck for you--the goose is enough of a load!"
"You are right," replied the fox, handing the duck to Puss. "It was a hard run up that hill. If I had known the farmer better, however, I wouldn"t have hurried so."
"Well, lead the way, and I"ll follow," said Puss.
"At last the fox got home to his den; To his dear little foxes, eight, nine, ten, Says he, "you"re in luck, here"s a good fat duck, With her legs hanging dangling down.""
"This is Puss in Boots, Junior," he said, turning to his good wife, Mrs.
Fox. "He has carried the duck for me, for I have a big fat goose."
Then Mrs. Fox asked Puss to sit down and rest while she cooked the supper, and the little foxes begged him to tell them a story.
"What kind of a story do you like?" asked Puss.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
"Tell them how I crept into the hen-house and got away from old Mr.
Slipper-Slopper," said Mr. Fox. "You keep them quiet and I"ll pluck off the feathers while Mrs. Fox heats the oven. Then we"ll lose no time in roasting the duck."
"All right," replied Puss, "I"ll tell them about it," and as soon as Mr.
Fox went out of the room Puss commenced.
"Your father and I crept softly into the barnyard and then your daddy tiptoed into the hen-house and said to Madam Goose: "By your leave, I"ll take you away and carry you home to my den Oh!" I"m not quite sure whether he or Madam Goose said "Oh!" but that doesn"t make any difference."
"I think it must have been Madam Goose," said a little fox. "I think she was frightened."
"Maybe you are right," said Puss, with a smile. "At any rate, when your father caught the black duck there was no mistake about what she said, it was "Quack! quack! quack!""
Well, just then Mr. Fox came in and said dinner was ready.
"He then sat down with his hungry wife.
They did very well without fork or knife.
They never ate a better goose in all their life; And the little ones picked the bones!"
And Puss, Junior, had all he could eat, too.
TAFFY
"TAFFY was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef; I went to Taffy"s house, Taffy wasn"t home, Taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone; I went to Taffy"s house, Taffy was in bed, I took the marrow-bone and beat about his head."
"Well, I guess you did what was right," said Puss, Junior, as he and Tom Thumb neared a butcher shop in a small village.
The butcher, who had just spoken in rhyme, shifted from one foot to the other in an uneasy sort of way. "But that isn"t all," he went on to say, in rather an anxious tone of voice.
"Tell us the worst, then," laughed Puss, Junior, who didn"t appear very sympathetic, although the name Taffy appealed to him and made him wonder what sort of a person Taffy was.
"The truth of the matter is," the butcher went on to say, "I hit him a bit too hard with the marrow-bone. His head is in bad shape, and the doctor says it will be some weeks yet before Taffy gets out of bed."
"Gracious me!" exclaimed Tom Thumb. "Why weren"t you more careful?"
"That"s just it," replied the butcher. "Why wasn"t I more careful?" And then he gave a sigh and went into his shop to wait on a customer.
"Let"s make a call on Taffy," said Puss, Junior. "Somehow, I can"t help liking him. I don"t know whether it"s on account of his name, or not.
But Taffy sounds awfully nice to me."
"It tastes awfully good to me," laughed Tom Thumb. "You must have him mixed up with candy. That"s the reason you like him, I guess."
"Come on and we"ll soon find out," cried Puss, Junior. "I"m curious to see what "Welsh Taffy" is like." So they both walked up the street, inquiring on the way where Taffy lived. If the house Taffy owned was any indication that Taffy was a nice sort of person, it certainly spoke well for him, for it was the prettiest and most homelike little place Puss had ever seen.
"I like him already," said Puss, as he knocked on the door.
A KIND VISIT
OF course, Taffy didn"t come to the door. But a little Welshwoman did, and dropping a courtesy, she invited Puss and Tom Thumb to come in.
"How is Taffy?" Puss asked.
"His head is still painful," replied the little Welshwoman, "but for that he feels quite well, thank you," and she dropped another courtesy.
"May we see him?" asked Tom Thumb.
"Well, that I don"t know," she replied, "but I will enquire. Won"t you step into the sitting room?" So our two small visitors walked in and sat down. The little canary bird hopped about in her cage and the flowers in the green boxes in the bay-window nodded in the sunlight, as the big old clock in the far corner ticked away the minutes.
"Come up and see Taffy," suddenly cried the voice of the little Welshwoman.
I guess Puss had almost fallen asleep listening to the drowsy tick of the old clock and the low twitter of the canary. Everything was so quiet and home-like it reminded him of his old home when he had prowled about in the garret and discovered the story book, "Puss in Boots." Yes, Puss, Junior, felt a little bit homesick, for "no matter how humble, there"s no place like home."
Taking Tom Thumb by the hand, he followed the Welshwoman up the stairs, where they found Taffy sitting propped up in bed, his head done up in great bandages. But, oh, what pleasant blue eyes he had! And his red beard, big and soft, flowed down over the counterpane, and his big strong hand lay so quietly on his lap that Puss forgot he was Puss in Boots, Junior, son of the Seneschal to my Lord of Carabas, and jumped right up on the bed and nestled up to Taffy, purring away just like an ordinary cat!
And what did Taffy do? Did he say "Scat! You"ll get the counterpane all dirty with your red-topped boots!" No, he didn"t. He just stroked Puss, Junior, with his big, kind hand, and the little Welshwoman picked up Tom Thumb and cuddled him in her bosom, saying in a low voice, "Dearie me, but it"s nice to have friends come to see you when everybody in town is calling my Taffy a thief."
And then a tear fell from her eye on little Tom Thumb"s hat; but he didn"t care, for somehow he felt there must be some mistake, and that Taffy wasn"t to blame. And Puss felt the same way, for he kept on purring and rubbing his nose against Taffy"s big red hand.
THE RED BEARD