Dick, Marjorie and Fidge | Page 8

Mr. Sage?" inquired Fidge, who had
been very silent during this conversation, which he had not in the least
been able to understand.
"Yes, my dear," said the Sage, smiling affably.
"Stories?" inquired Fidge, his eyes wide open with excitement and
interest.
The old man nodded.
"Oh! do tell us one, please," begged the little boy. "The Three Bears, or
Little Red Riding Hood, or something of that sort."
"Fidge, Fidge," cried Dick, rebukingly, "you mustn't bother the
gentleman."
"Oh, I don't mind in the least," said the Sage, pleasantly. "I'll tell him
some stories, if he likes."

"Oh! thanks, that's jolly!" cried Fidge, clapping his hands, and they all
sat down again, while the old man began as follows:--
"It was on a dark winter's night, and the hot sun was pouring down
upon the----"
"Oh!" interrupted Marjorie, "I beg your pardon, but haven't you made a
mistake? It couldn't have been dark, you know, if the sun was shining."
The Sage frowned severely.
"Are you telling this story, or am I?" he asked, coldly.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Marjorie, "please go on."
"Was pouring down upon the ship," continued the Sage, "and almost
freezing the poor soldiers, who had great difficulty as it was, in
dragging the heavy cannon up the steep side of the mountain, upon
which he was standing; still leaning over the side of the balloon, she
peered down eagerly into the sky. There was not a soul in sight.
"Suddenly a cry of 'Fire!' rang through the town, and two or three of
them hastily putting on their best clothes, joined the picnic party under
the gnarled oak tree in the meadow, and their joyous laughter rang
merrily down the old staircase, where the grandfather's clock stood,
tick-tick-ticking, like the great volcano which yawned at their very feet,
and into which the two boys plunged merrily, and were soon splashing
about in the shallow water like a mahogany chest of drawers upon the
sands of time."
The Sage paused.
"Do you like it?" he inquired, anxiously.
"Not much, I'm afraid," said Dick. "You see, we can't quite understand
what it's all about."
"Well, neither do I," said the Sage, "because, you know, I'm making it
up as I go along."

"Then it isn't true?" asked Marjorie.
"True? Nonsense! You wanted a story, didn't you? This is a real story;
there isn't a particle of truth in it anywhere."
"Oh, we didn't mean that kind of story," explained Marjorie, "we meant
a tale."
"What kind of a tale would you like--a Fishes' tale, a Birds' tale, or an
Animals' tale?"
"A birds' tale, please," said Marjorie, after consulting the others.
"All right," said the Sage, "this is a lot of birds' tales all tied up together,
and is called a fable----"
[Illustration: "The gossiping goose."]
"Is it one of Æsop's?" asked Dick, who thought that it would look grand
for him to have heard of Æsop's fables.
"No, it isn't," said the Sage, rather crossly; "it's one of my own! Now
then, are you ready? I call it--"
"THE GOSSIPING GOOSE."
"A Crested Grebe, a Spoonbill, and a Goose, I beg to say, Met one fine
day, And compliments were passed the most profuse.
'How very well you look, my dear,' said one, 'That shade of red Upon
your head, So sweet; and how delightfully your hair is done.'
And each had gratifying things to say, With gushing smile, Upon the
style Of all the others' holiday array.
Then Mrs. Goose, with most superior sneer, Said, 'Have you seen That
dress of green That Mrs. Peacock's wearing now, my dear?
'She looks a perfect guy, and then--her feet And legs! Oh, lor! I never

saw A bird so clumsy, or so indiscreet.
'I met her at the Concert Hall last week, A poor affair, I do declare, I
wonder that the Songsters have such cheek.
'Miss Nightingale was singing far too loud; I never heard So harsh a
bird, I wonder how she dared to face the crowd.
'Miss Thrush had quite a decent voice, I hear, Some years ago (A score
or so), But now her voice is giving way, I fear.
'She sang as badly as did Mrs. Lark, Who all agreed, Had every need
Of lessons, to bring her up to the mark.
'Miss Linnet had a really dreadful cough. As for the rest, They quite
distressed The company. Well, good-by, dears. I'm off.'
And, while the Spoonbill and the other bird Went on their way, I heard
one say, 'That Mrs. Goose is really most absurd.
'She talks about the Peacock's gaudy dress: If she prefers That gray of
hers, I don't admire her taste, I must confess. 'And as for legs and
feet--well, I declare, The pair she's got Are really