Queer Stories for Boys and Girls | Page 6

so as to destroy the interest. Then they all waked up
again.
"I know a better thtory than that air!" said Bobby, growing tired of the
long mumbling reading of the dull book.
"Do you? Tell it," said the reader.

So Bobby began to tell them some of his adventures, upon which they
all grew interested and fell asleep.
"Don't tell any more like that," said the little reader, when he awoke.
"What'th the matter weth it? Heap better thtory than that big book that
you're a mumblin' over, Mr. Puddin'."
"We don't like interesting stories," said the sleepy reader. "They put us
to sleep. This is the best book in the world. It's Rollin's Ancient History,
and it hasn't got but a few interesting spots in the whole of it. Those we
keep sewed up, so that we can't read them. The rest is all so nice and
dull, that it keeps us awake all day."
Bobby stared, but said nothing.
"Can you sing?" said one of the plump little old women.
"Yeth, I can sing Dandy Jim."
"Let's have it. I do love singing; it soothes me and keeps me awake."
Thus entreated, little Bobby stood up and sang one verse of a negro
song he had heard, which ran:
"When de preacher took his tex' He look so berry much perplex' Fur
nothin' come acrost his mine But Dandy Jim from Caroline!"
Bobby shut his eyes tight, and threw his head back and sang through
his nose, as he had seen big folks do. He put the whole of his little soul
into these impressive words. When he had finished and opened his eyes
to discover what effect his vocal exertions had produced, his audience
was of course fast asleep.
"Well, I never!" said Bob.
"The tune's too awful lively," said the little old woman, when she woke
up. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Now, hear me sing." And
she began, in a slow, solemn movement, the most drawling tune you

ever heard, and they all joined in the same fashion:
"Poor old Pidy, She died last Friday: Poor old creetur, The
turkey-buzzards----"
But before they could finish the line, while they were yet hanging to the
tails of the turkey-buzzards, so to speak, Bobby burst out with:
"La! that'th the toon the old cow died on. I wouldn't thing that."
"You wouldn't, hey?" said the woman, getting angry.
"No, I wouldn't, little dumplin'."
Whereupon the little woman got so furious that she Went fast asleep,
and the reader, growing interested and falling into a doze, tumbled off
his chair on his head, but as his head was quite soft and puttyish, it did
him no particular harm, except that the fall made him sleep more
soundly than ever.
When they had waked up again, Bobby thought it time to move on, but
as soon as he offered to move, the Sleepy-heads surrounded him and
began to sing a drawling song, which made Bobby sleepy. He soon
found that they meant to make him one of themselves, and this was not
at all to his taste. He struggled to get away, but something held him
about the feet. What should he do?
Suddenly a bright thought came to his relief. The Sleepy-heads were
now all standing in a ring around him. He began to tell a story at the
top of his voice:
"My gran'pappy, he fit weth a red Injun. An' the Injun he chopped my
gran'pappy's finger off weth his tomahawk, and----"
But at this point all the little people got intensely excited over Bobby's
gran'pappy's fight, and so, of course, fell asleep and fell forward into a
pile on top of Bobby, who had an awful time getting out from under the
heap. Just as he emerged, the people began to wake up and to lay hold

of his feet, but Bobby screamed out:
"And my gran'pappy, he up weth his hatchet and he split the nasty ole
red Injun's head open----"
They were all fast asleep again.
Bobby now ran off toward the door, not caring to go any further
underground at present, though he knew there were other wonders
beyond. He reached the door at last, but it was closed. There was no
key-hole even.
After looking around a long time he found the Fly-up-the-creek fairy,
not far from the door, sitting by a fire, with a large, old owl sitting over
against him.
"Give me the key to the door, Ole Ke-whack!" said Bobby.
"Oh, no! I will not give you my clothes, ke-whack! Do you think I
would give you my party clothes? If you hadn't sung so loud, the door
wouldn't have shut. You scared it. Now I can't give you my fine clothes,
and so you'll have to stay