“Tickle my tail,” he said, “and I’ll chase you!”
“We don’t like to be chased,” cried the elves. “You’re too rough.” But he chased the elves along the shelves.
“We don’t like to be chased,” cried the mermaids. But Tiger chased them out of the bathtub.
“We don’t want to be chased,” cried the penguins. But Tiger chased them out of the icebox.
“We don’t want to be chased,” squeaked the rabbits. But Tiger chased them out of the coal bin.
“We don’t want to be chased,” barked the seals. But Tiger chased them out of the sink.
“We don’t want to be chased,” screamed the peacocks. But Tiger chased them off the table.
Everyone was cross, and some of the elves were crying.
“Tiger,” said Janet, “you are too rough. You must play more gently.”
“Tell him to go back into his book!” everybody cried.
So Janet picked up the book and said, “Bad boy! Bad Tiger! Go back inside!”
Tiger looked sad. “I only want to run,” he said. “For I can run
faster than the wind,
faster than the weather,
faster than the fastest clouds
that cross the sky together!
“Please,” Tiger said to Janet, “can I go for a run outside? After that I will be quiet and good, and not chase the others.”
“I had better come too,” Janet said, “to keep an eye on you.”
“Then jump on my back and tickle my tail!”
So Janet jumped on his back and tickled his tail. And he ran out of the door and down the stairs and along the street and across the park, fast, faster, fastest of all! And as he ran he sang,
“I can run
faster than the wind,
faster than the weather,
faster than the fastest clouds
that cross the sky together!”
Then they met a man with a glass foot. He cried, “Oh, please, my hat has blown off. Can you catch it for me, for if I run, I might break my glass foot?”
“Pooh!” said Tiger. “I can easily catch your hat.”
And he went chasing across the park and they caught the hat and gave it back to the man with the glass foot. And he was very grateful.
Then they saw a woman who called, “Please, can you help me? I belong in Tomorrow, but I got left behind. Can you catch up with Tomorrow for me?”
“Easy,” said Tiger. “For I can run
faster than the wind,
faster than the weather,
faster than the fastest clouds
that cross the sky together!
Jump on my back behind Janet and tickle my tail.”
So the woman jumped on his back and she tickled his tail. And he went chasing over the country and easily caught up with Tomorrow and put the woman back where she belonged.
“Thank you,” she called. “I’ll send you a postcard from Tomorrow.”
Then they saw a boy who called, “Help! A Pandaconda from the circus is chasing me because I pulled its whiskers. Save me!”
“Easy!” said Tiger. “Jump on my back and tickle my tail.”
So they tickled his tail and away he went, fast, faster, fastest of all! At first the Pandaconda came whistling after, but soon it gave up and went back to sleep in its hole under the merry-go-round.
“Thank you for saving me,” said the boy. And he gave them each a nut and jumped off as they passed by his home.
Then Janet said, “Goodness, there’s the train that my daddy comes home on. Quick, quick, or he’ll be home first and wonder where I am!”
“Easy!” said Tiger. “I can beat a train any day. For I can run
faster than the wind,
faster than the weather,
faster than the fastest clouds
that cross the sky together!
Only tickle my tail.” So Janet tickled his tail and they went racing back, over the country and over the town, over houses and churches and mountains and rivers, across the park and along the street, and in through Janet’s window.
“Quick!” she cried. “You must all get into your books, for my daddy’s coming home.”
For there were
elves in the shelves,
mermaids in the bathtub,
penguins in the icebox,
rabbits in the coal bin,
peacocks on the table,
and seals in the sink.
“I will play with you all again tomorrow night,” Janet promised. She pushed them all into their books (Tiger was the hardest to push because he was so big) and then she ran next door and jumped into bed and shut her eyes tight.
Next thing she was asleep!
And next thing she was awake again, and there was her daddy making breakfast. After breakfast, Janet went and looked at her books, but they were quite quiet and still. If it hadn’t been for a small, just the smallest, footprint on a shelf, a little, just the littlest, gold scale in the bathtub, a tiny, just the tiniest, feather in the icebox, and ONE tiger’s whisker on the rug, you would never have guessed that there had been
elves in the shelves,
mermaids in the bathtub,
penguins in the icebox,
rabbits in the coal bin,
peacocks on the table,
seals in the sink,
and a big stripy tiger sitting in front of the fire….
THE THREE TRAVELERS
There was once a little tiny station in the middle of a huge desert. On either side of it the sand stretched away as far as the eye could see, and much farther too, and beyond the sand lay prairie, and beyond the prairie were valleys and mountains, and through all these lands the railway ran in both directions, on and on, gracious knows where.
The station’s name was Desert. There was just one building and three men lived in it: Mr. Smith the signalman, and Mr. Jones the porter, and Mr. Brown the ticket-collector.
You may think it odd that there were three men to look after one tiny station, but the people who ran the railway knew that if you left two men together in a lonely place they would quarrel, but if you left three men, two of them could always grumble to each other about the third, and then they would be quite happy.
These three men were happy enough, for they had no wives to worry about the desert dust, and no children to pester them for stories or piggybacks. But they weren’t completely happy and this is why:
Every day huge roaring trains would thunder across the desert, from west to east and from east to west, getting bigger and bigger as they neared the station, and smaller and smaller as they rushed away from it, but they never stopped.
Nobody ever wanted to get off at Desert.
“Oh, if only I could use my signals once in a while,” mourned Mr. Smith. “I oil them and polish them every day, but not once in the last fifteen years have I had a chance to pull the lever and signal a train to stop. It breaks a man’s heart, it does!”
“Oh, if only I could clip a ticket once in a while,” sighed Mr. Brown. “I keep my clippers shining and bright, but what’s the use? Not once in fifteen years have I had a chance to punch with them. A man’s talents rust in this place.”
“Oh, if only I could carry someone’s luggage once in a while,” lamented Mr. Jones. “In the big city stations the porters are rich from the tips people give them, but how can anyone hope to get rich here? I do my push-ups every morning to keep me strong and supple, but not once in fifteen years have I had the chance to carry so much as a hatbox. There’s no chance for a man here!”
Besides this trouble there was another thing that bothered these three men. They had one day off every week—Sunday, when no trains ran either way—but there was nothing to do. Nowhere to go. The next stop along the line from Desert was more than a thousand miles away, and it would cost more than a week’s wages to go so far. And even if you took the last train out on a Saturday night, you couldn’t travel all that way and go to the cinema and be back by Monday
morning. So on Sundays they just sat about on the station platform, and yawned, and wished it were Monday.
But one day Mr. Jones counted his savings carefully and said, “Friends, your wishes are going to be granted. I have saved enough for a week’s holiday. Mr. Smith can signal a train to stop, and Mr. Brown can clip my ticket, and I’m going to see the world, as far as the train can take me.”
The other two men were wildly excited. Mr. Smith spent the whole night oiling his levers, and Mr. Brown selected his thickest, squarest ticket and polished his clippers. It was a splendid moment next morning when the great, proud train, instead of roaring through Desert Station, came hissing to a stop, all for Mr. Jones.
He put his own luggage on it, climbed up, waved good-bye to his friends, and shouted, “Back on Saturday,” and off he went to the east.
Halfway through the week they had a postcard, dropped from a passing train, to say he’d be back by the noon train on Saturday, so a couple of hours before it was due Mr. Smith pulled his signal to the “stop” position. He and Mr. Brown had spent all their spare time that week sitting under a cactus thorn and discussing what Mr. Jones would have to tell them about his travels when he came back, and what presents he would bring them.
As soon as the train stopped, Mr. Jones jumped off it, and Mr. Brown carefully took his ticket while Mr. Smith signaled the train on its way again. Then they made a pot of coffee and lay down to listen to the traveler’s tale.
“Brothers,” said he, “the world is a big place! The train took me through more country than I could remember in a lifetime and ended in a city bigger than the whole of this desert. Why, the station itself was as big as a town, with shops and theaters and hotels and restaurants in it. There was even a circus, right in the station! So I never bothered to go out into the town, just stayed in the station, and I had a fine time, I can tell you. I’ve brought you all these things.”
And he carefully brought out their presents—for Mr. Smith a paperweight shaped like a skyscraper, and for Mr. Brown a box with a picture of a huge, splendid station on its lid. They were very pleased.
Next week Mr. Smith counted his money and said, “Brothers, you’re in luck again, for I’ve saved enough money for my holiday and I’m going to catch the westbound train and go as far as it will go.”
“But who will look after the signals?” objected Mr. Jones.
“Mr. Brown will; I’ve been teaching him all week.”
So Mr. Brown got out another of his best tickets for Mr. Smith and then hurried off to the signals. Mr. Jones took Mr. Smith’s case and put it on the train (and Mr. Smith gave him a handsome tip). He climbed on board, and off he went.
Next Saturday, back he came with eyes like stars. As soon as the train was on its way again, and they had made a pot of coffee, they sat down to listen to his story.
“My!” said Mr. Smith. “The world is even bigger than I thought! So much country we went through, I’ve already forgotten half of it. But at the end of the journey we went over a range of mountains so high I thought we’d graze the moon, with pine trees like needles, and snow like a shaking of salt. Then the train went rushing down, till I was sure the brakes would fail and we’d go over a precipice. At last we came to the sea, and there we stopped Brothers, the sea is even bigger than this desert! I brought you these things!”
He had brought for Mr. Brown a pearl-colored shell, and for Mr. Jones a big chunk of shining white crystal rock, and they thought these presents were very beautiful.
Then they began saying to Mr. Brown: “When are you going for your holiday?” And Mr. Smith said, “Go to the mountains! Go to the mountains and the sea!” But Mr. Jones said, “No, go to the city! The city is much more beautiful and fascinating.” And they began to argue and shout.
But Mr. Brown was a very quiet man, and he thought for a long time and said, “I don’t fancy going for such a long train ride as that. I get trainsick. Besides, you’ve been to those places and told me what they’re like. I want to go somewhere different.”
“But there isn’t anywhere else to go,” they told him. “The railway only goes two ways, east and west.”
“I shall go north,” said Mr. Brown, and he packed a bag, just a little one, with some bread and cheese and a bottle of beer.
“How can you go north?”
“Walking, on my feet,” said Mr. Brown, and when Sunday came he crossed the tracks and set off walking, very early in the morning.
Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith watched his figure going straight away from them over the brown sand, getting smaller and smaller in the distance, until he was out of sight. At first his footprints were sharp and clear, while the dew lay on the sand, and then as the sun climbed higher up the sky they gradually crumbled and sank away, as if the sand were melting like snow in the heat.
“Shall we ever see him again?” Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith asked each other.
But in the evening when the sun was level and low they saw a tiny dot far away coming nearer and nearer, and when it was quite close they saw that it was Mr. Brown. And his eyes were shining and his face was full of joy.
“Well?” they said when they had made a pot of coffee and sat down to drink it. “Where have you been and what have you seen?”
“Brothers,” said Mr. Brown, “two hours’ walk away from this station I found an oasis. There’s a spring of fresh water, and green grass, and flowers, and orange and lemon trees. I’ve brought you these presents.”
He gave to Mr. Jones an enormous juicy orange, and to Mr. Smith a bunch of feathery leaves and blue flowers.
If you should ever find yourself in Desert Station on a Sunday, you won’t be surprised to see that there is nobody at home. The three men are two hours’ walk away, lying on the grass by the cool spring and listening to the birds.
On the station signboard, under DESERT, the words FOR OASIS have been added.
THE BAKER’S CAT
Once there was an old lady, Mrs. Jones, who lived with her cat, Mog. Mrs. Jones kept a baker’s shop in a little tiny town at the bottom of a valley between two mountains.
Every morning you could see Mrs. Jones’s light twinkle out long before all the other houses in the town, because she got up very early to bake loaves and buns and jam tarts and Welsh cakes.
First thing in the morning Mrs. Jones lit a big fire. Then she made dough out of water and sugar and yeast. Then she put the dough into pans and set it in front of the fire to rise.
Mog got up early too. He got up to catch mice. When he had chased all the mice out of the bakery, he wanted to sit in front of the warm fire. But Mrs. Jones wouldn’t let him, because of the loaves and buns there, rising in their pans.
She said, “Don’t sit on the buns, Mog.”
The buns were rising nicely. They were getting fine and big.
That is what yeast does. It makes bread and buns and cakes swell up and get bigger and bigger.
As Mog was not allowed to sit by the fire, he went to play in the sink.
Most cats hate water, but Mog didn’t. He loved it. He liked to sit by the tap, hitting the drops with his paw as they fell and getting water all over his whiskers.
What did Mog look like? His back, and his sides, and his legs down as far as where his socks would have come to, and his face and ears, and his tail were all marmalade-colored. His stomach, and his waistcoat, and his paws were white. And he had a white tassel at the tip of his tail, white fringes to his ears, and white whiskers. The water made his marmalade fur go almost fox color and his paws and waistcoat shining-white clean.
But Mrs. Jones said, “Mog, you are getting too excited. You are shaking water all over my pans of buns, just when they are getting nice and big. Run along and play outside.”
Mog was affronted. He put his ears and tail down (when cats are pleased they put their ears and tails up) and he went out. It was raining hard.
A rushing, rocky river ran through the middle of the town.
Mog went and sat in the water and looked for fis
h. But there were no fish in that part of the river. Mog got wetter and wetter. But he didn’t care. Presently he began to sneeze.
Then Mrs. Jones opened her door and called, “Mog! I have put the buns in the oven. You can come in now and sit by the fire.”
Mog was so wet that he was shiny all over, as if he had been polished. As he sat by the fire he sneezed nine times.
Mrs. Jones said, “Oh dear, Mog, are you catching a cold?”
She dried him with a towel and gave him some warm milk with yeast in it. Yeast is good for people when they are ill.
Then she left him sitting in front of the fire and began making jam tarts. When she had put the tarts in the oven she went out shopping, taking her umbrella.
But what do you think was happening to Mog? The yeast was making him rise.
As he sat dozing in front of the lovely warm fire he was growing bigger and bigger.
First he grew as big as a sheep.
Then he grew as big as a donkey.
Then he grew as big as a carthorse.
Then he grew as big as a hippopotamus.
By now he was too big for Mrs. Jones’s little kitchen, but he was far too big to get through the door. He just burst the walls.
When Mrs. Jones came home with her shopping bag and her umbrella she cried out, “Mercy me, what is happening to my house?”
The whole house was bulging. It was swaying. Huge whiskers were poking out of the kitchen window. A marmalade-colored tail came out of the door. A white paw came out of one bedroom window, and an ear with a white fringe out of the other.
“Meow,” said Mog. He was waking up from his nap and trying to stretch.
Then the whole house fell down.
“Oh, Mog!” cried Mrs. Jones. “Look what you’ve done.”
The people in the town were very astonished when they saw what had happened. They gave Mrs. Jones the Town Hall to live in, because they were so fond of her (and her buns). But they were not so sure about Mog.