LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER AND HIS QUEER COUNTRY - 19 enthralling children's stories E-Book

Joel Chandler Harris

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER AND HIS QUEER COUNTRY was written by Joel Chandler Harris, author of the Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit stories. This book contains 19 adventures. It also has 34 pen and ink drawings by Oliver Herford which give the stories added life.
NOTE: Here the word “queer” in fact means STRANGE and has been used in its original, literal form and does not have the implication of any modern connotation.

Here we have the first full adventure by Mr Thimblefinger as he leads his friends – Mr. Rabbit, tortoise, Mr Lion, Sweet Susan, Brother Bear and others, through his strange land. A second book of adventures by Mr Thimblefinger and friends titled “Mr Rabbit at Home” followed (copy ISBN 9788834171943 into your browser to search for this book).
And strange they are. Herein we have stories like:

• Mr. Thimblefinger’s Queer Country
• Mr. Thimblefinger’s Friends
• The Talking-Saddle and the Thief
• The Ladder of Lions
• The Looking-Glass Children
• Mr. Rabbit as a Rain-Maker
• How Brother Bear’s Hair was combed
• The Strawberry-Girl
• The Witch of the Well, and many more.

The stories themselves belong to three categories. Some of them were gathered from the negroes of the South, but were not embodied in the tales of Uncle Remus, because the author was not sure they were indeed negro stories; some are folklore stories from Middle Georgia, and no doubt belong to England; and some are merely inventions.
They were all written in the midst of daily work while the author was working on a morning newspaper.
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KEYWORDS/TAGS: Mr Thimblefinger, strange country, strange land, Folklore, fairy tales, myths, legends, childrens stories, bedtime stories, fables, parents with children, classic childrens stories, classic fairy tales, parents to be, fathers with children, mothers with children, babies, childrens books, Magical, delightful, enthralling, Thimblefinger, Rabbit, Brother, Sweetest Susan, Meadows, Lion, Drusilla, John, Buster, children, Valentine, Mayor, Tip-Top, talking saddle, Crow, River, thief, Bear, Chickamy Crany, Mr Lion, laughter, Dolls, Terrapin, tortoise,, honor, honour, morals, beautiful, Granny, Strawberry Girl, peaches and cream, looking-glass, queer, woods, Stag, Billy-Goat, traveller, traveller, Buzzard, Conjurer, gwine, companion, Keen-Point, Grim-Eye, cave, Tickle-My-Toes, witch, Butch, strange looking, Cob Handle, Geraldine, fiddle, violin,, comb, Cat, strawberries, astonished, pomegranate tree, blood-cousins, fiddle string, pumpkins, coachman

Leseprobe

Little Mr. Thimblefinger and His Queer Country

What the Children Saw and Heard there

BY

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

AUTHOR OF “UNCLE REMUS,” ETC.

Illustrated By Oliver Herford

Originally Published By

Houghton, Mifflin And Company, Boston[1895]

Resurrected By

Abela Publishing, London

[2019]

Little Mr. Thimblefinger And His Queer Country

Typographical arrangement of this edition

© Abela Publishing 2018

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Abela Publishing,

London

United Kingdom

2018

ISBN-13: 978-8-XXXXXX-XX-X

email

[email protected]

website

www.AbelaPublishing.com

MR. RABBIT FELL KERTHUMP

A Little Note to a Little Book

The stories that follow belong to three categories. Some of them were gathered from the negroes, but were not embodied in the tales of Uncle Remus, because I was not sure they were negro stories; some are Middle Georgia folklore stories, and no doubt belong to England; and some are merely inventions.

They were all written in the midst of daily work on a morning newspaper,—a fact that will account in some measure for their crude setting.

J. C. H.

West End, Atlanta, Ga.

Contents

I.The Grandmother of the Dolls

II.Mr. Thimblefinger’s Queer Country

III.Mr. Thimblefinger’s Friends

IV.Two Queer Stories

V.The Talking-Saddle

VI.The Talking-Saddle and the Thief

VII.The Ladder of Lions

VIII.Brother Terrapin’s Fiddle-String

IX.The Looking-Glass Children

X.Mr. Rabbit as a Rain-Maker

XI.How Brother Bear’s Hair was combed

XII.A Singing-Match

XIII.The Strawberry-Girl

XIV.The Witch of the Well

XV.The Bewitched Huntsman

XVI.The Three Ivory Bobbins

XVII.“Keen-Point,” “Cob-Handle,” and “Butch”

XVIII.Mrs. Meadows resumes her Story

XIX.A Story of the River

List Of Illustrations

Mr. Rabbit fell kerthump - Frontispiece

Rag-Tag rolling out of the Corner

The Grandmother of the Dolls and the big Black Cat

Sweetest Susan waking up

Following Little Mr. Thimblefinger

Mr. Rabbit and Mrs. Meadows

Mr. Billy-Goat and Mr. Wolf

My Mother washing the Old Man’s Coat and Waistcoat

Drusilla waiting on Mr. Rabbit

Tip-Top and the Mayor

The Mayor pardoning the Thief

Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes

Mr. Rabbit bandaging Brother Lion’s Paw

The Ladder of Lions

Mr. Rabbit fiddling for Brother Terrapin

Brother Terrapin tumbling into the Creek

Sweetest Susan, meeting her Reflection

They all plunged into the Looking-Glass

Mr. Rabbit saying nothing

Brother Bear arguing the Rain Question

Mrs. Bear hanging out Clothes

Little Mr. Thimblefinger

The Singing-Match

Granny Grim-Eye finds a Beautiful Little Girl asleep

The Little Old Man discovers the Strawberry-Girl

The Golden-Haired, Beautiful Little Girl

The Little Old Man, Three Wits, and the Stag

The Stag and the Witch

The Little Girl and the Old Man

Valentine slaying the Spider

Valentine talking to the River

Buster John shaking Hands with Mr. Rabbit

Little Mr. Thimblefinger andHis Queer Country

I The Grandmother of the Dolls

Once upon a time there lived on a plantation, in the very middle of Middle Georgia, a little girl and a little boy and their negro nurse. The little girl’s name was Sweetest Susan. That was the name her mother gave her when she was a baby, and she was so good-tempered that everybody continued to call her Sweetest Susan when she grew older. She was seven years old. The little boy’s name was Buster John. That was the name his father had given him. Buster John was eight. The nurse’s name was Drusilla, and she was twelve. Drusilla was called a nurse, but that was just a habit people had. She was more of a child than either Sweetest Susan or Buster John, but she was very much larger. She was their playmate—their companion, and a capital one she made.

Sweetest Susan had black hair and dark eyes like her father, while Buster John had golden hair and brown eyes like his mother. As for Drusilla, she was as black as the old black cat, and always in a good humor, except when she pretended to be angry. Sweetest Susan had wonderful dark eyes that made her face very serious except when she laughed, but she was as full of fun as Buster John, who was always in some sort of mischief that did nobody any harm.

These children were not afraid of anything. They scorned to run from horses, or cows, or dogs. They were born on the big plantation, and they spent the greater part of the day out of doors, save when the weather was very cold or very wet. They had no desire to stay in the house, except when they were compelled to go to bed, and a great many times they fretted a little because they thought bedtime came too soon.

Sweetest Susan had a great many dolls, and she was very fond of them. She had a China Doll, a Jip-jap Doll, a Rag Doll, a Rubber Doll, a White Doll, a Brown Doll, and a Black Doll. Sometimes she and Drusilla would play with the Dolls out in the yard, and sometimes Buster John would join them when he had nothing better to do. But every evening Sweetest Susan and Drusilla would carry the Dolls into the bedroom and place them side by side against the wall. Sweetest Susan wanted them placed there, she said, so she could see her children the last thing at night and the first thing in the morning.

But one night Sweetest Susan went to bed crying, and this was so unusual that Drusilla forgot to put the Dolls in their places. Sweetest Susan’s feelings were hurt. She had not been very good, and her mother had called her Naughty Susan instead of Sweetest Susan. Buster John, in the next room, wanted to know what the matter was, but Sweetest Susan wouldn’t tell him, and neither would she tell Drusilla. After a while Sweetest Susan’s mother came in and kissed her. That helped her some, but she lay awake ever so long sobbing a little and thinking how she must do so as not to be called Naughty Susan.

Drusilla lay on a pallet near Sweetest Susan’s bed, but, for a wonder, Drusilla lay awake too. She said nothing, but she was not snoring, and Sweetest Susan could see the whites of her eyes shining. The fire that had been kindled on the hearth so as to give a light (for the weather was not cold) flickered and flared, and little blue flames crept about over the sputtering pine-knot, jumping off into the air and then jumping back. The blue flames flickered and danced and crept about so, and caused such a commotion among the shadows that were running about the room and trying to hide themselves behind the chairs and in the corners, that the big brass andirons seemed to be alive.

While Sweetest Susan was lying there watching the shadows and wondering when Drusilla would go to sleep, she heard a voice call out,—

“Oh, dear! I believe I’ve got smut all over my frock again!”

It was the queerest little voice that ever was heard. It had a tinkling sound, such as Susan had often made when she tied her mother’s gold thimble to a string and struck it with a knitting-needle. Just as she was wondering where it came from, a little old woman stepped from behind one of the andirons and shook the ashes from her dress.

“I think I’d better stay at home,” said the little old woman, “if I can’t come down the chimney without getting smut all over my frock. I wonder where Mr. Thimblefinger is?”

“Oh, I’m here,” exclaimed another tinkling voice from the fireplace, “but I’m not coming in. They are not asleep, and, even if they were, I see the big Black Cat in that chair there.”

“Much I care!” cried the little old woman snappishly. “I’ll call you when I want you.”

Then she went around the room where Sweetest Susan’s Dolls were scattered, and looked at each one as it lay asleep. Then she shook her head and sighed.

“They look as if they were tired, poor things!” she said. “And no wonder! I expect they have been pulled and hauled about and dragged around from pillar to post since I was here last.”

Then the little old woman touched the Dolls with her cane, one by one. Each Doll called out as it was touched,—

“Is that you, Granny?”

And to each one she replied:—

“Reser, roser, rise! And rib and rub your eyes!”

Sweetest Susan was not at all alarmed. She felt as if she had been expecting something of the kind. The Dolls arose and ranged themselves in front of the fireplace—all except the Rag Doll.

“Where’s Rag-Tag?” inquired the little old woman anxiously.

“Here I am, Granny!” replied the Rag Doll. “I’m lame in one leg and I can’t walk with the other, and my arm’s out of joint.”

“Tut! tut!” said the little old woman. “How can you be lame in your legs when there’s no bone in them? How can your arm be out of joint when there’s no joint? Get up!”

Rag-Tag rolled out of the corner and tumbled across the floor, heels over head.

“Now, then,” said the little old woman, opening her satchel, “what can I do for you?”

“She’s pulled all my hair out!” whispered the China Doll.

RAG-TAG ROLLING OUT OF THE CORNER

“She’s mashed my nose flat!” cried the Jip-jap Doll.

“She’s put one of my eyes out!” whined the Brown Doll.

“She’s put chalk all over me!” blubbered the Black Doll.

“She hasn’t hurt me!” exclaimed the Rubber Doll.

“She’s made a hole in my back, and the sawdust is all running out!” whined Rag-Tag.

“I’ll attend to you first, before you bleed to death,” said the little old woman, frowning. Then she rapped on the floor with her cane and cried out:—

“Long-Legged Spinner, Come earn your dinner!”

While Sweetest Susan was wondering what this meant, she saw a big Black Spider swing down from the ceiling and hang, dangling close to the little old woman’s face. Its little eyes sparkled like coals of fire, and its hairy mouth worked as if it were chewing something. Sweetest Susan shivered as she looked at it, but she didn’t scream.

“A thimbleful of fresh cobwebs, Long-Legged Spinner!” said the little old woman, in a businesslike way.

Then the big Black Spider moved his legs faster than a cat can wink her eyes, and in a few seconds the fresh cobwebs were spun.

“That is very nice,” said the little old woman. “Here’s a fat Bluebottle for you.”

The big Black Spider seized the Fly and ran nimbly to the ceiling again. The Fly buzzed and buzzed in a pitiful way, and Sweetest Susan thought to herself, “Oh, what should I do if that was poor me!”

Then the little old woman hunted in her satchel until she found a piece of mutton suet, and with this and the fresh cobwebs she quickly stopped the hole in Rag-Tag’s back. This done, she went around and doctored each one. She glued more hair on the China Doll. She fixed the nose of the Jip-jap Doll. She gave a new blue eye to the Brown Doll.

“There!” she exclaimed when she had finished, “I think you look a little more like yourself now. But you would look a great deal better if you had any clothes fit to wear. Now pay attention! What is the name of this horrible giantess that drags you about and beats you so?”

“It’s no giantess, Granny,” replied Rag-Tag. “It’s a little girl, and sometimes she’s very, very good.”

“Hush!” cried the little old woman. “Speak when you are spoken to.”

“She is a giantess, Granny,” said the Brown Doll. “She’s taller than that chair yonder.”

“Where is she now?” the little old woman asked fiercely.

“She’s asleep in the bed, Granny,” said the Brown Doll.

“Pinch her good, Granny!” cried the Wax Doll. “Put out her eyes!”

“Scratch her, Granny! Pull out her hair!” pleaded the Brown Doll.

“Bump her head against the wall, Granny! Mash her nose!” exclaimed the Jip-jap Doll.

The Rag-Tag Doll said not a word.

All this time the little old woman was searching in her satchel for something, and Sweetest Susan began to get frightened.

“I’ve come off without my specs,” said the little old woman, “and I can’t see a stiver with such a light as this.”

Just then the big Black Cat that had been sleeping quietly in a chair rose and stretched himself and gaped, showing his long white teeth. He jumped to the floor and walked back and forth purring and rubbing against the little old woman in a friendly way.

“Get out! You’ll push me over,” she cried. “Oh, will you go away? I’ll stick you with my needle! I certainly will! Keep your long tail out of my face! Oh, how can I see to do anything? Will you go away? I’ll hit you as sure as I am standing here!”

“Don’t,” said the big Black Cat, stopping and looking straight at the little old woman. “Don’t you know it brings bad luck to hit a black cat?”

“If I hit you, you’ll feel it,” cried the little old woman.

“Stop,” exclaimed the big Black Cat. “I know what you are here for. Do you see my eyes? They are as green as grass. Do you see my teeth? They are as strong as iron. Do you see my claws? They are as sharp as needles. If I look at you hard you’ll shiver; if I bite you you’ll squall; if I scratch you you’ll bleed.”

The Grandmother of the Dolls looked at the big Black Cat long and hard.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“I know you,” replied the Black Cat.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Billy-Billy Blackfoot.”

“It is time for you to go hunting,” she said. She wanted to get him out of the room.

“I have found what I was hunting for,” said Billy-Billy Blackfoot.

THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE DOLLS AND THE BIG BLACK CAT

“There’s a rat gnawing in the pantry.”

“He’ll be fatter when I catch him.”

“There’s a piece of cheese in the dining-room.”

“It won’t spoil until I eat it.”

“There’s a pan of milk in the kitchen.”

“It won’t turn sour till I drink it.”

“There’s catnip in the garden.”

“It will grow till I want it.”

The Grandmother of the Dolls then made a cross-mark on the carpet and waved her cane in the air. This was done to put a spell on Billy-Billy Blackfoot, but before the spell could work Billy-Billy made a circle by chasing his tail around. Then he glared at the little old woman and slowly closed one eye. This was too much. The Grandmother of the Dolls seized her cane and made a furious attack on Billy-Billy Blackfoot, but he leaped nimbly out of the way and the cane fell with a whack on the bald head of the Brown Doll.

At this there was a tremendous uproar. The Brown Doll screamed: “Murder!” Billy-Billy Blackfoot’s tail swelled to twice its natural size; the hair-brush fell on the floor; the dustpan rattled; the shovel and tongs staggered out from the chimney-corner and rolled over on the hearth; the Dolls scrambled and scurried under the bed, and the little old woman whisked up the chimney like a spark from a burning log.

When Sweetest Susan raised up in bed to look around she saw Drusilla sitting on her pallet rubbing her eyes, but Billy-Billy Blackfoot was sitting by the fireplace washing his face as quietly as if nothing had happened. At first it seemed to Sweetest Susan that it had all been a dream, but presently she heard a small voice that came down the chimney:

“Mr. Thimblefinger! Mr. Thimblefinger! It is nine minutes after twelve.” There was a pause, and then the small voice sounded farther away, like an echo, “Nine minutes and two seconds after twelve!”

II Mr. Thimblefinger’s Queer Country

The next morning Sweetest Susan was awake early. She wanted very much to turn over and go to sleep again, for her eyes were heavy and her body was tired. But the moment she remembered the wonderful events of the night before, she sat up in bed and looked around. Drusilla was still asleep and snoring very loudly, but Sweetest Susan jumped out of bed and shook her by the shoulder.

“Drusilla! Drusilla! wake up!” cried Sweetest Susan. Drusilla stopped short in her snoring and turned over with a groan. She kept her eyes closed, and in a moment she would have been snoring again, but Sweetest Susan continued to shake her and called her until she squalled out:—

“Who dat? What you want? Oh, Lordy!”

“Wake up, Drusilla,” said Sweetest Susan, “I want to ask you something.”

“Ain’t I ’wake? How kin I be any ’waker when I’m ’wake? Oh, is dat you, honey? I wuz skeer’d ’t was dat lil’ bit er ol’ ’oman. Whar she gone? Las’ time I seed her she wuz des walkin’ ’roun’ here like she wuz gwine ter tromple on me. I laid low, I did.”

Sweetest Susan clasped her hands together and cried: “Oh, wasn’t it a dream, Drusilla? Did it all happen sure enough?”

Drusilla shook her head wildly. “How kin we bofe have de same kind er dream? I seed de ’oman gwine on, en you seed ’er gwine on. Uh-uh! Don’t talk ter me ’bout no dreams.”

The whole matter was settled when Buster John cried out from the next room: “What fuss was that you were making in there last night, squealing and squeaking?”

The matter was soon explained to Buster John, and after breakfast the children went out and sat on the big wood-pile and talked it all over. The boy asked a hundred questions, but still his curiosity was not satisfied.

All this time the birds were singing in the trees and the wood-sawyers sawing in the pine logs. Jo-reeter, jo-reeter, jo-ree! sang the birds. Craik, craik, craik, went the wood-sawyers.