“One day the wind came along and blew the Village of Hatpins loose and, after blowing it loose, carried it high off in the sky. And the people were saying to each other, ‘Well, now we are going to hear Ragbag Mammy tell us what is in the ragbag.’
“And the wind kept blowing, carrying the Village of Hatpins higher and farther and farther and higher. And when at last it went away so high it came to a white cloud, the hatpins in the village all stuck out and fastened the village to the cloud so the wind couldn’t blow it any farther.
“And—after a while they pulled the hatpins out of the cloud—and the village dropped back right down where it was before.
“And Ragbag Mammy goes every morning and every afternoon with the ragbag on her back across and around the town. And sometimes people say to her, ‘The next time the wind blows us away—the next time the wind will blow us so far there won’t be any cloud to fasten hatpins in—and you will have to tell us what is in the ragbag.’ And Ragbag Mammy just answers, ‘Yes, yes—yes—yes,’ and goes on her way looking for the next boy or girl to say, ‘Gimme’ (once, like that) or ‘Gimme, gimme’ (twice, like that) or ‘Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme’ (more times than we can count).
“And if a child is crying, she digs into her pockets and pulls out the doll that says the alphabet and sings little Chinese-Assyrian songs.”
“And,” said Peter Potato Blossom Wishes, “you have to listen close up with your ears and be nice when you are listening.”
“In the Village of Hatpins that the wind nearly blew away forever,” said Hatrack the Horse.
And Peter Potato Blossom Wishes skipped away down from the little red shanty, skipped down the street, and then began walking slow saying to herself, “I love Hatrack the Horse like a granduncle—his eyes look like lightning bugs lighting up the summer night coming out of two little doors.”
HOW SIX PIGEONS CAME BACK TO HATRACK THE HORSE AFTER MANY ACCIDENTS AND SIX TELEGRAMS
SIR CROOKED LADDERS stood against the front of the shanty where Hatrack the Horse lived.
Yellow roses all on fire were climbing up and down the ladders, up and down and crossways.
And leaning out on both sides from the crooked ladders were vines of yellow roses, leaning, curving, nearly falling.
Hatrack the Horse was waiting. This was the morning Wiffle the Chick was coming.
“Sit here on the cracker box and listen,” he said to her when she came; “listen and you will hear the roses saying, ‘This is climbing time for all yellow roses, and climbing time is the time to climb; how did we ever learn to climb only by climbing? Listen and you will hear—st . . . th . . . st . . . th . . . st . . . th . . . it is the feet of the yellow roses climbing up and down and leaning out and curving and nearly falling . . . st . . . th . . . st . . . th . . .”
So Wiffle the Chick sat there, early in the summer, enjoying herself, sitting on a cracker box, listening to the yellow roses climb around the six crooked ladders.
Hatrack the Horse came out. On his shoulders were two pigeons, on his hands two pigeons. And he reached his hand around behind his back where his hat was hanging, and he opened the hat and showed Wiffle the Chick two pigeons in the hat.
“They are lovely pigeons to look at, and their eyes are full of lessons to learn,” said Wiffle the Chick. “Maybe you will tell me why you have their feet wrapped in bandages, hospital liniment bandages full of hospital liniment smells? Why do you put soft mittens on the feet of these pigeons so lovely to look at?”
“They came back yesterday; they came back home,” was the answer. “They came back limping on their feet with the toes turned in so far they nearly turned backward. When they put their bleeding feet in my hands one by one each one, it was like each one was writing his name in my hand with red ink.”
“Did you know they were coming?” asked Wiffle.
“Every day the last six days I get a telegram, six telegrams from six pigeons—and at last they come home. And ever since they come home, they are telling me they come because they love Hatrack the Horse and the yellow climbing roses climbing over the six crooked ladders.”
“Did you name your pigeons with names?” asked Wiffle.
“These three, the sandy and golden brown, all named themselves by where they came from. This is Chickamauga, here is Chattanooga, and this is Chattahoochee. And the other three all got their names from me when I was feeling high and easy. This is Blue Mist, here is Bubbles, and last of all take a look at Wednesday Evening in the Twilight and the Gloaming.”
“Do you always call her Wednesday Evening in the Twilight and the Gloaming?”
“Not when I am making coffee for breakfast. If I am making coffee for breakfast, then I just call her Wednesday Evening.”
“Didn’t you tie the mittens on her feet extra special nice?”
“Yes—she is an extra special nice pigeon. She cries for pity when she wants pity. And she shuts her eyes when she doesn’t want to look at you. And if you look deep in her eyes when her eyes are open, you will see lights there exactly like the lights on the pastures and the meadows when the mist is drifting on a Wednesday evening just between the twilight and the gloaming.
“A week ago yesterday they all went away. And they won’t tell why they went away. Somebody clipped their wings, cut off their flying feathers so they couldn’t fly—and they won’t tell why. They were six hundred miles from home—but they won’t tell how they counted the six hundred miles. A hundred miles a day they walked, six hundred miles in a week, and they sent a telegram to me every day, one writing a telegram one day and another writing a telegram the next day—all the time walking a hundred miles a day with their toes turned in like pigeon toes turn in. Do you wonder they needed bandages, hospital liniment bandages on their feet—and soft mittens?”
“Show me the telegrams they sent you, one every day, for six days while they were walking six hundred miles on their pigeon toes.”
So Hatrack the Horse got the six telegrams. The reading on the telegrams was like this:
1. “Feet are as good as wings if you have to. CHICKAMAUGA.”
2. “If you love to go somewhere, it is easy to walk. CHATTANOOGA.”
3. “In the night sleeping you forget whether you have wings or feet or neither. CHATTAHOOCHEE.”
4. “What are toes for if they don’t point to what you want? BLUE MIST.”
5. “Anybody can walk hundreds of miles putting one foot ahead of the other. BUBBLES.”
6. “Pity me. Far is far. Near is near. And there is no place like home when the yellow roses climb up the ladders and sing in the early summer. Pity me. WEDNESDAY EVENING IN THE TWILIGHT AND THE GLOAMING.”
“Did they have any accidents going six hundred miles walking with their little pigeon toes turned in?” asked Wiffle.
“Once they had an accident,” said Hatrack, with Chattahoochee standing in his hat, Chickamauga on his right shoulder, Chattanooga on his left, and holding Blue Mist and Bubbles on his wrists. “They came to an old wooden bridge. Chattahoochee and Wednesday Evening both cried out, ‘The bridge will fall if we all walk on it the same time!’ But they were all six already on the bridge, and the bridge began sagging and tumbled them all into the river. But it was good for them all to have a footbath for their feet, Wednesday Evening explained.”
“I got a suspicion you like Wednesday Evening in the Twilight and the Gloaming best of all,” spoke up Wiffle.
“Well, Wednesday Evening was the only one I noticed making any mention of the yellow roses in her telegram,” Hatrack the Horse explained as he picked up Wednesday Evening and reached her around and put her to perch on the shoulder bone on his back.
Then the old man and the girl sat on the cracker box saying nothing, only listening to the yellow roses all on fire with early summer climbing up the crooked ladders, up and down and crossways, some of them leaning out and curving and nearly falling.
HOW THE THREE WILD BABYLONIAN BABOONS WENT AWAY IN THE RAIN EATING BREAD AND BUT
TER
ONE MORNING WHEN Hatrack the Horse went away from his shanty, he put three umbrellas in the corner next to the front door.
His pointing finger pointed at the three umbrellas as he said, “If the three wild Babylonian Baboons come sneaking up to this shanty and sneaking through the door and sneaking through the house, then all you three umbrellas open up like it was raining, jump straight at the baboons, and fasten your handles in their hands. Then, all three of you stay open as if it was raining—and hold those handles in the hands of the baboons and never let go till I come.”
Hatrack the Horse went away. The three umbrellas stood in the corner next to the front door. And when the umbrellas listened, they could hear the three wild Babylonian Baboons sneaking up to the shanty. Soon the baboons, all hairy all over, bangs down their foreheads, came sneaking through the door. Just as they were sneaking through the door, they took off their hats to show they were getting ready to sneak through the house.
Then the three umbrellas in the corner opened up as if it was raining; they jumped straight at the three wild Babylonian Baboons; and they fastened their handles tight in the hands of the baboons and wouldn’t let go.
So there were the three wild Babylonian Baboons, each with a hat in his left hand and an open umbrella in his right hand.
When Hatrack the Horse came home, he came, quiet. He opened the front door, quiet. Then he looked around inside the house, quiet.
In the corner where he had stood the three umbrellas, he saw the three wild Babylonian Baboons on the floor, sleeping, with umbrellas over their faces.
“The umbrellas were so big they couldn’t get through the door,” said Hatrack the Horse. For a long time he stood looking at the bangs hanging down the foreheads of the baboons while they were sleeping. He took a comb and combed the bangs down the foreheads of the baboons. He went to the cupboard and spread bread and butter. He took the hats out of the left hands of the baboons and put the hats on their heads. He put a piece of bread and butter in the hand of each baboon.
After that he snipped each one across the nose with his finger (snippety-snip! just like that). They opened their eyes and stood up. Then he loosened the umbrella handles from their right hands and led them to the door.
They all looked out. It was raining. “Now you can go,” he told the baboons. And they all walked out of the front door, and they seemed to be snickering and hiding the snickers.
The last he saw of them they were walking away in the rain eating bread and butter. And they took off their hats so the rain ran down and slid off on the bangs of their foreheads.
Hatrack the Horse turned to the umbrellas and said, “We know how to make a surprise party when we get a visit from the Babylonian Baboons with their bangs falling down their foreheads—don’t we?”
That is what happened as Hatrack the Horse told it to the night policeman in the Village of Cream Puffs.
HOW SIX UMBRELLAS TOOK OFF THEIR STRAW HATS TO SHOW RESPECT TO THE ONE BIG UMBRELLA
WHEREVER DIPPY THE Wisp went, she was always changing hats. She carried two hatboxes with big picture hats on her right arm. And she carried two hatboxes with big picture hats on her left arm. And she changed from green and gold hats to purple and gray hats and then back to green and gold whenever she felt like it.
Now the hill that runs down from the shanty of Hatrack the Horse toward the Village of Cream Puffs is a long, long hill. And one morning the old man sat watching, and away down at the bottom of the long, long hill he saw four hatboxes. Somebody was coming to call on him. And he knew it was Dippy the Wisp.
The hatboxes came up the hill. He saw them stop once, stop twice, stop more times. So he knew Dippy the Wisp was changing hats, changing from green and gold to purple and gray and then back to green and gold.
When at last she got to the top of the hill and came to the shanty of Hatrack the Horse, she said to him, “Make up a story and tell me. Make up the story about umbrellas. You have traveled all over the Rootabaga Country; you have seen so many umbrellas, and such wonderful umbrellas. Make me up a big elegant story about umbrellas.”
So Hatrack the Horse took his hat off his head, reached around, and hung it on one of the shoulder bones sticking out behind on his back. And the old man looked with a faraway look down the long, long hill running from his shanty toward the Village of Cream Puffs. Then he told her this story:
“One summer afternoon I came home and found all the umbrellas sitting in the kitchen, with straw hats on, telling each other who they are.
“The umbrella that feeds the fishes fresh buns every morning stood up and said, ‘I am the umbrella that feeds the fishes fresh buns every morning.’
“The umbrella that fixes the clocks free of charge stood up and said, ‘I am the umbrella that fixes the clocks free of charge.’
“The umbrella that peels the potatoes with a pencil and makes a pink ink with the peelings stood up and said, ‘I am the umbrella that peels the potatoes with a pencil and makes a pink ink with the peelings.’
“The umbrella that eats the rats with pepper and salt and a clean napkin every morning stood up and said, ‘I am the umbrella that eats the rats with pepper and salt and a clean napkin every morning.’
“The umbrella that washes the dishes with a wiper and wipes the dishes with a washer every morning stood up and said, ‘I am the umbrella that washes the dishes with a wiper and wipes the dishes with a washer every morning.’
“The umbrella that covers the chimney with a dishpan before it rains stood up and said, ‘I am the umbrella that covers the chimney with a dishpan before it rains.’
“The umbrella that runs to the corner to get corners for the handkerchiefs stood up and said, ‘I am the umbrella that runs to the corner to get corners for the handkerchiefs.’
“Now while the umbrellas are all sitting in the kitchen with their straw hats on telling each other who they are, there comes a big black stranger of an umbrella walking into the kitchen without opening the door, walking in without knocking, without asking anybody, without telling anybody beforehand.
“‘Since we are telling each other who we are,’ said the stranger, ‘since we are telling each other who we are, I am going to tell you who I am.
“‘I am the umbrella that holds up the sky. I am the umbrella the rain comes through. I am the umbrella that tells the sky when to begin raining and when to stop raining.
“‘I am the umbrella that goes to pieces when the wind blows and then puts itself together again when the wind goes down. I am the first umbrella, the last umbrella, the one and only umbrella all other umbrellas are named after, first, last, and always.’
“When the stranger finished this speech telling who he was and where he came from, all the other umbrellas sat still for a little while, to be respectful.
“Then they all got up, took off their straw hats, walked up to the stranger, and laid those straw hats at his feet. They wanted to show him they had respect for him. Then they all walked out, first the umbrella that feeds the fishes fresh buns every morning, then the umbrella that fixes the clocks free of charge, then the umbrella that peels the potatoes with a pencil and makes pink ink with the peelings, then the umbrella that eats the rats with pepper and salt and a clean napkin, then the umbrella that washes the dishes with a wiper and wipes the dishes with a washer, then the umbrella that covers the chimney with a dishpan before it rains, then the umbrella that runs to the corner to get corners for the handkerchiefs. They all laid their straw hats at the feet of the stranger because he came without knocking or telling anybody beforehand and because he said he is the umbrella that holds up the sky, that big umbrella the rain goes through first of all, the first and the last umbrella.”
That was the way Hatrack the Horse finished his story for Dippy the Wisp. She was changing hats, getting ready to go.
The old man put his loose, bony arms around her and kissed her for a good-by. And she put her little dimpled arms around his neck and kissed him for a good-by.
And twice going down the long hill she stopped and changed hats, opening and shutting the hatboxes and changing hats from green and gold to purple and gray and back to green and gold.
HOW BOZO THE BUTTON BUSTER BUSTED ALL HIS BUTTONS WHEN A MOUSE CAME
ONE SUMMER EVENING the stars in the summer sky seemed to be moving with fishes, cats, and rabbits.
It was that summer evening three girls came to the shanty of Hatrack the Horse. He asked each one, “What is your name?” And they answered, first, “Me? My name is Deep Red Roses”; second, “Me? My name is The Beans are Burning”; and last of all, “Me? My name is Sweeter Than the Bees Humming.”
And the old man fastened a yellow rose for luck in the hair of each one and said, “You ought to be home now.”
“After you tell us a story,” they reminded him.
“I can only tell you a sad story all mixed up tonight,” he reminded them, “because all day today I have been thinking about Bozo the Button Buster.”
“Tell us about Bozo the Button Buster,” said the girls, feeling in their hair and fixing the yellow roses.
The old man sat down on the front steps. His eyes swept away off toward a corner of the sky heavy with mist, where it seemed to be moving with firetails, fishes, cats, and rabbits of slow changing stars.
“Bozo had buttons all over him,” said the old man. “The buttons on Bozo fitted so tight, and there were so many buttons, that sometimes when he took his lungs full of new wind to go on talking, a button would bust loose and fly into the face of whoever he was speaking to. Sometimes when he took new wind into his lungs, two buttons would bust loose and fly into the faces of two people he was speaking to.
The Sandburg Treasury Page 11