THE GREY SQUIRREL

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 182, 22 October 1927, Page 27 (Supplement)

THE GREY SQUIRREL

Boy—his real name was Fred, bu: Molly and Marjorie always had called him “Boy”—had been fast asleep exactly three minutes when he felt th» tickling behind his ear. He opened hi" eyes and found Grey Squirrel sitting on his pillow. “Hurry up. or you'll miss the express to Moonbeam end,” he said. "Molly and Marjorie are already on it.” That was enough for Boy. Ho was up in a moment without questioning Grey Squirrel, and a second later warfollowing him to the window, where h«* found his two sisters astride a moonbeam. “Jump on," urged Grey Squirrel, “o you’ll be left behind,” and. giving Bov a push, the latter found himself rat - ing along through the windows, walls, the trees in the orchard, even th«ground itself, just as if they had been mere shadow's. Then the Moonbeams suddenly ended, and. after turning IT* somersaults, he found himself sitting in .t land where everything seemed to be welcoming him. And then, just as suddenly, he felt himself hit in the back, and he was rolling on the ground once more, with Molly and Marjorie. He had evidently raced them. "Most uncomfortable travelling.” said Molly, when she had regained her breath. “I do wish people would look where they are sitting.” added Marjorie, who felt that she ought to have hurt herself by the bumping, but could feel no pain. "I wish you would look where you are going.” answered Boy. in an injured tone. "If some people . . . "But he stopped suddenly. There was a loud howling heard in the distance. •'Somebody in pain.” said Molly. “Let’s run along and help him.” And they ran along in the direction of the shouting, for they felt no fear in that strange and beautiful land They soon came upon a little old man looking very unhappy, hopping on on«> leg, and howling at the top of his voice. “Look, he’s got a book.” said Molly. “Look, he’s got a nail through his foot,” added "Boy, and raised his hat to the funny little man. ‘Excuse m*-. sir, is anything wrong?” he asked. "Are you in trouble?” “Trouble. Of course, I am. I’m a cobbler.” “A hobbler?” asked Molly, not know - ing why she asked. "A hobbling cobbler,” laughed Marjorie. “A cobbling hobbler.’ screamed tin* little man. “Don’t muddle me,” he shouted. “Muddleme is my name, and that’s what everyone does.” “Muddle you?” asked Boy. “Xo, Muddleme. That’s what nr name is. And all this trouble is through this book.” Boy went to his side and looked at the book carefully, for h could now read. “Destructions for Mending Boots,” he read. "If you wi>l ; to mend your boots, take the boot yon I wish to mend and put it on the last. . “That’s exactly what I’ve done,” said Mr. Muddleme. "I wanted to mend this one, so I put the other on first and this on last.” And he held his foot in the air so high that the three children burst out laughing at him. “Take some nails,” continued Boy. reading, “and nail the sole on the boot.” The little "id man set up bis bowling once more as Boy read these words. “That’s what I’ve done. And look what’s happened.” And as the children looked they saw that lie had driven the nail right through his foot. “It didn’t mean that kind of last.” laughed Boy. "A last is a special thing for putting shoes on when you are mending them. It has nothing to do with the first and last.” The tears began to dry quickly in the old man’s eyes, and he sat down. “Let me pull your boot off,” offered Molly, and she and Marjorie carefully unlaced it and gave it a gentle tug. And with it the nail came out, too. “Why,” said the astonished Boy. “the nail never went through your foot. It passed between your toes through the sole. Why were you making all that row?” “Because I couldn’t understand why it. wasn’t hurting me. I’m so happy you’ve found that out for me. Com*' again.” When Boy woke next morning, Molly and Marjorie were standing by his bed. ' “We’ve just looked through the window and seen a lovely Grey Squirrel.” said Molly. “Grey Squirrel,” said Boy. "Yes, I believe I saw him, too.”

There was an old party Who smelt at a rose. When a crickledy-crackled y Ran up his nose; Danced a jig in his head. And before you could wince. Flew out of his ear. And has not been seen since.