IN NURSERY LAND

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 602, 2 March 1929, Page 29

IN NURSERY LAND

A BOY WHO RODE A CLOrHESHORSE I'm sorry to say little Cyril Shaw was a very greedy boy, and when he went to a party one day he ate so much that it made him feel really ill. The tempting array of good things on the supper-table had been more than he could resist, and I'm afraid he had had two helpings of everything! Next morning lie was so sick that his mummie kept him in bed, and he didn’t mind at all, because it was all he felt fit for, and as mummie lit a fire in his room it was very cosy.

“Now I’m going to be busy downstairs, but call ine if you want anything,” mother said, as she found he did not want any breakfast. Cyril was feeling very ill, and at the same time very sleepy, for lie had been late at the party the night before. Before mother left him she placed a little clothes-horse by the grate, and on it she arranged a few small garments of Cyril’s to air before the fire. Then she said, “Go to sleep, dear.” and went downstairs.

He looked at it sleepily. Was it a clothes-horse, though? It seemed 10 be taking on a different shape. Surely its legs were moving! The clothes seemed to be all in one place now—and they were not clothes at all—but a saddle! “Oh, it’s a real horse after all!” gasped Cyril, excitedly.

“Yes—of course I’m a real horse’” said the animal, in rather a hoarse voice. “Don’t you recognise me? I’m the famous horse the fine lady from Banbury Cross always used to ride, but she has got a motor-car now, so you can ride me if you like!” “Rather!” cried Cyril, scrambling out of bed. The horse looked quite small —just the size for a little boy

i ride, so he clambered on its back. “Where shall we go?” asked the Drso. “To Nursery Land.?”

“Oh, yes, please! That will be jolly!” answered Cyril; and in a moment his steed had cantered downstairs and out of the front door. Cyril felt glad his mummie hadn’t seen him; she might have objected to her little boy riding away on horseback in his pyjamas; but, strange to say. he didn’t feel at all cold They cantered down roads they had never seen before, till they came to a tree, beneath which a little girl was seated.

“Here’s little Miss MufCet,” raid the horse. “Perhaps you'd like to talk to her.”

“I’d like to taste her curds and whey,” said greedy Cyril. But just then Miss Muffet jumped up and ran away screaming, because a large spider had slithered down from the tree nearly into her basin of curds and whey. “She’s such a timid child —terribly afraid of spiders,” remarked the hqrse. It trotted on, till they met a rather strange-looking little boy with a very crooked nose. “Please can you show me the way to go home?” asked the boy. The horse stopped and directed him politely, and off he went again. “That’s Peter "White,” he explained to Cyril. “He’s always getting lost, you know, because he will follow his nose!” Soon they came to a house, with “J. Horner” painted neatly on the front gate. “I’d like to stop here,” oaid Cyril, so he scrambled off and ran up to the door to call on Jack Horner. Greedy Cyril’s idea was that perhaps Jack would give him some of his pie. But, of course, Jack was a greedy boy. too, and when Cyril arrived he was just gobbling up the last plum. Cyril continued on his ride, rather disappointed. Further on they came to two little children outside a baker’s shop. The horse spoke to them, and asked why they were waiting. “We’re waiting for our cake,” answered the little girl. “The baker has just marked it with ‘T’ and rut it in the oven.” “Will you give me some if I wait for it?” asked Cyril. “No,” answered the little girl. “You’re a greedy boy! There's only just enough for Tommy and me—so you won’t get any.” “Come along,” said the horse, “I'm sure you can’t be hungry, and we must hurry if we are to &ee everyone. Here’s Mother Hubbard’s cottage; shall we call on her?” “No,” answered Cyril, rather sulkily. “It’s no use stopping her cupboard is always bare.” The horse cantered on, and presently they came to a great crowd. Poor Humpty-Dumpty had lallen off a wall and everyone was trying to put him together again—without success. Further on there was a great clamouring, and Cyril saw ever so many little children holding basins, amd crowding round a woman, who was evidently ladling out good. “They are the shoe-children,” explained the horse, “and they are just going to have their broth. Perhaps their mother will give you some if you Cyril dismounted on re more, and asked the dame very politely for a basin of her famous broth. “Certainly, my little man,” said she. “The more the merrier!” And she handed Cyril a big basin of steaming hot broth. He drank every drop—without offering his steed any—and the dame said, “You know, I always , whip my children after they've had their broth, so you must have your share of that, too!”

Cyril screamed, and tried to moun his horse again, but the dame grabbehim with a firm hand and then. . . He awoke to find his mummie bend ing over him. “Why, what a long sleep you’ve hao dear! It’s dinner time and I’ve biough you some nice hot broth!”