Pepper & Salt Part 2

"Oh no," said Jacob, "that is too black."

So they went on a little farther.

By-and-by they came to a ploughed field, and there was something skipping over the furrows that looked for all the world like a great bird. That was Gretchen; for the feathers stuck to the honey and all over her, so that she looked just like a great bird.

"Shoot at that! shoot at that!" said the red one, clapping his hands together.

"Oh yes," said Jacob, "I will shoot at that." So he raised his gun and took aim. Then he lowered his gun again. "But what is it?" said he.

At this the red one screwed up his eyes, and looked and looked, but for the life of him he could not tell what it was.

"No matter what it is," said he, "only shoot and be done with it, for I must be going."

"Yes, good! But what _is_ it?" said Jacob.

Then the red one looked and looked again, but he could tell no better this time than he could before. "It may be this and it may be that,"

said he. "Only shoot and be done with it, for they are waiting for me at home."

"Yes, my friend," said Jacob, "that is all very good; only tell me what it is and I will shoot."

"Thunder and lightning!" bawled the red one, _"I do not know what it is!"_

"Then be off with you!" said Jacob, "for, since you cannot answer my question, all is over between us two."

At this the red one had to leave Jacob, so he fled away over hill and dale, bellowing like a bull.

As for Jacob and Gretchen, they went back home together, very well pleased with each other and themselves.

And the meaning of all this is, that many another man beside Jacob Boehm would find himself in a pretty sc.r.a.pe only for his wife.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Jacob and Gretchen get the best of the Red One and go home together happily.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: TWO OPINIONS. This is a full page ill.u.s.trated poem depicting the magpie in the poem, with the poem weaving through the pictures.]

TWO OPINIONS

(Ye first opinion)

A noisy chattering Magpie once A talking gabbling hairbrained dunce Came by where a sign-post stood.

He nodded his head with a modish air And said "good day" for he wasn't aware That the sign-post pointing its finger there Was only a block of wood.

Quoth he, "An exceedingly sultry day.

T'is more like June than the first of May."

The post said never a word.

"I've just dropped over from Lincolns.h.i.+re.

My home is in the Cathedral Spire-- The air is cooler and purer the higher You get--as you've doubtless heard."

So on he chattered with never a stop, And on and on till you'd think he would drop.

(The post was dumb as your hat.) But so as the pie could say his say He didn't care whether it spoke all day; For thus he observed as he walked away-- "An intelligent creature that."

(Ye second opinion)

Now once when the sky was pouring rain, The Magpie chanced to come by again-- And there stood the post in the wet.

"h.e.l.loa." said the Magpie. "What you here Pray tell me I beg is there sheltering near-- A terrible day for this time of the year.

T'would make a Saint Anthony fret."

"I beg your pardon--I didn't quite hear."

(Then louder) "I say is there sheltering near"

But the post was as dumb as Death.

"What can't you answer a question pray You will not--No--Then I'll say good-day."

And flirting his tail he walked away.

"You'r a fool." (this under his breath.)

L'ENVOY

The moral that this story traces Is--Circ.u.mstances alter cases.

Howard Pyle

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ye song of ye foolish old woman. This is an ill.u.s.trated poem, with the top half being an old woman going up then down a hill.

The bottom is the poem, with court jesters on either side, left side t.i.tled Hope in Adversity, right t.i.tled Fear in Prosperity.]

Ye song of ye foolish old woman.

I saw an old woman go up a steep hill, And she chuckled and laughed, as she went, with a will.

And yet, as she went, Her body was bent, With a load as heavy as sins in Lent.

"Oh! why do you chuckle, old woman;" says I, "As you climb up the hill-side so steep and so high?"

"Because, don't you see, I'll presently be, At the top of the hill. He! he!" says she.

I saw the old woman go downward again; And she easily travelled, with never a pain; Yet she loudly cried, And gustily sighed, And groaned, though the road was level and wide.

"Oh! why, my old woman," says I, "do you weep, When you laughed, as you climbed up the hill-side so steep?"

"High-ho! I am vexed, Because I expects,"

Says she, "I shall ache in climbing the next."

H. Pyle