The Wit and Humor of America Volume III Part 5

"And you became _horse_ all over--"

"Why, then--"

"Why, then--"

"Think of another old saw," said the Donkey, picking up his lute.

"No; I don't believe I can remember any more old saws," said Buddie, after racking her small brain for a minute or two.

"Pooh!" said the Donkey. "They're as common as, Pa.s.s the b.u.t.ter, or, Some more tea, please. Ever hear, Fair words b.u.t.ter no parsnips?"

Buddie shook her head.

"The wolf does something every day that keeps him from church on Sunday--?"

Again Buddy shook her head.

"It is hard to shave an egg--?"

Still another shake.

"A miss is as good as a mile? You can not drive a windmill with a pair of bellows? Help the lame dog over the stile? A hand-saw is a good thing, but not to shave with? Nothing venture, nothing have? Well, you haven't heard much, for a fact," said the Donkey, contemptuously, as Buddie shook her head after each proverb. "I'll try a few more; there's no end to them. Ever hear, When the sky falls we shall all catch larks?

Too many cooks spoil the broth?"

"I've heard _that_," said Buddie, eagerly.

"It's a wonder," returned the Donkey. "Well, I have a very nice setting of that." And he sang:

"Some said, 'Stir it fast,'

Some said, 'Slow'; Some said, 'Skim it off,'

Some said, 'No'; Some said, 'Pepper,'

Some said, 'Salt';-- All gave good advice, All found fault.

Poor little Tommy Trottett!

Couldn't eat it when he got it."

"I like that," said Buddie. "Oh, and I've just thought of another old ax--I mean saw, if it _is_ one--Don't count your chickens before they are hatched. Do you sing that?"

"One of my best," replied the Donkey. And again he sang:

"'Thirteen eggs,' said Sammy Patch, 'Are thirteen chickens when they hatch.'

The hen gave a cluck, but said no more; For the hen had heard such things before.

The eggs fall out from tilted pail And leave behind a yellow trail; But Sammy,--counting, as he goes, Upon his fingers,--never knows.

Oh, Sammy Patch, your 'rithmetic Won't hatch a solitary chick."

"I like that the best," said Buddie, who knew what it was to tip over a pail of eggs, and felt as sorry for Sammy Patch as if he really existed.

"It's one of my best," said the Donkey. "I don't call it my very best.

Personally I prefer, Look before you leap. You've heard that old saw, I dare say."

"No; but that doesn't matter. I shall like it just as well," replied Buddie.

"_That_ doesn't follow, but _this_ does," said the Donkey, and once more he sang:

"A foolish Frog, one summer day, While splas.h.i.+ng round in careless way, Observed a man With large tin can, And manner most suspicious.

'I think I know,' remarked the Frog, 'A safer place than on this log; For when a man Comes with a can His object is malicious.'

Thus far the foolish Frog was wise; But had he better used his eyes, He would have seen, Close by, a lean Old Pike--his nose just showing.

Kersplas.h.!.+ The Pike made just one bite....

The moral I need scarce recite: Before you leap Just take a peep To see where you are going."

Buddie, however, clung to her former opinion. "I like _Sammy Patch_ the best," said she.

"That," rejoined the singer, "is a matter of taste, as the donkey said to the horse who preferred hay to thistles. Usually the public likes best the very piece the composer himself cares least about. So wherever I go I hear, 'Oh, Professor, do sing us that beautiful song about Sammy Patch.' And I can't poke my head inside the Thistle Club but some donkey bawls out, 'Here's Bray! Now we'll have a song. Sing us _Sammy Patch_, old fellow.' Really, I've sung that song so many times I'm tired of the sound of it."

"It must be nice to be such a favorite," said Buddie.

"Suppose we go up to the Corner and see what's stirring," suggested the Donkey, with a yawn.

"Oh, are _you_ going up to the Corner, too?" cried Buddie. "I am to meet the Rabbit there at two o'clock. I hope it isn't late."

The Donkey glanced skyward.

"It isn't noon yet," said he.

"How do you tell time?" inquired Buddie.

"By the way it flies. Time flies, you know. You can tell a great many birds that way, too." As he spoke the Donkey put his lute into one of his bags and took down his sign.

"You can ride if you wish," he offered graciously.

"Thank you," said Buddie. And leaving the White Blackbird asleep on his perch,--for, as Buddie said, he was having such a lovely nap it would be a pity to wake him,--they set off through the wood.

It was bad traveling for a short distance, but presently they came out on an old log-road; and along this the Donkey ambled at an easy pace. On both sides grew wild flowers in wonderful abundance, but, as Buddie noticed, they were all of one kind--Enchanter's Nightshade.

Buddie had also noticed, when she climbed to her comfortable seat, a peculiar marking on the Donkey's broad back. It was bronze in color, and in shape like a cross.

"Perhaps it's a strawberry mark," she thought, "and he may not want to talk about it." But curiosity got the better of her.

"Oh, that?" said the Donkey, carelessly, in reply to a question. "That's a Victoria Cross. I served three months with the British army in South Africa, and was decorated for gallantry in leading a charge of the ambulance corps. I shall have to ask you not to hang things on my neck.

It's all I can do to hold up my head."

"Oh, excuse me," said Buddie, untying the sign, OLD SAWS RESET WHILE YOU WAIT.

"Hang it round your own neck," said the Donkey, and Buddie did so.

"I often wonder," she said, "whether a horse doesn't sometimes get tired holding his head out at the end of his neck. And as for a giraffe, I don't see how he stands it."