قراءة كتاب Piccaninnies

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Piccaninnies

Piccaninnies

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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to look at it. And soon there was such a clattering and chattering that the boys came racing that way to see if the girls had found anything good to eat. You know boys!

The scrap of paper was a page out of a fashion book, and there were pictures on it of horrid little smug-faced boys in sky-blue suits bowling hoops in a way no real little boy ever bowled a hoop in his life, and simpering little girls in lace frocks holding dolls or sun-shades in un-natural attitudes.

But the Piccaninnies were delighted. To be sure they were looking at the pictures upside down, but that made no real difference.

They decided they must have clothes too.

Of course the boys said pooh they wouldn't! It's much easier to slide down a fern-leaf, or jump off the end of a branch if you haven't any clothes—everyone knows that.

But when the girls, after being absent for hours, came back all in darling little crimson kilts made out of blossoms from the Christmas tree, the boys simply couldn't bear to think the girls had something they hadn't got. You know what boys are!

After laughing at the girls in the hopes they'd throw away their pretty little frocks, the boys went off together. They simply had to think of something, and it would never do to copy the girls. They came back later with the quaintest little breeches, made out of broad flax leaves, stitched together with the points downwards. It was clever of the boys! They had also stuck some of the red-brown flowers in their hair. The girls were vexed that they hadn't thought of that, but they went one better. They made strings of the scarlet nikau berries and hung them round their necks. (Trust the girls!)

And that was how Fashions came to be started in the Bush.

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CLEMATIS.

CONFUCIUS

f course fashions change, and no one need be surprised to find that crimson kilts were soon "out," while the Piccaninny girls were to be seen walking about in pretty little white, frilly petticoats made out of clematis blossoms, and sun hats of the same flowers.

The hats were rather silly, because the Piccaninnies lived so deep in the Bush that the sun couldn't hurt them, but then fashions are absurd. (Look at the ladies who wear fur coats in hot climates!)

The boys made no change because their kind of fashion doesn't change, except sometimes you take great pains to iron the crease out of them, and other times you iron it in most carefull-ee.

For some reason the boys didn't like the girls' change of frocks. Of course, they said, the girls would never play with them now, but the girls said oh yes, they would. The boys said:

"You'd be scared to play berry fights like we used to."

But the girls said, as brave as could be:

"Would we?"

And the boys answered:

"Let's see you then!"

So they all ran off and collected puriri berries, big purply red ones, rather squashy. Then the boys all yelled in chorus:

Ka mate! Ka mate! Ka ora! Ka ora!
Tenei te tangata puhuru huru
Na na nei i tiki mai—
whaka whiti te ra! Upane! Upane! Upane!
kaupani whiti te ra!

which means something very warlike, and the girls answered shrilly:

Ka whawhai tonu! Ake! Ake! Ake!

They said that because they had heard that someone had said that sometime about something, and it means "we will fight for ever and ever."

But they didn't! At the very first volley the berries stained their dainty frocks, and the girls fled, screaming angrily:

"You horrid things! You've ruined our frocks!"

And the boys grinning delightedly, and rolling their black eyes, thumped their little brown heels on the ground, and beat their little bare, brown knees and chanted all together:

"Akarana Mototapu Rangitoto Ra!"

And of course you all know what that means! You don't? Well, I'm not quite sure myself, because I couldn't find it in the dictionary (so careless of Mr. Webster!) but it really doesn't matter.

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CABBAGE PALM.

(Pickled Cabbages).

L

ittle Swanki, the Piccaninny girl, and Tiki, the Piccaninny boy, were up in a karaka tree eating the pulp of the ripe berries. When I was young I was told I would die if I ate the karaka berries, but I suppose Piccaninny tummies are different.

Anyhow, there they were, skinning the soft yellow pulp, which does took nice, off the hard inside of the berry with their sharp little white teeth, and throwing the hard part at a kiwi wandering about below their tree, and thinking it great fun to watch his surprised face as he tried to dodge the berries.

Swanki had just eaten her fourteenth berry and was reaching for the fifteenth, when she sighed discontentedly.

"Oh, Tiki," she said, "aren't you sick and tired of eating the same old foods for ever and ever? Berries—berries—berries! Roots—roots—roots! And only a few leaves that are worth eating."

But Tiki was a contented little boy, and he couldn't think of anything nicer to eat than a handful of ripe puriri berries, or the root of a young fern.

Oh, Tiki, aren't you sick of eating
"Oh, Tiki, aren't you sick of eating the same old foods for ever and ever!"

"But what else could we eat?" he asked, "There isn't anything else!"

"Of course there is—lots and lots," answered Swanki. "There's mince pie and ham sandwiches and jam tarts and vinegar and plum duff and cakes and pickled cabbages."

So they all ran off
"So they all ran off and collected puriri berries."

Tiki stared at Swanki in amazement; he had never even heard of these foods, and thought she must be wonderfully clever to know all about them.

Sly little Swanki did not tell him that she had lately been hidden in a hollow tree stump near a picnic party which had come into the bush, and that she had heard the people offering these strange foods to one another, and they sounded as though they might be more interesting than just berries—berries—berries—roots—roots—roots.

And that is always the way,—something we haven't got always seems more worth having than the things we have.

When Tiki had recovered from his surprise he remembered one familiar word in Swanki's list of things to eat, and as he

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