BOBBIE BUBBLES

By E. Hugh Sherwood and Maud Gridley Budlong

Illustrated by E. Hugh Sherwood

1916

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Original Size

Original Size

Original Size

BOBBIE BUBBLES

Bobbie Bubbles was the most wonderful bubble blower that ever lived.

No, his father's name wasn't Bubbles, and bubble blowing wasn't the family trade. Maybe the Smiths got their name because their great-great-great-grandfather's grandfather was a blacksmith, and maybe the Johnsons got their name because once, ages ago, a man named John had a son; but Bobbie Bubbles didn't get his name secondhand from anybody. He got it himself, because he was a famous person. And this is how it happened.

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One day Bobbie and Betty and Billy were out in the garden blowing bubbles. They all blew bubbles, big ones and little ones, till evening came and it was almost time for tea. Then Billy said, "I can blow the biggest bubble anybody's blown to-day," and blew a bubble as big as an apple.

"I can blow one bigger than that," said Betty, and blew a bubble as big as a toy balloon.

"I'll blow a bigger one still," said Bobbie, and he blew and blew, and the bubble grew and grew—as big as a pumpkin, as big as the snowball they'd rolled in the yard at Christmas.

Even then the wonderful bubble did not stop, but kept growing bigger and bigger. And still Bobbie blew and blew, and still the shining bubble grew and grew.

Then, wonder of wonders! The great shimmering bubble, floating in the sunlit air and glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, suddenly reached out and took in Bobbie—pipe, arm, and all.

Slowly the bubble rose with the surprised Bobbie and, light as thistledown, floated gently to and fro in the soft summer air just above the garden.

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"Dear me!" thought Bobbie, looking down through what seemed like walls of gleaming crystal. "Dear me! That's not our garden where Betty and Billy and I blew soap bubbles. No, that rainbow-colored place looks just like Fairyland in our story books. Really, now," thought he, "have we sailed over into Fairyland?"

Then, just as he was wondering what would happen next, along came a puff of wind, and, whiff! away sailed the bubble with Bobbie in it.

Over the trees they went, up toward the clouds. Bobbie looked down through the bubble and saw his house grow smaller and smaller. Soon the whole village was only a little dark speck.

Honk! Honk! Honk!

"Mercy!" thought Bobbie. "Have they automobiles up here?" He looked around at the smooth sides of his delicate airship, but there was no way to steer it that he could see. Honk! Honk! Honk!

"I can't!" shouted Bobbie. "I'd get out of the way if I could, but—"

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By this time he'd managed to wiggle around in the bubble so that he could see what was behind him. It was a flock of geese.

"Honk! Honk!" cried the leader again. He seemed to be dashing straight toward the bubble.

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"I'd get out of the way if I could—" began Bobbie once more.

"Certainly, certainly," the goose interrupted rudely, "but there's no occasion. Don't you think we've made this trip often enough not to run into things?"

"But you honked," said Bobbie, as the goose flapped his great wing within a feather's breadth of the bubble.

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"Why have a danger signal if you don't use it?" answered the goose, craning his head back over his wing; and in a moment nearly the whole flock had skimmed past and were honking away again, though there was nothing in the sky that Bobbie could see.

"What are they honking at now?" he cried to an old goose, straggling behind.

"That rooster on the weather vane," said the goose. "It'd better look out. It's only two miles off." And he went honking on after the others.

Up soared the bubble, and Bobbie soon saw that the clouds now formed themselves into a long, crooked roadway lined with little houses and barns and windmills. Tiny cows grazed on the fleecy pink clouds, like cows in a meadow of pink and white clover. And, strange to say, what had looked like stars were buttercups—golden buttercups.

Soon Bobbie sailed up close to a funny little farmer who was milking a cow.

"Please, sir," Bobbie called to him "will you tell me what country this is?"

The little farmer turned around in such surprise that his stream of milk followed his glance, and came splashing against the side of the bubble. Bobbie held up his hands, for he was thirsty. But the bubble was like a big glass, with Bobbie on the inside and the milk on the outside—and not a drop came through.