Jack and Jill in the Witch's House.

MORE TALES
IN THE LAND OF
NURSERY RHYME

BY

ADA M. MARZIALS

AUTHOR OF
"IN THE LAND OF NURSERY RHYME"

WITH FRONTISPIECE

LONDON: H. R. ALLENSON, LIMITED
RACQUET COURT, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1913

TO
MY LITTLE COUSINS
KATHLEEN AND DOROTHY

CONTENTS

THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW
MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY
JACK AND JILL
LITTLE MISS MUFFET
PUSSY CAT, PUSSY CAT
HEY, DIDDLE, DIDDLE!

THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW

"Different people have different opinions"

The North Wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the robin do then? Poor thing!
He will sit in a barn,
And to keep himself warm
He will hide his head under his wing. Poor thing!

Oh, how cold it was!

The North Wind howled round the barn, whirling the snowflakes into a little heap inside the half-open door. Even beyond the little heap of snow, right inside the barn among the whisps of hay and straw, and beyond the pile of turnips piled up in one far corner, it was still bitterly cold and draughty.

The few birds left had found their way into the old barn for shelter, and were close together on a low bar of wood at the far end, where they sat ruffling their feathers and shivering.

From time to time one of them would peer out at the leaden grey sky and the falling snowflakes, and then hide its head under its wing again to deaden the sound of the wind whistling through the crannies.

There were five of them.

A Robin, who had been blown in with the last gust of wind; a wretched little Sparrow, who twittered helplessly from time to time, and then hid her head ashamed at having been betrayed into such an exhibition of weakness in public; an Owl, who, living habitually in the barn, regarded the others with suspicion as intruders, and possibly thieves; and, lastly, two queer Japanese birds, who had lived all the summer on the ornamental lake in the garden.

These latter had been brought to the barn during the bad weather, as they were considered too delicate to bear the stress of a really cold English winter, and were looked down on and despised by the other birds as foreigners. They were very shy, and crouched side by side in one corner, never venturing a remark unless first spoken to. The Robin, though he was the latest comer, had, by reason of his cheery good-nature, and a certain perky self-confidence, already gained for himself a position as leader among the other birds. Even the old Owl blinked and winked occasionally at his jokes, and the Sparrow was soon reduced to a helpless state of twittering giggles. But laughing will not keep you warm, and at last even the Robin was forced to confess that he had never been colder in his life; and what was the use of thinking of all the plum-puddings and mince pies and bread crumbs and holly-berries in the world, when you were feeling as though you had not a feather on your body to bless yourself with!

"I wish I could make the snow stop somehow," he said. "It is all very well for Mother Goose to go on plucking out feathers up there, but she does not help to make us any warmer."

"Pooh!" said the Owl, who had lately condescended to join in the conversation. "Who told you all that rubbish about Mother Goose? Why, the snow has no more to do with Mother Goose than I have!… Mother Goose, indeed!" and she blinked twice, just to show that she could tell more if she chose.

"Bird of Wisdom," piped the Robin, with a wink at the Sparrow, which set her off giggling worse than ever, "enlighten us, I pray you, as to the true cause of snow?"

"Yes, do," said the Sparrow, when she had recovered her breath. The Japanese birds said nothing, but stirred uneasily.

"Snow," began the Owl, sententiously, "is connected with rain and frost——"

"Pip! Pip!" rudely interrupted the Robin. "If you are going to talk science, madam, I must beg to be excused," and he promptly hid his head under his wing, and the Sparrow followed suit.

The Owl paid no heed to this interruption, but lectured on, and having talked for about ten minutes or so with no applause, withdrew to a further corner of the barn and fell asleep.

When she had gone, the Japanese birds began murmuring softly to each other. The Robin brought his head from under his wing with a start.

"What's that you said?" he inquired.

"In our country," began the elder Japanese bird, with a slightly foreign accent, but in otherwise perfect English, "we look on snowflakes as the whirling mantles of the dancing moon maidens; and when the trees and mountain-peaks are seen covered with snow in the morning, we say the moon maidens have left their mantles hanging up or spread out to dry."

"Charming idea, and most romantic," piped the Robin. "I am not romantic myself, and I must say that the Mother Goose idea strongly appeals to my practical nature. Still, there may be something in what you say."

"An absolutely too sweet notion. Fancy a foreigner thinking of it," chirped the Sparrow.

"Have you ever seen a Moon Maiden?" continued the Robin, without heeding the Sparrow's rude interruption.

"No, they are invisible now," said the Japanese bird; "but my great-grandfather told my father a story about one of them once. We always tell it to each other in snow time. It keeps us warm and makes us think of home."

The other Japanese bird piped a few sad notes, which, as the Robin said, "stirred his nature to the very depths!"

"Would it be asking too much for you to tell us the story too?" he said. "I hope it is something cheerful, though; the roast beef and plum-pudding type of story is what appeals to me."

"Hoots!" said the Owl, waking from her little nap. "I like melodrama. I hope there is a villain in it, and a churchyard or two."

"And I hope there is a strong domestic interest," said the Sparrow, with a feeble giggle.

"Anyway, please tell us," said the Robin. "I am absolutely freezing and must have something to distract my thoughts—ri tol de rol!"

The elder Japanese bird rustled his feathers softly for a minute or two, and then, with his eyes fixed on the grey sky and driving snow, and interrupted from time to time by the howling of the wind, he