THEADVENTURES OFPETERKIN.

“Inside his Pumperkin house”

LIST OF COLORED PLATES

I PETERKIN PUMPERKIN

I KNOW you have all heard of the little man who lived inside a pumpkin. Just why he lived there I don’t exactly remember, but I can’t imagine that he used to sleep so comfortably inside his tiny bowl of a bed-room.

14For, when the growly wind took to blowing over the pumpkin patch and set the fat yellow balls of pumpkins swaying from this side to that on their slender vines, poor Peterkin would be jounced clear out of bed and sent spinning round and round the circled pumpkin wall.

“Ugh, ouch!” he would groan. “My poor head’s all bumps and bruises. Ugh, ugh! Why in the name of everything foolish did I ever come to live in a pumpkin? Why didn’t I stay in a sensible house, and live like other folks live? Oh, ouch!” And then, as the wind gave one last roar and his jouncing little home gave one last, extra large somersault on its vine, Peterkin would usually find himself thwacked back into bed again, with his feet on the pillow and his head buried deep in the mattress.

The wind, of course, thought it the greatest fun in the world. The wind was only a jolly playmate, after all—even if he was a bit too rough about it. And the wind could never understand what made Peterkin so angry in the matter.

“Whee! I love to play free and frolic! I love to send the little leaves whirling and the dust mounds swirling, and the heavy laden pine-boughs tossing with sighs. I love to chase the thin gray wisps of mist and the spattering rain-drops as they fall, and to rattle the frosted window panes. Whee! 15I’m sure I’m more than gentle with Peterkin Pumperkin. I always take care not to snap his anchor stem! I always leave him fast upon his vine. Whee, whiz!”

But then there came a night when myriad snowflakes were falling over the patch. It was more than the mischievous wind could stand. He must get in among those flakes! He must make them jig and dart and dive in crooked merriment!

He rushed down upon them, charging with a trumpet’s roar. And in his wild path he rolled the clumsy pumpkins to this side and that, until their rumble fairly shook the earth.

Poor Peterkin was dozing at his tiny stove, just then—for it was very chilly and shivery inside his Pumperkin house. Whee! whistled the wind. Whee! it shrieked, right over his head.

Then, suddenly, the terrible thing happened! The thing that Peterkin had feared so many years! SNAP! went the stem of Peterkin’s Pumperkin—off the vine, out of the patch—free, anchorless, guideless! And away and away rolled the pumpkin house—down the bumpy field, across the ditch, through the brook, to the top of a steep hill. Then away and away, down, down, down, went Peterkin and his Pumperkin—over and over in swift, dizzy tumbles. Head up, feet down, head down, feet up—down, down, down! Then up 16another hill. Up, up, to its top, with poor Peterkin turning an unwilling somersault at every yard!

But, oh, at the top of this hill is a precipice—and beyond it, miles below, is the sea. Ah, what will happen now to Peterkin? His pumpkin house reaches the edge of the precipice, seems to linger for a short moment, then shoots far out and down, down into the sea! It sinks beneath the waves, then slowly bobs up again, sinks again, comes up again and floats peacefully away with the tide.

And now, with this strange happening, begin the marvellous adventures of Peterkin in his Pumperkin! Let’s hope that in the next of them the wind, that merry playfellow, will try to be more gentle.

II PETERKIN AFLOAT

WHEN last we heard of Peterkin—do you remember?—he was afloat on the waves in his pumpkin house. And sailing swiftly out to sea!

Peterkin, as soon as he had gained his breath, climbed out of the tangle of bed-clothes and furniture which his sudden fall had thrown over and all about him. Then he pinched himself in every limb, and was glad to find everything whole and sound.

“Whew!” he gasped. “That was an escape! To think of landing in the sea!”

He pulled his little ladder out from under a tumble of pots 18and pans and bric-a-brac and blankets, and set it up against the wall. Then up he clambered, step by step, until he had poked his head through the hole, in the Pumperkin’s top, which served for a door and a window and ceiling, all at the same time. It gave him just a glimpse of the open air and the wide stretch of sea on every hand. Waves—blue, choppy, hopping waves, as far as Peterkin could see ... nothing but waves!

Well, there was nothing for it but to go back into his house and sit by the stove and begin to cry. Not that crying could help matters any—but Peterkin was sad at all these sudden happenings, and somehow his tears did make him feel a little better.

“Boohoo!” wept he. “It’s all the fault of the wicked wind! One moment I was safe and dozing at home in my old pumpkin patch; the next, here I am bobbing and lost on the face of the ocean. The only thing I have to be thankful for is that there’s still a warm fire in my stove. Boohoo!”

And oh, the saddest part of it all is that he wept so hard, and so many of his tears spilled down into the stove that—what did he do but put the fire out! And soon enough his pumpkin house grew cold and cheerless and wet with the briny waves which came dashing in through the door-window-ceiling.

19It was a dreary party now. Peterkin felt his yellow ball of a boat leap and fall with every wave. Everything rattled and jingled to the see-saw motion. He grew dizzy. He could scarcely steady himself to climb up the ladder a second time. He could hardly see the white froth at the crests of the waves and the deep green of their troughs. He made out a ship passing by, miles and miles away. He screamed and waved his coat and whistled between two fingers—did everything he could think of to make the sailors see and save him. But the ship sailed on and away, until the white specks of its sails had faded from view.

20Night came on, gray and then blue, and the waves never tired of their ceaseless jigging. Peterkin crouched on the floor of his Pumperkin and thought of the fate which awaited him, and worried himself into a troubled sleep. Many times during the long, dark hours he woke up with a start, and, through the hole in the house-top, caught a glimpse of the stars and a smack of the salt spray. The last time he awoke, the stars had been swallowed up in the graying sky by a streak of glowing red, and Peterkin knew it was the dawn.

Later, when the sunshine came straggling into his shell on the drops of glistening spray, he climbed his ladder for an early morning peek. White mists were rolling back across the waves, and ... oh! what was that?

Not a hundred yards away, a thin fountain, shimmering like silver, rose up out of the green of the sea and curved down again upon it. Again it came—and again! Up, up—fifty feet into the air, a gleaming fountain! And then, as it came nearer and nearer, Peterkin caught the glimpse of a black fin ... and a huge jaw!

Ugh! What could it be?

“An early morning peek”

III PETERKIN AND THE WHALE

A WHALE! Yes, it was a big, black, hungry whale! And it was drawing closer and closer to Peterkin’s pumpkin boat every time he blinked.

Peterkin could see its forked tail now and its great, darkly gleaming sides. Once it disappeared completely under the foam, and when it rose again, it was so near that Peterkin saw its ugly little eyes and a white row of jagged teeth. Whenever it flashed its tail and fins, there was a great churning of water, and the Pumperkin would roll and rock so fiercely that it almost dumped its poor owner into the ocean.

The whale, I’m sure, did not know what to make of it. The 22whale was used to boats, of course—but boats with sails and pointed prows and sailors in the rigging. While here was something round and fat, and such a golden yellow! No bow it had, nor stern, nor sails, nor flags, nor rudder. “Is it really and truly a boat?” thought the whale. Well, this would have to be looked into very closely!

So the big whale came puffing and fountaining up to the little Pumperkin.

“Oh, oh,” it sighed, “what a pretty thing to frisk with! Just like a play-toy! Here’s where I have my day’s fun!” And with that it dived deep under the pumpkin boat and came up on the other side. “Haw, haw,” it chuckled—as only a whale can chuckle—“what bully good sport! Just to look at that little man who is peeking out over the side of this yellow ball! Just to see how surprised he looks to find me over here, where he didn’t expect me to be! Haw, haw!” And the whale gave another frolicsome wiggle to his tail—nearly upsetting the Pumperkin again.

As for Peterkin, he was chattering with fear. He did not know what was coming next! Perhaps the whale was about to swallow him for breakfast. Yes, yes, it was surely up to some mischief, was this black whale. For it had disappeared again. Oh, what now?

True, the playful whale had taken another dive under the 23bottom of the pumpkin. But it didn’t bother to come up on the other side. It just stayed there under water, directly beneath the Pumperkin.

“Haw, I wonder what would happen if I should squirt my fountain into the air?” thought the whale—and being a whale, it had to take a long while to think it over. In the 24dreadful pause, Peterkin trembled so hard that his stove and his bed and all the furniture took to rattling, too.

Then, suddenly, the Pumperkin, Peterkin and all, shot fifty feet high into the air! Up, up, like a bubble at the top of a mighty geyser, it rose with the stream of the whale’s fountain. For the wink of an eye, it seemed to hang there—then down it came again—down with a spatter and splash into the trough of the sea!

Peterkin could stand it no longer. He screamed aloud—with such a scream as the whale had never heard. It was a scream to make every fish in the sea shudder along its fins.

“Oh, dear me!” sighed the whale, “I have made an enemy. I’ve been hurting somebody’s feelings, I fear. I should have been very glad to make a breakfast of that little man and his yellow bubble, if only he hadn’t minded and had acted cheerfully about it. But now, since he’s so cross and cranky, I shall punish him by going away and never looking at him again. So there!”

Which was just what the big whale did. And it never could understand why the little man clapped his hands and laughed with delight when he saw it dwindle away into the waves of the distance.

IV PETERKIN’S APPETITE

NOW all this while poor Peterkin had not had a single bit to eat. Not a dry biscuit even. And as for a whole meal, why—that was out of the question. For wasn’t his stove drearily cold? And the eggs in his basket all crushed by the many falls his Pumperkin had taken? And he was hungry. So would you be, if you had gone so long without a meal—and Peterkin, for all he lived in a pumpkin, was not so far different from you. He sat and listened to the slap of the waves upon the bottom of his round yellow boat and rubbed his empty stomach mournfully.

26Suddenly, the Pumperkin gave a lurch and a fling up-ward. Then again and again! Oh, what was it now? Another whale? Peterkin rushed up his ladder, and ... oh, it was land!

Yes, directly ahead of him, the waves were combing into a high, frothy surf thundering down upon a stretch of yellow sands. Behind that, he could see tall trees spreading their broad palm leaves in tufts of brightest green; and a low hill of glistening rock, where purple flowers clung and orange-leaved vines were twining.

“Land!” cried Peterkin in rapture. “Land at last!”

Sure enough, the pumpkin boat gave a last leap in the swirl of the surf and came down on something firm and grating. It was safe on the sands of the shore.

In a jiffy Peterkin had hauled up his ladder and let it down on the other side. Then down he climbed, waded swiftly through the foamy edge of spume and dashed up on the beach. Before he did another thing, he danced a jig—which was Peterkin’s way of showing how happy and thankful he was. So you may be sure it was a very merry jig he danced!

Then he went wisely back and pushed and pulled at his Pumperkin until it was high and dry upon the shore. Next he lifted his cold stove out and set it in a dark little cave of 27the rocks, where the rain might never find it in stormy weather.

“But a lot of good my stove will be to me if I cannot find something to cook on it!” thought hungry Peterkin.

So he searched the length of yellow sand. But he found nothing there excepting a few empty shells, pink and gray, like the glow of a pearl. He searched the mosses under the palm trees—but only a few nuts had fallen from the tufts overhead, and these were so hard and so bitter that the taste 28of them puckered up his face with sour twists. He climbed the hill of glistening stone until he could see from its summit the tops of thousands and thousands more of just such trees—like so many green and waving feather dusters—a whole forestful, swaying to the horizon’s boundary.

And there at last, on the tip top of the rocks, he seized upon a handful of the purple flowers and another of the orange-leaved vine.

“If nothing else,” he planned, “I shall make a dainty salad of flower and leaf and eat it from a plate of pearly sea-shell.”

But alas! he was still to learn the evil of plucking strange things for salads!

V PETERKIN’S COOKING

HIS arms full of leaves and flowers, Peterkin hurried back to the little black cave, where his stove was in hiding.

“This cave shall be my kitchen,” he told himself. “Under its shadow I shall cook my meals and brew my broths, and boil and broil and bake.... Only, I quite forgot, I have nothing to cook. Nothing but flowers and leaves.”

He thought for a long while, and finally he decided that, instead of having just a cold and fragrant salad, he should heat them all up into a smoking stew. He should have a meal to warm the cockles of his heart.

But, when he had gathered the stalks of withered palm 30leaves and had crammed them into the cindery throat of his stove, he had to wait another little while before he could figure out just how to make a flame. At length he remembered having read the way to strike a spark with two pieces of sharp rock. So he snatched up a pair of stones and smashed them and crashed them against each other until the fiery sparks were darting down into the mouth of the stove—into the midst of the fuel. There was a sudden bursting into red flame, and the fire was started!

Then Peterkin—clever cook that he was—laid his purple flowers and his orange vines prettily within the cup of a sea-shell, and sprinkled them over with salt water of the surf. Then he laid shell and all upon the stove and waited for results.

Nor had he to wait so long. For, all in a twinkle, there was a monstrous pouf! Great billows of smoke, brown and 31lavender, gushed up from the heart of the sea-shell and spread themselves across the sky. There came a resounding crackle of flames ... the whole shell, trailing its glowing mists behind it, rose up, up, above the tree-tops, into the clouds, and out of sight! It was gone, forever and aye.

For a long while poor Peterkin could scarcely realize all that had happened so much of a sudden. He stood staring up at the dwindling speck of the sea-shell and wondering ... where could his meal have disappeared? And what must he do now for another?

“And I am so hungry, too,” he sighed. “Not a bite to eat since I and my Pumperkin left the patch. Well, there’s nothing for it but that I begin to search through the whole forest of green palms. Perhaps I shall find a scarlet cockatoo, or a yellow-tailed dove, to carry back with me for dinner.”

But, indeed, he felt so weak from want of food that he could scarcely stand. He lay down on the sunny stretch of the sands and half closed his eyes. He could see, in a blur, that the low line where the sea and the sky met, far away, was smothered in black clouds—and that little streaks of angry red seemed to be flashing in the black. He asked himself, drowsily, was this a storm approaching? Was it a hurricane, or what.... And then, before he had time to answer himself, he fell asleep.

VI AN HOUR OF STORM

PETERKIN woke up with a start. Something was roaring in his ears. A rushing shower of sand stung his cheeks. The wind was shrieking behind him, across the low hill and in among the palm trees. At his feet, the waves of the surf were hammering down upon the beach in great, black, frothing mountains, until the earth itself seemed trembling. The air was cold and swept across his face in fresh, tossing gusts.

“Then it grew darker than midnight”

He jumped to his feet and ran. He was afraid of something—he did not know what. He ran, stumbling, to the crest of the hill. He could look out, now, across the sea of gray waves on one side and the sea of green tree-tops on 33the other. Above him the sky was a mass of heavy, darkening clouds, a field of clashing, rumbling shadows. Every little while it would cleave apart, and down to the sea would spin the forks of blinding lightning in jagged craziness. Then all heaven and earth would mutter and roar and take to trembling.

Palm leaves, torn from the trees, went flying off, high overhead, in somersaulting circles. Eddies of golden sand swirled the length of the shore. The wind, heavy with salt spray, wailed louder and louder.

Then it grew darker than midnight. Peterkin could see nothing now. He knelt among the snapping, creaking vines and buried his face against the beaten-down flowers.

The rain began. A few warm, pattering drops at first—then a sudden heavy downpour, streaming and cold. The vines were floating with drooping leaves upon a lake of rain, and the little flowers disappeared completely. The beach below was guttered with brown water.

Gradually then the rain began to lessen. The clouds 34turned a lighter gray, until they broke apart in a long, uneven rift and showed a gap of blue. The sunshine came through this gap in a softly beaming shaft. High against the dark hung a curving rainbow, like an arch of jewels.

The rainbow faded, the sunshine grew stronger and more golden, the last wisps of cloud sank away in the blue of the sky. The sea was calm now and blue. Nothing seemed to be moving upon it excepting the tiny darts of gleaming sunbeams. All was peace again....

Only—something—far out at sea—Oh! what was it? Something round and yellow! A tiny yellow spot, sailing out, out toward the horizon!

Peterkin looked down at the shore, his heart jumping into his throat. Yes, alas! His Pumperkin was gone! His pumpkin house had been swept away by the storm—swept out to sea!

Yes, his house, his boat, his darling Pumperkin was sailing away from him—was lost and gone! Ah, what would his fate be now?

VII PETERKIN ESCAPES

PETERKIN was hungrier than ever. He had lost his faithful pumpkin, too! Oh, what could he do? He pondered a long while. He could try to cook some more flowers and vines on his stove. But, no ... he remembered what had happened the last time he tried. And, it seemed, there wasn’t anything else to eat on all the shore.

He must escape, then. He must flee this lonely beach. He must wander away to somewhere ... he didn’t know where—just somewhere else.

36But how? For he had no Pumperkin now. His yellow house of a boat had been swept off on the waves, out beyond the horizon. At last, as he stood in deep thought, a merry idea came popping into his head. Indeed, it was an idea so full of mad adventure that, when it came to him, he had to burst out laughing and clapped his hands in glee. For he remembered what a comical thing had happened at the stove an hour before.