Mother's Nursery Tales
Copyright© 2024 by Katharine Pyle
A Pack of Ragamuffins
“My dear,” said the cock to the hen one day, “what do you say to our taking a walk over to Mulberry Hill? The mulberries must be ripe by now, and we can have a fine feast.”
“That would suit me exactly,” answered the hen. “I am very fond of ripe fruit, and it is a long time since I have tasted any.” So the cock and hen set off together.
The way was long, and the day was hot, and before the two had reached the top of the hill they were both of them tired and out of breath. The mulberries lay thick on the ground, and the cock and the hen ran about hither and yon, pecking and eating—pecking and eating, until they could eat no more, and the sun was near setting.
“Oh! oh!” groaned the hen, “how weary I am. How in the world are we to get home again. My legs are so tired, I could not go another step if my life depended on it.”
“My dear,” said the cock, “I too am weary, but I see here a number of fallen twigs. If I could but weave them into a coach we might ride home in comfort.”
“That is a clever thought,” sighed the hen. “Make it by all means. There is nothing I like better than riding in a coach.”
The cock at once set to work, and by weaving sticks and grasses together he made a little coach with body, wheels, and shafts all complete.
The hen was delighted. She at once hopped into the coach, and seated herself. “Now, my dear Cock-a-lorum,” she cried, “nothing more is needed but for you to get between the shafts and step out briskly, and we will be at home in less than no time.”
“What are you talking about?” asked the cock sharply. “I have no idea of pulling the coach myself. My legs ache as well as yours, and if you wait for me to pull you home you may sit there till doomsday.”
“But how then are we to get home?” asked the hen, beginning to weep.
“I do not know,” answered the cock. “But what I do know is that I am not going to pull you.”
“But you must pull me,” wept the hen.
“But I won’t pull you,” stormed the cock.
So they scolded and disputed and there is no knowing how it would have ended, but suddenly a duck appeared from behind some bushes.
When the duck saw the hen and the cock it ruffled up its feathers and waddled toward them, quacking fiercely. “What is this! What is this!” cried the duck. “Do you not know that this hill belongs to me? Be off at once or I will give you a sound beating.”
It flew at the cock with outspread wings. The cock, however, was a brave little fellow. Instead of running away he met the duck valiantly, and seizing it he pulled out a beakful of feathers. The hen shrieked, but the cock continued to punish the duck until it cried for mercy.
“Very well,” said the cock, settling his feathers. “I will let you go this time, but only if you will promise to draw our coach to the nearest inn, where we can spend the night.”
The duck was afraid to refuse the cock’s demand. He put himself between the shafts, the cock mounted the coach and cracked his whip, and away they all went as fast as the duck could waddle. The coach rocked and bumped over the stones, and suddenly the duck gave a jump that almost upset it. “Ouch! ouch!” it cried. “Something stuck me.”
“I do well to stick you,” replied a small sharp voice. “I may teach you to look where you are going, and not step on honest travelers who are smaller than you.”
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