Part 2

One morning it rained hard, oh, very hard! Carlo did not go out to the Avenue, for he knew that the children would all stay indoors that day, playing in their nurseries with their house toys. But in the afternoon, after dinner-time, the rain cleared away and the sun came out, hot and bright and beautiful, so that the sidewalks were soon as dry as dry. Then Carlo took his bunch of balloons and trudged to the corner, where he always stood. For he knew that all the nurses and all the babies, tired of being in the house, would soon be hurrying out for an airing in the Park. And of course they would need balloons.

Carlo took up his station as usual on the corner where the Avenue stops short before the high gates, and wishes it could go on into the Park. This was where the children looked to find him every day, and he had never yet disappointed them.

It was just the hour when the big boys are let out of school. Carlo had forgotten this. He did not like big boys. Suddenly--with a rush and a whoop--a crowd of them came tearing around the corner from the next street. They raced up and down the Avenue, shouting and laughing and full of mischief, for they had been shut up all this rainy day and were glad to be out of doors once more. As they came running back down the Avenue, one of them spied Carlo standing on the corner.

“Hallo! Balloons!” shouted the boy, and immediately the noisy crowd rushed upon Carlo and surrounded him.

“Give me a red one!”

“Hi! Blue’s my color!”

“Pass me down a red one, quick, or I’ll cut the whole string!” But they offered him no money in exchange. Carlo held back, trying to defend his balloons from their snatching fingers. Then one boy cried,--

“Ho! Let’s cut the whole string, anyway, and see them go!” And quick as a flash, before Carlo had time to do anything, a sharp penknife had severed the string above the stick, and away went forty balloons, sailing over the trees merrily, glad to be free.

The boys gave a yell and danced up and down. But some one cried, “Look out! Here’s a policeman!” and off they scampered in every direction, before Carlo fairly knew what they had done. Yes, there was a policeman, but he had not seen what had happened, and already he was turning the corner. Even if Carlo could catch up with him he could not speak enough English to tell the man his troubles. Besides, not even a policeman could bring back those flying balloons.

Poor Carlo! No customers for him this day. He looked down at the bare stick in his hand, and then up to where he could just see some tiny specks on the blue sky, far, far away. The balloons were seeking their little brother who escaped long before. Carlo’s eyes filled with tears, for he was not a very big boy, and this was a dreadful thing which had happened to him. Already the procession of babies was coming down the Avenue, eager to buy Carlo’s balloons. But he had nothing to sell them this afternoon.

Slowly and sadly he turned away and slunk down a side street toward another entrance to the Park. But the children wondered what had become of their balloon boy, who was always waiting for them on the corner, smiling pleasantly.

Carlo wandered into the Park and walked about the twisting paths, wondering what he should do. He had no money to buy more balloons. How could he start out afresh in business? He had sent his last earnings back across the water to the little sister in the land where they still believed in fairies, and she had saved almost enough to bring her here to him. But now, what was he to do now? How buy food and lodging, and especially how buy more balloons with which to pile up future pennies?

Carlo wandered about for a long time, thinking and puzzling, until the shadows began to lengthen, and it was almost night. Then he went to a little arbor in the Park, far from the place where the nurses and children mostly gathered. It was a spot that he loved, for it was full of grape-vines, which reminded him of the beautiful home from which he had come,--the country where the fairies still lived. He was very tired and hungry, and he curled up on a settee in the arbor and went to sleep.

[Illustration: THE LITTLE MAN]

He must have slept a long time, for when he woke the Park was quite dark, save where the electric lights made queer patches of brightness among the leaves and on the grass and gravel walks. In the arbor itself hung a light which made the grape-vine with its half-ripened clusters look strange but very beautiful.

Carlo awoke with a start, for he had certainly felt something touch his knee. Yes! Carlo looked again, and rubbed his eyes. There at his knee stood a little man,--a little, thick man in a queer long gown, with a rope about his waist,--one of the very same Little Men of whom his mother had often told him in the land across the sea!

“What is the matter, Carlo?” asked the Little Man, in Carlo’s own home language. And Carlo answered in the same soft tongue:

“The boys have cut my balloons away, and I have nothing left with which to earn my living, that I may send money to Nita.”

“That is too bad!” exclaimed the Little Man. “What can we do about it?”

Carlo stared hard at him, for he had always wanted to see a Little Man. His hat was tall and had a broad brim, and on his feet were sandals. His brown gown clung tight about him, like the skin upon a russet apple, seeming ready to burst with the plumpness inside. His cheeks, too, seemed ready to burst with laughing, even when Carlo told him the story of the boys’ wicked deed.

“That is too bad!” he cried again, but not sadly. “What can we do about it?”

He glanced thoughtfully around the arbor in which they were sitting. It was a grape arbor, as I have said, and already the grapes were beginning to turn red and purple in the autumn coolness, though some were still green.

“The bad boys will steal them,” said the Little Man to himself, looking at the grapes. “They will not bring good to any one, only stomach-aches.” Carlo wondered what he could possibly mean. Still the Little Man stared around the arbor, nodding his head slowly up and down, as if making up his mind about something very important. At last he turned to Carlo and asked suddenly,--

“Do you know where I came from?”

“No,” said Carlo. “I have been wondering. You do not seem to belong to this country at all.”

“I don’t,” said the Little Man. “They don’t even believe in me here, so they never, never see me--how could they? The babies who play over there,”--and he twisted his thumb toward the fountain and the sand-heap,--“even if they were to come in here now, could not see me. For their stupid nurses have told them that I don’t exist. Perhaps there might be one or two who still believe; and of them I should have to be very careful. For I don’t want to be discovered. But they do not often come here.”

“I come here often,” said Carlo.

“Of course,” chuckled the Little Man, “naturally!”

“But how happens it that you are here?” asked Carlo, eagerly.

“Why, I came with you, to be sure. I am the Little Man of your father’s house. And when you left the dear old country over the sea you brought me with you.” The Little Man sighed. Carlo sighed too. But quickly he remembered to be polite. “It was very good of you to come,” he said.

“Not at all,” answered the Little Man. “I had to follow. Some of them bring poison creatures in the fruit which they sell,--tarantulas and scorpions. Some of them bring measles, and the evil-eye, and other dreadful things. But you brought _me_, and I have been watching over you ever since. I am glad you come here every day, so I can live in this very nice place. Now I am going to help you.”

Carlo thanked him, but he seemed not to hear. Nimbly as a squirrel he was climbing up the vine which draped the arbor with its leaves and grapes. Presently down he came again, and in his hand he held a fine bunch of grapes, purple and red and green.

“It is not stealing,” he said, in a whisper, “for this bunch has stopped ripening; I can tell by signs which a fairy knows. It would soon wither, and would not even attract the bad boys. So I will use it for my purposes. Now, please give me your stick.”

Carlo handed him the shorn stick, wondering. With a few deft knots the Little Man tied the bunch of grapes to the handle, where the balloons used to bob.

“What!” he cried, nodding delightedly, “There you are! Now of course you must go to sleep again. I cannot let you see how the last touches are done.” He tapped Carlo three times on the forehead. Immediately Carlo’s eyes began to close, his head nodded, and before he knew it he was lying on the bench in the arbor, snoring lustily and forgetting all his troubles.

Then the Little Man must have done something very strange and wonderful and marvelous; though no one saw him, and so no one knows just what that something was. But when in the morning Carlo awoke with a start, a baby in a pink dress stood in the arbor holding out a little hand in which was a silver dime, and he was saying,--

“Please, Boy, give me a _green_ balloon!”

Carlo jumped up and reached for the stick, which was propped between the bars of the seat beside him. And what do you think? The bunch of purple and red and green grapes seemed to have grown and grown, and swelled and swelled, until each grape had turned into a beautiful big balloon of the same color! And that is why on that particular day Carlo had some green balloons in his bunch, although the children had never seen any like them before. And he sold one to the pink baby, and others to the other babies who came crowding around when he went out upon the Avenue, until the green balloons were all gone. For of course the babies wanted the unusual kind first. But after that he sold off the ordinary blue and red ones, and went home with his pockets full of dimes, and with nothing more on the end of his stick than when the bad boys let loose his bunch of balloons. But now there were no tears in his eyes--no, indeed!

Now I do not know just what happened next. But Carlo always looks smiling and happy about something. The children buy his balloons every day, and every night he carries home a pocketful of silver. Carlo is growing rich. And now little Nita has come across the sea to be with him. When the cold weather comes I daresay the Little Man will go to live in their house, as he did in their old home in the land where people still believe in fairies. But you may be sure that as long as he can he will stay in the pretty grape-vine arbor. If you are one of the wise children who believe in him, perhaps you will see him there yourself, some day. At any rate, whether you believe in the Little Man or not, if you go at the right time you will be sure to see the Balloon Boy, sitting on the bench and smiling happily at something, with the bunch of red and blue balloons bobbing over his head. And if you pay ten cents you may have a balloon all for your own, which will tug and tug and will try to get away, just as little Johnny Parker’s did.

BALLOONS

Where do they go, I want to know, The little balloons which fly, and fly, Over the trees and up so high Into the sky?

Do they sail as far as Heaven’s gate, Where chubby cherubs watch and wait, Who stretch out their hands with an eager cry As the little balloons come floating by?

Do the cherubs play with the pretty things, Flitting about on their baby wings, While the little balloons bob to and fro, Just as they did in the world below?

They never come back the tale to tell, So no one knows what each befell. But if they can stay In that Land for aye, Where the sun ever shines and the sky is blue, I do not blame them for longing to fly Over the trees and up so high; And when mine goes I will not boo-hoo,-- Will you?

THE GREEN CAP

[Illustration]

THE GREEN CAP

Once upon a time in the far East, where people live upon rice and tea, a little old woman dwelt all alone in a tiny hut on the edge of the forest. The little old woman was very, very poor; but she was a brave soul, and so long as there was a little tea in her little teapot, a little rice in her little rice bucket, and a little water in her well she would smile a little smile and say, “Oh, I have enough, and that is all which any one needs in this world. I am doing very well indeed.”

But there came an evil time for the poor little old woman. There was a drought in the land, and all the wells ran dry. There was a famine, and no more rice nor tea were to be had for love or money. One night the little old woman went about to get her evening meal and she was very, very hungry. First she went to draw a dipper of water from the well. But when she peered down into the well she saw that it was almost dry.

“Alack!” she cried, “when I have used this last dipper of water there will be none left for to-morrow. After that I must go dry. And how long can I live so?”

Slowly and sadly she went back to the house and took her little rice bucket down from the shelf on the wall. But when she opened it she saw only a few grains of rice scantily covering the bottom of the bucket.

“Alack!” she cried, “when I have taken out the handful for my supper there will be no more left for to-morrow. After that I must go hungry. And how long can I live so?”

She shook her head mournfully and went to her little teapot, which hung before the fire. But when she took off the cover thereof she cried again, “Alack and alas! Now even my tea is gone, and whatever shall I do? There is but a drop in the pot, and when I have eaten my supper there will be none left for the morrow. After that I must go thirsty. But so I cannot live. Day after to-morrow I shall die!” And the poor little old woman shed a tear which almost fell into the teapot to salt the last drop of tea which remained there.

Now she sat down to her scanty supper and hesitated to take the first mouthful, for it would so soon be gone. She gave a sigh and a groan as she lifted the little teapot to pour out the last drop of tea, for the little old woman loved her tea best of all.

Just at that moment there came a knock on the door, a low-down knock such as a very little child might reach to give.

“Tap--tap!”

“Come in!” said the little old woman, and she set down the teapot carefully.

The latch clicked, the door opened, and in came a queer little creature the size of a child and walking upright upon two legs; but it was not a child. It was a funny little monkey, with a wee black face and a curled-up handy tail, and on its head it wore a tiny green cap.

“Ugh!” cried the little old woman, who did not like monkeys, “Ugh, go away!”

But the monkey skipped briskly across the floor to the fireplace, and stood there shivering and holding out its small hands to the blaze quite as a little child might have done. The old woman stared at it in surprise. “Bless my stars, how ugly it is!” she said. “But the poor thing seems cold. Let it stay and warm itself if it wishes.”

At these words the monkey turned about and made a low courtesy to the little old woman.

“Bless my stars!” said she again, for she had never seen so remarkable an animal, even in the land where monkeys were common.

Now the monkey had ceased to shiver, and it came skipping up to the table where the old woman sat, ready to eat her supper.

“Ugh! Go away!” cried the little old woman. “Go away, you ugly creature!”

But the monkey rested its chin upon the board and looked wistfully at the supper. “May I not share with you?” it seemed to say, though it spoke no word, and it put its little hands out towards the old woman, beggar-fashion.

“Bless my stars!” cried the old woman again, “it has the way of a child. But what an ugly child! Ugh! I cannot bear to have it near me. Yet--it is hard even for a monkey to be hungry.” She looked at her scanty dipper of water, at her little dish of rice, at her teapot with its drop of tea.

“I have but one dipper of water left, one handful of rice, one drop of tea,” she said ruefully. “When these are gone I know not whence to-morrow’s food will come; yet, little creature with the hands of a child, you shall share with me so long as I have a morsel. I cannot refuse those hands. But do not come too near, for I love not monkeys.”

Now the monkey seemed to understand every word the old woman spoke, although it could not answer in words. It bowed gratefully over its clasped hands as the old woman helped it to half the scanty meal,--half the dipper of water, half the rice, half a drop squeezed from the little teapot. The monkey ate hungrily, and when it had finished patted its little stomach and grinned happily at the old woman as if to say, “That was very good!”

“I am glad you are satisfied,” said the old woman with a sigh; “and now will you begone? There is nothing more in the house for guest or for host.”

But the monkey laid its head to one side upon its little hands and closed its eyes, showing that it was fain of sleep. Then again it held out its hands, beseeching the old woman.

“Oho!” said she, “you want to sleep here, too? Well-a-day! That ever I should have an ugly monkey napping in my hut! But I cannot turn a poor creature out into the cold night. You may stay, but keep as far from me as maybe, at the other corner of the cottage. Come, now, let us sleep and try to forget that to-morrow must be a hungry day.”

So they slept, the old woman on her hard little cot and the monkey curled up on the floor, which was no whit harder. And the old woman dreamed wonderful and beautiful dreams.

When it was light she opened her eyes, and at first she thought she must still be dreaming, for she had forgotten the happenings of the last night. There was the monkey with its little green cap on one side frisking about the cottage, sweeping the hearth, tidying the corners and setting things to rights.

“Bless my stars!” cried the little old woman. At these words the monkey turned, and with a grin beckoned towards the table, where dishes were already set out as if for a meal. Then the old woman remembered what had happened the evening before. But she remembered also the empty cupboard, and sighed wearily.

“Breakfast!” she grumbled; “it is little breakfast we shall have this day. Did we not share yestereven the last dipper of water, the last handful of rice, the last drop of tea? There will scarcely be any breakfast for me this day, and you, who are strong and frisky, had best seek one elsewhere, leaving me to die.”

But the monkey shook its head, grinning knowingly, and still beckoned to the table. It lifted the dipper and showed how it was still full of water. It lifted the cover from the rice dish, and lo! there was a mess of steaming white rice. It shook the little teapot, and a drop trickled from the spout.

“Bless my stars!” cried the little old woman, “last night my eyes must have cheated me. I certainly thought there was not another mouthful in the hut. Well, here is indeed a goodly meal,” and she sat down to the table. The monkey looked on wistfully, but did not venture near. Presently the old woman looked up.

“What!” she cried, “shall you not share, little guest, you who so cleverly prepared my breakfast? Did I not say that you should share so long as I had a morsel upon the board? Come, then, and eat.”

The monkey grinned happily and drew to the table. The scanty meal was sufficient for them both. When they had finished, the old woman nodded her head at the monkey and said,--

“Even a morsel tastes better when one shares it with company. But little I thought that a monkey would prove so pleasant a guest.”

At these words the monkey squirmed with happiness and frisked about the cottage like a mad thing. After that it went on with the household duties, quite like a handy little maid. But when it had finished these it skipped out of the door and disappeared into the forest.

“Now it is gone forever,” said the old woman with a little sigh, “and I shall be left alone to die of hunger and cold. For even my store of firewood is gone, and I have not strength to go to the forest for more.” And she sat down and cried bitterly, for the poor old woman’s courage was quite gone.

The daylight dimmed and the night came on, and the old woman sat rocking herself to and fro, trying to forget how hungry she was. But presently the door burst open and in came the monkey, staggering with arms full of fagots for the fire. It made a bright blaze on the hearth and then came timidly up to the old woman and laid a hand upon her knee. This time the old woman did not shrink or cry out, “Ugh! Go away!” for she seemed no longer to hate monkeys as once she had done. She looked up with half a smile and said:

“Ah, you have come back, little guest! I thought you had deserted me. I know you think it is supper-time; but nay, there will be no supper to-night. There is naught in the house for us to eat, or I would gladly share it with so willing a helper.”