Part 11

Presently a squirrel who was out of bed late ran up the trunk of the larch-tree close by; he flourished his tail and stopped to look at Jack Frost.

“Good evening,” he said very civilly, for though he did not like Jack Frost he knew how to behave.

For answer Jack Frost took out a fir-cone he had in his pocket and threw it at the squirrel’s head.

“He has been badly brought up,” said the squirrel, who had several children and was very particular about their behaviour. Then he went and sat at the foot of the tree to watch Jack Frost, for he knew he was wicked, and he thought it better to keep his eye on him.

All this time the horrid little man was looking at the garden wall; he sat very still till he heard “Tu-whoo! Tu-whoo!” close by, and saw a large, soft-winged owl flitting among the branches.

“Tu-whoo! Jack Frost!” he cried, as he sat down beside him. “How are you this evening?”

For answer Jack Frost kicked up his heels very rudely in the owl’s face. The bird flew silently away, but he did not go far; he knew Jack Frost was up to no good, so he perched hard by and watched him with his round, burning eyes.

When all was quiet again, Jack Frost went hopping from tree to tree till he got close to the garden wall, where he could see over into the flower-beds; he did not know that the robin, the squirrel, and the owl were all looking at him from the places in which they had hidden themselves.

Such a lovely garden as it was! There were green walks and hedges and borders of heliotrope and pansies; and, all round the hedges, rows of dahlias and hollyhocks stood like kings and queens, red, yellow, pink, white, and gorgeous orange. When they saw the little wicked man they were terrified, poor things, and though they tried to look bold and stand up straight, they knew in their hearts that he had come to kill them.

Close by stood a cottage in which the gardener was asleep in his bed, wearing a fine red nightcap with a handsome tassel on the end of it. He was very kind to the little boy who lived in the stone house, for he had no children of his own, and he liked to take him out and show him birds’ nests and flowers, and teach him to dig and plant and water the garden.

In the middle of his sleep he was wakened by hearing a strange noise outside. He sat up in bed.

“Tap, tap,” it went on.

“Who’s there?” cried the gardener, jumping out of bed and opening the window.

The robin was on the window-sill, very much excited and dancing about. “Please, sir,” said he, “Jack Frost is sitting up in a tree close to the garden.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” said the gardener, beginning to put on his trousers. “I’ll get up this moment!”

He had just got them on when a loud scraping began on the window-sill.

“Who’s there?” cried the gardener, again.

“Me!” said the squirrel; “quick! quick! Jack Frost is sitting on the garden wall.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” said the gardener, beginning to put on his boots.

In another moment there was a great cry outside. “Tu-whoo! Tu-whoo!” and a great flapping of wings.

“Come out! Come out!” screamed the owl. “Jack Frost has jumped down into the garden.”

“Thank you! thank you!” cried the gardener, catching up a big stick and running out of the house.

Jack Frost was in a flower bed looking up into the face of a beautiful pink hollyhock and thinking which of its blossoms he would pinch first, when he heard a loud shout and saw the gardener with his red nightcap and his big stick coming in at the garden door. He was most dreadfully frightened, and began to run with all his might. The gardener was after him at once, so he tried to reach the gooseberry bushes and hide himself among them, hoping it would be too dark for anybody to see him.

But the owl, who could see everything at night, flew after him, calling out, “There goes Jack Frost among the gooseberry bushes! There he is! This way! This way!” So he found it impossible to hide himself. It was a good thing for him that he could run much faster than the gardener, because he was so thin and had such long legs.

He ran and ran, and the gardener puffed and blew and could not catch him, so at last he took up a flower pot and threw it as hard as he could at Jack Frost. It hit him in the very middle of the back and knocked him flat on his face on the path. He tried to get up, but the gardener got hold of him by the collar and shook and beat him with his big stick till he prayed for mercy. Then he took him by the ear and dragged him out of the garden.

At last Jack Frost wriggled out of his grasp and ran for his life; he dashed into the larch-tree and climbed up the branches to the topmost bough where the weathercock was. There was no moon for him to get on to, for she had gone to bed and the sky was so high that he could not jump up all the way at once, so he was obliged to sit hidden in the tree until the next night.

The next night was misty and the moon came only occasionally out of the cloud. The little boy who lived in the stone house got out of his bed again to see her.

While he was looking, Jack Frost took a mighty leap and sprang up right through the clouds.

“Look! Look!” cried the little boy, “there is the funny man again!”

“It’s you who are funny,” said the nurse; and she hurried him back into bed and gave him one of his favourite toys to put under his pillow.

She knew nothing about little men who jumped among the trees.

Jack Frost landed safely on the moon and then flew high, high up. But he never came down into that garden again.

THE END R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD., BREAD ST. HILL, E.C., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.

Book cover is placed in the public domain.

[The end of _The Golden Heart_, by Violet Jacob.]