The Joyous Story of Toto Part 1

The Joyous Story of Toto.

by Laura E. Richards.

CHAPTER I.

Toto was a little boy, and his grandmother was an old woman (I have noticed that grandmothers are very apt to be old women); and this story is about both of them. Now, whether the story be true or not you must decide for yourselves; and the child who finds this out will be wiser than I.

Toto's grandmother lived in a little cottage far from any town, and just by the edge of a thick wood; and Toto lived with her, for his father and mother were dead, and the old woman was the only relation he had in the world.

The cottage was painted red, with white window-casings, and little diamond-shaped panes of gla.s.s in the windows. Up the four walls grew a red rose, a yellow rose, a woodbine, and a clematis; and they all met together at the top, and fought and scratched for the possession of the top of the chimney, from which there was the finest view; so foolish are these vegetables.

Inside the cottage there was a big kitchen, with a great open fireplace, in which a bright fire was always crackling; a floor scrubbed white and clean; a dresser with s.h.i.+ning copper and tin dishes on it; a table, a rocking-chair for the grandmother, and a stool for Toto. There were two bedrooms and a storeroom, and perhaps another room; and there was a kitchen closet, where the cookies lived. So now you know all about the inside of the cottage. Outside there was a garden behind and a bit of green in front, and three big trees; and that is all there is to tell.

As for Toto, he was a curly-haired fellow, with bright eyes and rosy cheeks, and a mouth that was always laughing.

His grandmother was the best grandmother in the world, I have been given to understand, though that is saying a great deal, to be sure.

She was certainly a very good, kind old body; and she had pretty silver curls and pink cheeks, as every grandmother should have. There was only one trouble about her; but that was a very serious one,--she was blind.

Her blindness did not affect Toto much; for he had never known her when she was not blind, and he supposed it was a peculiarity of grandmothers in general. But to the poor old lady herself it was a great affliction, though she bore it, for the most part, very cheerfully. She was wonderfully clever and industrious; and her fingers seemed, in many ways, to see better than some people's eyes.

She kept the cottage always as neat as a new pin. She was an excellent cook, too, and made the best gingerbread and cookies in the world. And she knit--oh! how she _did_ knit!--stockings, mittens, and comforters; comforters, mittens, and stockings: all for Toto.

Toto wore them out very fast; but he could not keep up with his grandmother's knitting. Clickety click, clickety clack, went the s.h.i.+ning needles all through the long afternoons, when Toto was away in the wood; and nothing answered the needles, except the tea-kettle, which always did its best to make things cheerful. But even in her knitting there were often trials for the grandmother.

Sometimes her ball rolled off her lap and away over the floor; and then the poor old lady had a hard time of it groping about in all the corners (there never was a kitchen that had so many corners as hers), and knocking her head against the table and the dresser.

The kettle was always much troubled when anything of this sort happened. He puffed angrily, and looked at the tongs. "If _I_ had legs," he said, "I would make some use of them, even if they _were_ awkward and ungainly. But when a person is absolutely _all_ head and legs, it is easy to understand that he should have no heart."

The tongs never made any reply to these remarks, but stood stiff and straight, and pretended not to hear.

But the grandmother had other troubles beside dropping her ball. Toto was a very good boy,--better, in fact, than most boys,--and he loved his grandmother very much indeed; but he was forgetful, as every child is. Sometimes he forgot this, and sometimes that, and sometimes the other; for you see his heart was generally in the forest, and his head went to look after it; and that often made trouble. He always _meant_ to get before he went to the forest everything that his grandmother could possibly want while he was away. Wood and water he never forgot, for he always brought those in before breakfast. But sometimes the brown potatoes sat waiting in the cellar closet, with their jackets all b.u.t.toned up, wondering why they were not taken out, as their brothers had been the day before, and put in a wonderful wicker cage, and carried off to see the great world. And the yellow apples blushed with anger and a sense of neglect; while the red apples turned yellow with vexation. And sometimes,--well, sometimes _this_ sort of thing would happen: one day the old lady was going to make some gingerbread; for there was not a bit in the house, and Toto could _not_ live without gingerbread. So she said, "Toto, go to the cupboard and get me the ginger-box and the soda, that's a good boy!"

Now, Toto was standing in the doorway when his grandmother spoke, and just at that moment he caught sight of a green lizard on a stone at a little distance. He wanted very much to catch that lizard; but he was an obedient boy, and always did what "Granny" asked him to do. So he ran to the cupboard, still keeping one eye on the lizard outside, seized a box full of something yellow and a bag full of something white, and handed them to his grandmother. "There, Granny," he cried, "that's ginger, and _that's_ soda. Now may I go? There's a lizard--"

and he was off like a flash.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Oh, oh! what a dreadful face he made!"]

Well, Granny made the gingerbread, and at tea-time in came Master Toto, quite out of breath, having chased the lizard about twenty-five miles (so he said, and he ought to know), and hungry as a hunter. He sat down, and ate his bread-and-milk first, like a good boy; and then he pounced upon the gingerbread, and took a huge bite out of it. Oh, oh! what a dreadful face he made! He gave a wild howl, and jumping up from the table, danced up and down the room, crying, "Oh! what _nasty_ stuff! Oh, Granny, how _could_ you make such horrid gingerbread?

Br-r-rr! oh, dear! I never, never, _never_ tasted anything so horrid."

The poor old lady was quite aghast. "My dear boy," she said, "I made it just as usual. You must be mistaken. Let me--" and then _she_ tasted the gingerbread.

Well, she did not get up and dance, but she came very near it. "What does this mean?" she cried. "I made it just as usual. What can it be?

Ah!" she added, a new thought striking her. "Toto, bring me the ginger and the soda; bring just what you brought me this afternoon. Quick!

don't stop to examine the boxes; bring the same ones."

Toto, wondering, brought the box full of something yellow, and the bag full of something white.

His grandmother tasted the contents of both, and then she leaned back in her chair and laughed heartily. "My dear little boy," she said, "you think I am a very good cook, and I myself think I am not a very bad one; but I certainly can_not_ make good gingerbread with mustard and salt instead of ginger and soda!"

Toto thought there _were_ some disadvantages about being blind, after all; and after that his grandmother always tasted the ingredients before she began to cook.

Now, it happened one day that the grandmother was sitting in the sun before the cottage door, knitting; and as she knitted, from time to time she heaved a deep sigh. And one of those sighs is the reason why this story is written; for if the grandmother had not sighed, and Toto had not heard her, none of the funny things that I am going to tell you would have happened. Moral: always sigh when you want a story written.

Toto was just coming home from the wood, where he had been spending the afternoon, as usual. As he came round the corner of the cottage he heard his grandmother sigh deeply, as if she were very sad about something; and this troubled Toto, for he was an affectionate little boy, and loved his grandmother dearly.

"Why, Granny!" he cried, running up to her and throwing his arms round her neck. "Dear Granny, why do you sigh so? What is the matter? Are you ill?"

The grandmother shook her head, and wiped a tear from her sightless eyes. "No, dear little boy!" she said. "No, I am not ill; but I am very lonely. It's a solitary life here, though you are too young to feel it, Toto, and I am very glad of that. But I do wish, sometimes, that I had some one to talk to, who could tell me what is going on in the world. It is a long time since any one has been here. The travelling pedler comes only once a year, and the last time he came he had a toothache, so that he could not talk. Ah, deary me! it's a solitary life." And the grandmother shook her head again, and went on with her knitting.

Toto had listened to this with his eyes very wide open, and his mouth very tight shut; and when his grandmother had finished speaking, he went and sat down on a stone at a little distance, and began to think very hard. His grandmother was lonely. The thought had never occurred to him before. It had always seemed as natural for her to stay at home and knit and make cookies, as for him to go to the wood. He supposed all grandmothers did so. He wondered how it felt to be lonely; he thought it must be very unpleasant. _He_ was never lonely in the wood.

"But then," he said to himself, "I have all my friends in the wood, and Granny has none. Very likely if I had no friends I should be lonely too. I wonder what I can do about it."

Then suddenly a bright idea struck him. "Why," he thought,--"why should not my friends be Granny's friends too? They are very amusing, I am sure. Why should I not bring them to see Granny, and let them talk to her? She _couldn't_ be lonely then. I'll go and see them this minute, and tell them all about it. I'm sure they will come."

Full of his new idea, the boy sprang to his feet, and ran off in the direction of the wood. The grandmother called to him, "Toto! Toto!

where are you going?" but he did not hear her. The good woman shook her head and went on with her knitting. "Let the dear child amuse himself as much as he can now. There's little enough amus.e.m.e.nt in life."

But Toto was not thinking of his own amus.e.m.e.nt this time. He ran straight to the wood, and entered it, threading his way quickly among the trees, as if he knew every step of the way, which, indeed, he did.

At length, after going some way, he reached an open s.p.a.ce, with trees all round it. Such a pretty place! The ground was carpeted with softest moss, into which the boy's feet sunk so deep that they were almost covered; and all over the moss were sprinkled little star-shaped pink flowers. The trees stood back a little from this pretty place, as I said; but their long branches met overhead, as they bent over to look down into--what do you think?--the loveliest little pool of water that ever was seen, I verily believe. A tiny pool, as round as if a huge giant had punched a hole for it with the end of his umbrella or walking-stick, and as clear as crystal. The edge of the pool was covered all round with plants and flowers, which seemed all to be trying to get a peep into the clear brown water. I have heard that these flowers growing round the pool had become excessively vain through looking so constantly at their own reflection, and that they gave themselves insufferable airs in consequence; but as this was only said by the flowers which did _not_ grow near the pool, perhaps it was a slight exaggeration. They were certainly very pretty flowers, and I never wondered at their wanting to look at themselves. You see I have been in the wood, and know all about it.

It was in this pretty place that Toto stopped. He sat down on a great cus.h.i.+on of moss near the pool, and began to whistle. Presently he heard a rustling in the tree-tops above his head. He stopped whistling and looked up expectantly. A beechnut fell plump on his nose, and he saw the sharp black eyes of a gray squirrel peering at him through the leaves.

"h.e.l.lo, Toto!" said the squirrel. "Back again already? What's the matter?"

"Come down here, and I'll tell you," said Toto.

The squirrel took a flying leap, and alighted on Toto's shoulder. At the same moment a louder rustling was heard, among the bushes this time, a sound of cracking and snapping twigs, and presently a huge black bear poked his nose out of the bushes, and sniffed inquiringly.

"What's up?" he asked. "I thought you fellows had gone home for the night, and I was just taking a nap."

"So we had," said Toto; "but I came back because I had something important to say. I want to see you all on business. Where are the others?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Well," said Toto, "it's about my grandmother."]

"c.o.o.n will be here in a minute," answered the bear. "He stopped to eat the woodchuck's supper. Chucky was so sound asleep it seemed a pity to miss such an opportunity. The birds have all flown away except the wood-pigeon, and she told me she would come as soon as she had fed her young ones. What's your business, Toto?" and Bruin sat down in a very comfortable att.i.tude, and prepared to listen.

"Well," said Toto, "it's about my grandmother. You see, she--oh!

here's c.o.o.n! I'll wait for him." As he spoke, a large racc.o.o.n came out into the little dell. He was very handsome, with a most beautiful tail, but he looked sly and lazy. He winked at Toto, by way of greeting, and sat down by the pool, curling his tail round his legs, and then looking into the water to see if the effect was good. At the same moment a pretty wood-pigeon fluttered down, with a soft "Coo!"

and settled on Toto's other shoulder.

"Now then!" said the squirrel, flicking the boy's nose with his tail, "go on, and tell us all about it!"

So Toto began again. "My grandmother, you see: she is blind; and she's all alone most of the time when I'm out here playing with all of you, and it makes her lonely."

"Lonely! What's that?" asked the racc.o.o.n.

"I know what it is!" said the bear. "It's when there aren't any blueberries, and you've hurt your paw so that you can't climb. It's a horrid feeling. Isn't that it, Toto?"