Laura Richards - Three Minute Stories

Many of these stories and rhymes appeared originally in the Ladies’ Home Journal , and were signed either with my initials, or with names of characters in my books. Others were adapted by me from the Indian “Hitopadesa,” or “Book of Good Counsel,” and from two anonymous story-books of a bygone generation, long out of print. These are marked “Adapted.”

Johnny’s sand box is in the back yard. It is a fine big box, with the sides raised so that Johnny and the sand will not fall out. The sand is fine and dry, and almost white; it came from the seashore, and sometimes you find a little shell in it.

The things that belong in the sand box (beside Johnny himself!) are the blue tin pail to hold sand, and the red tin pail to hold water, and the shovel, and the rake, and the old kitchen spoon. The things that do not belong there (some of them) are the woolly dog (because the sand gets all into his wool, and then shakes out on the nursery floor, and Maggie says it is a Sight!), and Johnny’s shoes and stockings (he likes to take them off and sift the hot, clean sand between his bare toes), and the neighbors’ cats.

This story is about the cats. There are five of them. One is black, and has a red leather collar with a little silver bell; it belongs to the deaf old lady next door, and its name is Jetty. Another is yellow, and belongs to the lame girl in the white house with green blinds; its name is Topaz. The third cat is gray, with white front and paws. This is a lady cat, and her name is Malta; she belongs to the lady whom Johnny calls Mrs. Nose. Mamma does not allow him to say this, and he tries to remember, but sometimes he forgets; one day he said right out, “Good morning, Mrs. Nose!” and she only laughed, and said her nose was just the right size, and she needed it all to smell catnip with. She is a funny lady, and Johnny likes her, and Malta too.

The fourth cat belongs to Mr. Chops the butcher, and is a big tabby, with green eyes and fierce whiskers. Johnny does not like him at all. But the fifth cat is Muffet, his own dear white kitten.

Now all these cats were friends except Bobs, the butcher’s cat. He lives on meat, and Mamma says perhaps that makes him cross. Anyhow, he is cross, and he growls and snarls and spits at Muffet and Jetty and Topaz and Malta, and tries to steal their fishbones, and upsets their milk, and is really a very horrid cat.

The story happened one night last week. Johnny was asleep, and Maggie was tidying up the nursery before going to bed, when suddenly she heard a queer noise. It came from the yard, and she stepped to the window and looked out. It was bright moonlight; and what do you think? The cats were having a party in the sand box! the four friendly cats, that is, Muffet and Topaz and Malta and Jetty. Maggie thought Muffet must have invited the others, for she was sitting in the middle of the box with her front paws tucked under her, looking so pleased and happy; and the three others had their paws tucked in too, and they were all four talking in little soft mews, and seemed to be having a very good time. Then all of a sudden there was a snarl and a yowl, and that horrid great Bobs sprang over the fence and into the sand box, and began clawing and spitting and scratching right and left, just as hard as he could. At first the four friendly cats were too startled to do anything; but in another minute they began to spit and scratch and claw, and there were all five of them rolling over and over, scattering the sand on every side, and making such a noise that it woke Johnny out of his sound sleep. At first he was frightened, but Maggie told him what it was, and said wait and see what she would do. She pushed up the fly screen very softly, and then she brought the great big jug full of water, and leaning out, – splash! she emptied it full on the fighting, struggling cats. Oh! how they yelled! One jumped this way, and one jumped that; and the next moment not one was left except poor little Muffet, sitting in the middle of the box and crying pitifully. “Oh, poor Muffy!” said Johnny. “Poor Muffy all wet!” So then good Maggie ran down and brought Muffet up, and dried her with a towel, and comforted her till she purred. Johnny wanted to take her into bed with him, but Maggie said that never would do; so, – what do you think? She put her in the doll’s cradle with Susan Dolly, and covered her up, and told her to go to sleep, and she did!

“Wake up!” said a clear little voice. Tommy woke, and sat up in bed. At the foot of the bed stood a boy about his own age, all dressed in white, like fresh snow. He had very bright eyes, and he looked straight at Tommy.

“Who are you?” asked Tommy.

“I am the New Year!” said the boy. “This is my day, and I have brought you your leaves.”

“What leaves?” asked Tommy.

“The new ones, to be sure!” said the New Year. “I hear bad accounts of you from my Daddy – ”

“Who is your Daddy?” asked Tommy.

“The Old Year, of course!” said the boy. “He said you asked too many questions and I see he was right. He says you are greedy, too, and that you sometimes pinch your little sister, and that one day you threw your reader into the fire. Now, all this must stop.”

“Oh, must it?” said Tommy. He felt frightened, and did not know just what to say.

The boy nodded. “If it does not stop,” he said, “you will grow worse and worse every year, till you grow up into a Horrid Man. Do you want to be a Horrid Man?”