The Princess of Cozytown

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The PRINCESS of COZYTOWN

The PRINCESS of COZYTOWN

Written by RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON

The Bald-headed Kingdom

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The Bald-headed Kingdom, Chapter 1

Snip-snap went the relentless shears ...

THE BALD-HEADED KINGDOM

Chapter I.

THERE was once a King who had no hair; in fact, he was bald! But that was not all; he was bad tempered besides! With his high crown set atop his bald-headedness he sat upon his high throne in a most high dudgeon and made his poor subjects skip, I can tell you! They were continually dodging and ducking.

Just about the time of our story the Court Poet, with his hand pressed to his eye, was scribbling furiously with a gold pen. The Queen and her Ladies were whispering together in scared voices, while the Gentlemen, with one anxious eye upon the King and one foot well to the fore, were making ready to dodge at the slightest warning. "Well!" thundered the bad-tempered King at last, "is it finished?" "No, your Majesty—I mean, Yes, your Royal Highness!" stuttered the Poet, upsetting the inkwell in his furry. "Well, read it then!" growled the King, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Our Sovereign's head is like the sun, Its brightness dims the eye."

read the Poet, then stopped, 'cause that was all he had written.

"Go on! Go on!" said the King, opening his eyes with a pleased expression, "Uh—uh—uh," floundered the Poet, trying to think of a word to rhyme with sun. "'Tis round and shiny like a bun!" he brought out triumphantly, "a play for the fly!" he finished with a rush. Then, hopelessly muddled, he gasped: "That is all, your Royal Baldness! Oh, dear! Oh, my dear! what have I done?"

At the word "baldness" the Ladies of the Court fell swooning in heaps to the marble floor while the Gentlemen dodged, ducked and scurried into the corners. "Baldness!" shrieked the King, dancing with rage. "Baldness!" and he tore off his pointy crown and flung it at the Poet's head. But the Poet was wildly tugging the great door open and out he fled, the King's sceptre and buckled shoes clattering after him. Having nothing left to throw, the King began stamping his stockinged feet and roaring, "Bun! Bun, indeed!"

After he had said everything possible—and more besides—he fell a-thinking. He thought and thought and thought. Then suddenly he began to chuckle and his little green eyes began to dance wickedly. "Fetch the Court Barber!" he shouted at the trembling pages. And when the Barber in obedience to the King's summons came waddling in he fairly roared with glee. Then he arose and wiping the tears of mirth from his little green eyes he commanded, "Let the Court Painter step forward."

"Ha!" said the King, fixing his eye upon the trembling Painter, "is my head not beautiful?"

"Yes—yes—certainly—yes!" stammered the painter.

"Would you not like to have one as beautiful?"

"Oh! Oh! No! I mean yes—oh, my hair—oh, my head! My career and my art!" wailed the Painter and fell over in a heap. "Do your work!" ordered the King. The Barber stepped forward importantly and tying a red towel round the Painter's neck began snipping off his long locks. As each one fell the Painter groaned and the King chuckled. Dears, it was terrible! When the snipping was over he lathered the poor fellow's crown and shaved off every single hair—ev-e-ry one. Think of that! "Beautiful!" exclaimed the King. "Bee-yutiful! Now pay the Barber, sir! One must pay well for such a favor."

The Bald-headed Kingdom, Chapter 2

Chapter II.

THE Painter turned out his pockets into the Barber's fat hands, then, covering his head with a pink silk handkerchief, rushed from the room sobbing, "Oh, my art! Oh, my career! Oh, my head and my hair. I shall have to be a shoemaker!"

Now, all the time the poor Painter was being shorn the Court Ladies had been giggling behind their handkerchiefs and the Court Gentlemen had been snickering behind their mustachios. They did not laugh long. Dear, no! One by one the bad-tempered King called them all forward. The Barber snipped and clipped and shaved the whole day without stopping, the Courtiers wept and pleaded and howled in vain, and the King only laughed the louder, till there was hair enough for ten royal mattresses and not a head of hair in the whole kingdom. Even the Queen, dears, and all of the Royal Ladies had bald, shivery, shiny heads. Ugh! how terrible!

And for a year and more not a single solitary hair was to be found upon a single solitary head in the kingdom. The king and the Barber saw to that. The Barber grew monstrously rich and insolent, and in all the lands to the east and the west, to the north and south, and in all the story books you have ever read there was never so gloomy and ridiculous a company as the poor subjects of this bald-headed, bad-tempered King.

But please do not think that this story is going to be entirely monopolized by him. Indeed, no. There is a simply gorgeous Princess in it, besides a most charming Prince.

You see, he had been far away for a year or more searching for the most beautiful Princess in the world, and that is the reason I have not mentioned him before. His name was Sambrun, and—and—the bad-tempered, bald-headed King was his father. One day, having found the simply gorgeous Princess, he came galloping home to prepare a great and glorious feast for his wedding. Singing a gay little song, about the most gorgeous Princess, I fancy, he went clattering up the long road, his thick brown curls flying merrily out behind. His song ceased abruptly, for suddenly bald heads began to appear on all sides. They bobbed and bowed from the roadway, they nodded and beckoned to him from the palace windows. A whole company came rushing to meet him, and so dazzling was the sun reflected from their shining crowns that Sambrun grew dizzy and nearly tumbled from his horse. He rubbed his eyes and then looked again. Yes, there they were. Mercies! "What horrible calamity has overtaken us?" gasped the Prince, and—

The Bald-headed Kingdom, Chapter 3

Chapter III.

WITHOUT waiting to listen to their story, he leaped from his horse and dashed into the great hall. Within all was gloom, but at the sight of the Prince the Queen rushed from her throne and fell fainting at his feet.

"Welcome home," roared the King. "Are we not all beautiful, my son?"

Sambrun lifted the fainting Queen and looked about shudderingly.

"Horrible!" exclaimed the Prince, looking his father straight in the eye. "What does it mean, I pray, Sir?"

"Mean?" snapped the King, flying into a violent passion and next instant had the Prince seized by six strong guardsmen. The Queen wept and pleaded in vain, the King only laughed the more wickedly and the Barber, whose fingers had been itching with impatience, stepped up and snip, snap, went the relentless shears, and soon—soon—the most charming Prince was as bald as the baldest of them. "Well," demanded the King, "are we not beautiful?" but still Sambrun stubbornly shook his head.

"What—what!" roared the King, and sent his royal snuffbox flying at the Prince's head. Sambrun shrugged his shoulders and said, "No," louder than ever. Oh, he was a brave Prince. Again the bad-tempered, bald-headed King fell a-thinking and this time his thoughts were blacker than ever, for he was really horribly jealous of his handsome son. At last he whispered to the chiefest of the Ministers and the poor fellow, with tears in his eyes, rose up to deliver the royal mandate. "Unless Prince Sambrun within the next thirty days discovers some means to restore the hair of his Royal Majesty, he shall upon the thirty-first day forfeit his head."

"Oh, oh," sobbed the Courtiers dismally, and pulling their silk handkerchiefs from their heads they all wept violently and the Queen outwept them all. But the most charming Prince merely bowed coldly to the King, kissed his royal mother and mounting his horse rode away.

He traveled far. In the countries to the east and west, in the countries to the north and south he sought, but vainly.

The Bald-headed Kingdom, Chapter 4

Chapter IV.

ON THE evening of the twenty-fifth day, he came to a dim, dark forest, and sitting upon an old stump in a little patch of moonlight began to weep bitterly. You see, dears, he felt that death had already overtaken him, but all at once a sharp little voice cried, "What does this mean?" and up out of the ground popped a tiny brown dwarf. "What does this mean?" he shouted crossly. "I've not had a wink of sleep this night." Sambrun jumped up hastily and bowing in his most charming fashion, said how very sorry he was to have kept the little fellow from his sleep. Somewhat appeased, the dwarf raised his lantern and peered up curiously at Sambrun with his little red eyes. "Oh, ha—ha—ha," he roared, catching sight of Sambrun's bald head, "Oh, ho—ho—ho. This is worth a night's rest."

"Well, what's it all about, bald pate?" Sambrun knew enough about the fairy folk not to vex the dwarf; so with many sighs he told him of the wicked doings of his father, the bald-headed, bad-tempered King. The comical, crooked dwarf listened intently, his little red eyes snapping and sparkling. When the Prince had finished, he said never a word, but, leaning down, gravely untied his shoe. Then, drawing it off, he jumped up quickly and threw it with all his might at the Prince's head. Sambrun had not time to dodge, and the little shoe hit him squarely in the eye. Everything grew black. He felt himself falling.

Down, down, he plunged through inky darkness, and landed at last with a dull thump. When he opened his eyes and looked about dizzily, he was in a great gloomy hall. Hundreds of tiny dwarfs were running excitedly about swinging red lanterns. Their eyes gleamed red and scarily and the lanterns sent thin streaks of light into the shadowy corners. Then up hopped the little dwarf who had thrown

the shoe and told the Prince to come with him. The Prince followed the little fellow to the end of the hall where a very ancient dwarf with a silvery beard at least a yard long sat upon a throne cut from a blazing ruby. Sambrun dropped to one knee and remained thus until the King of the dwarfs bade him rise. "Well," demanded the King in a faraway voice. "What is your wish? Here are stored the treasures of the world. Here are buried the secrets of all times, Past, Present and Future."

The Prince, now accustomed to the dim light, looked curiously about the giant hall. Heaps and heaps of silver and gold rose to the ceiling. Stacks of glittering emeralds and diamonds and all manner of precious stones glittered and sparkled from the shadowy corners; blue-veined marble, gold-shot bronze, magic-hued jade surrounded the walls of the mysterious cave. For a moment the Prince forgot the simply gorgeous Princess, forgot his weeping mother, and forgot his bald-headed, bad-tempered father. On the tip of his tongue trembled the wish to possess this great treasure, and then ashamed and mortified the next minute, he bit his tongue sharply and could say nothing at all. But the friendly little dwarf told his story for him, and as he finished said, "Give him, O wise King, the secret that will save his life, the secret sought since the beginning of time, the secret of growing hair."

The King looked at Sambrun gravely and asked, "Is this your wish?" "Yes," gasped the Prince, dropping to his knee and covering his eyes so that he could not see the hateful treasure. "You have wished well, O Prince," said the King.

The Bald-headed Kingdom, Chapter 5

Chapter V.

AND straightway he sent a score of little brown men scurrying this way and that. They built a huge fire and brewed in a golden kettle the strongest mixture that you can imagine. What was in it I can never tell you; indeed, I wish that I could. This only I green. It boiled and bubbled away merrily and now a hundred dwarfs, seizing tiny bellows, blew upon it until it was cool. Then into an emerald flask they poured the precious fluid and bore it to the King. Solemnly he handed the flask to the Prince. "One drop of this magic liquid will restore your father's hair. but beware! If he use more than this he shall perish and the priceless secret with him."

Sambrun thanked the King and next instant found himself in the forest. The sun was high, and his horse ran up to him, neighing joyously. Slipping the precious flask into his bosom, the Prince sprang into the saddle and rode like the wind, for he had not a moment to spare. Day after day he maintained this break-neck pace. On the thirtieth day he came to his father's palace. Gaily he ran up the steps and hurried into the great hall.

Looking neither to the right nor to the left, Sambrun walked straight up to the King and held out the flask, saying, "Here, your Highness, is a magic fluid. One drop will restore your hair. Use more than that and you shall perish, you and the secret with you." All the Ladies and Gentlemen gasped and gaped with astonishment. The King, his hands trembling with eagerness, seized the emerald flask, and without so much as a thank you, he rushed into the garden and from the garden into the forest, for he wanted to be quite alone when he tried it. The Court Barber slipped out unnoticed and crept after him, armed with a heavy stick. He meant to steal the emerald flask, for greater than any King and richer than any man would be the possessor of the secret for growing hair. The King stopped breathlessly in a little open space, and, mopping his head excitedly, gazed greedily at the fluid. "One drop, one drop, indeed! The selfish fellow means to keep the rest for himself," he muttered. The Barber, with bulging eyes, watched from the thicket. He did not intend to steal the liquid until he was sure of its power. Now the King raised the flask, and, oh, my dears, the greedy fellow poured the whole of the magic fluid over his head!

The Barber rushed out in dismay. Horrors!!! From the King's head a mass of hair shot into the air, jerking him from his feet. In a trice it had reached the treetops. Still it kept growing. It swept over the tops of the trees like a heavy cloud, and swirled down on all sides, closing the forest in darkest night. Still it kept growing. It twined and twirled around the wicked Barber, and round and round the wicked King, choking them to death. And still it kept growing, until the forest was a dense and impenetrable tangle into which no man has set foot from that day to this.

But in a year or more, when his hair had grown again, and all the heads in the kingdom were decently covered, the King Sambrun rode away into the Southland, and brought back the most gorgeous Princess. Together they ruled wisely and well, and bald heads were as rare as huckleberries in December. And that is the end of the story.

The Last Giant

Other days he would wade out into the sea, standing stiff and tall as a lighthouse ...

THE LAST GIANT

ONCE upon a time there was a last Giant. How he escaped Jack the Giant Killer I have no idea, have you? But escape he did, that is certain. Oh, but he had a wretched life of it. 'Twas simply dreadful! 'Tis always dreadful being the last of anything. You see he had no one to walk with, or talk with, or to stay with or play with. Why, his huge giant heart was cracking with loneliness. Besides, Jack the Giant Killer's grand-nephews and nieces were continually on the lookout for him. All day he was forced to hide, and 'tis no easy task when one is as big as all outdoors.

Sometimes he stood in his dingy brown suit with his shaggy hair tumbled over his face, his two arms crooked like branches, pretending to be a tree. He did make a tremendously tall one, but it was mighty tiresome work being a tree, and the mischievous little birds would peck his nose, and tweak his ears and pull out his hair, for they knew he did not dare to cry out or shake them off because Sarah Ann Giant Killer was sure to be on hand with her spy glass and giant-killing hat pin. Other days he would wade out into the sea, standing stiff and tall as a lighthouse, but even here the crabs would pinch his heels and the other sea folk would steal his shoe buttons, and stick and prick him spitefully. If he rolled up on the ground to look like a brown hill, along would come the owner of the field and a score of workmen to shovel and pick-axe him out of the way, or blow him to bits with dynamite. It was all very unpleasant for the last Giant.

But at night time, after the giant-killing nephews and nieces were in bed (they retire very early), Tonto would fare forth boldly, striding over the hills and hollows he came to a great city; then, leaning over, until his giant back ached, he would peer in through the lighted windows at the old people gathered round the fires, and at the young ones dancing and singing, and the tears of loneliness would trickle off his nose and his gigantic heart would crinkle up like a persimmon for very sadness. When he could bear it no longer, he would snatch a dozen or more sheets from the yards, where the good dames had hung them to dry, and muffling his face in these stolen handkerchiefs would weep bitterly.

His gusty sighs often blew the roofs from the houses, and his tears fell in showers so that the people next day would shake their heads over the night's storm. On his way through the narrow streets he was constantly brushing off shutters and stumbling over lamp posts, catching his heels in park gates and fences. I hate to think that the small boys were blamed for much of this damage. He had many narrow escapes, but always managed to turn himself into a church steeple or an arch, before he was discovered.

So things went on and on in this fashion for a great while, 'til he had wandered in every city of the world excepting one. On the night that he came to the last city it happened,—yes siree, it happened then. Now this city chanced to be the King's city, and Tonto, in search of amusement, had gone directly to the stately palace. With his eye plastered tightly against one of the long windows he gazed enviously at the brilliant scene within. The King, who was fat and jolly, sat upon his golden throne tapping his foot to the fascinating tune of the royal fiddles. The Court Gentlemen were bobbing and bouncing about in tight breeches and lace coats, and the Ladies in cob-webby gowns and buckled slippers,—the Ladies, mind you, were bobbing and bouncing too. In fact I think that they must have been dancing. Periwigged lackies rushed hither and thither, with frosted cake and tinkling tumblers of pink lemonade, and altogether they were having a delightful time of it.

Then the music stopped, and all heads turned toward the marble stairway. "Here she comes! the Princess! the Princess!" whispered one and then another. "Ah-h-h." Down the steps tripped the merriest, plumpest, rosiest, little dimpled Princess you can imagine. Smiling a plump little dimpled smile, she bustled up to the King, a pair of red worsted slippers in one hand and a snuff box in the other. "Charm

, charming," murmured the Court Gentlemen, twirling their mustachios and rolling their eyes. The King, beaming with pride and affection, drew on the red worsted slippers, took a deep pinch of snuff and sank back with a grunt of pure happiness, while the Princess smoothed his forehead. "Such devotion!" exclaimed the Court Ladies, clasping their hands together in an ecstasy of emotion. The Gentlemen all sighed mightily, and each wished himself in the King's red slippers.

Closer and closer Tonto had pressed his eye to the window, and when he had beheld the charming Princess descending the stair, then—then it happened. Sweethearts, he fell—not down, nor up—nor out, but in—in love with the King's daughter. Think of it! His heart began to hammer away like forty steam engines, 'til it actually shook the palace, and the Courtiers began anxiously to consult the newspapers to see whether there was going to be an earthquake. As no earthquakes were mentioned, they dismissed the matter from their minds, and fell to dancing again. But Tonto looked, and looked, and looked, and the longer he looked, the more he loved the dimpled little Princess, and to tell the truth she was exactly the size of his heart, just a comfortable heartful I should say.

He could not bear to tear himself away from her, and he remained with his eye glued to the window the Courtiers went yawning off to bed, then he took to his giant heels and never stopped running till morning, for he felt strangely hilarious. Instead of hiding he walked about with his head in the air as if there were no Giant Killer nieces and nephews in the world. He could think of naught but the Princess, and his love, as you can well imagine, was a very gigantic thing.

He could scarcely wait for the next evening, so anxious was he to see the Princess again. And when it did come, at last, he set off at top speed for the palace.

Again he glued his giant eye to the window and looked and looked. Things were even more lively than on the previous evening. The Court Ladies and Gentlemen were bobbing and ducking about in a mad and merry dance. The fiddlers were wildly sawing the air with their bows as they played a jiggeldy jig. The King, in a pair of violet worsted slippers, beamed upon the assemblage, his snuff box on one side and his dimpled daughter on the other. It was all that Tonto could do to keep from reaching in the window and snatching the Princess. But he loved her too deeply to frighten her. Then suddenly the King, taking an unusually large pinch of snuff, arose, and the Court Ladies and Gentlemen stopped bobbing and bowing straightway to hear the royal mandate.

Now he took off his royal spectacles and, folding his hands upon his ample stomach, began, "My honored subjects, it pleases me to inform you that every Lord of the realm wishes to marry my daughter." Here all the hundred or more Lords of the realm adjusted their monocles and glared at each other haughtily. "This is er—flattering, and er—embarrassing," continued the King, at which the Princess clicked her heels together and dutifully nodded her head. "Loving you all so well," chuckled the King, with a mischievous wink, "we find it impossible to choose among you. So I have decided that the man who proves himself capable of handling my daughter's fortune shall have my daughter herself."

Hereat each Lord straightened his crown and complacently smoothed down his shirt front, for each felt quite sure of winning the Princess. But Tonto, standing without, at the mere thought of her marrying any one of them groaned a giant groan. "Oooohhh," shuddered the Lords of the realm shaking till their golden crowns fell clattering to the floor. "What was that?" faltered the King, as the horrid sound died away. "'Twas the wind singing to the chimney," quoth the secretary promptly and with a low bow. "His song is most unpleasant," said the King rubbing his head, "pray bid him cease," and off went the secretary to argue with the wind.

"Now," said the King, having disposed of the affair, "let us see who shall marry my daughter." So saying he banged loudly with his golden sceptre upon the marble floor. Into the room came a hundred black slaves staggering under the weight of a huge iron chest. Slowly and painfully they set it down before the throne and retired backwards from the room. The eyes of the hundred Lords fastened upon it greedily. They began shoving and pushing each other rudely to get a better view. "Well," said the King, "will the Lord who thinks that he can handle my daughter's fortune kindly step forward." At this the whole hundred or more of them made a spirited dash for the chest, tumbling over one another's shins and landing in a confused heap at the Princess's feet. "Ho, ho!" roared the King, "one at a time, one at a time, if

you please." Forthwith the Lords of the realm untangled their shins and arranged themselves in a long line according to their rank.

Then the first one strode up to the chest. "Remember," warned the King, "I said the man who could handle my daughter's fortune, and I mean exactly what I say." The first Lord looked rather puzzled, in fact he did not know just what was expected of him. Slowly he drew off his gloves and fumbled with his watch chain. "Well," smiled the King, "why don't you begin. Can you handle my daughter's fortune or not. Come, be quick. There is the ring." The Lord put in his monocle and looked at the huge chest. Sure enough, in the lid was a stout iron ring. "Handle your daughter's fortune," mused he, stroking his chin, "errrr—er—surely your Majesty cannot mean that I, er—lift that chest?" "What else could I mean?" blustered the King, pretending to look greatly surprised.

At this the other Lords of the realm got out their silk pocket-handkerchiefs and began mopping their heads nervously, while the first Lord, taking off his lace jacket, set his jeweled crown carefully on top of it, and stepped up to the chest. Seizing the iron ring he tugged away mightily till his lordly face was a royal turkey-cock purple, but not an inch could he budge it. The King shook his head sadly, "I see very plainly that you are not the man," quoth he. One after another the greedy Lords tried to lift the chest, while the Princess sat by demurely. But puff and pull and tug and strain as they might the chest never stirred.

Imagine how exciting this all was to the Giant, peering in through the window! And as each lord took himself sulkily off, the smile upon the King's broad face grew broader. The truth of the matter was he did not want his daughter to marry at all, and we cannot much blame him for that. Each day she crocheted him a new pair of slippers, and mixed his snuff by a wonderfully secret recipe known only to herself. He had a whole castle turned solely over to the accommodation of his slippers, and so accustomed had he grown to the Princess's delicate attentions that life without her and them seemed intolerable. He therefore arose, and chuckling till his double chins quivered and danced with merriment called loudly, "What, is there no man who can handle my daughter's fortune?" Sweethearts, he was sure that his trick had been successful and that his daughter would go on crocheting him slippers to the end of his days.

But it never does to be too sure. Goodness, no!!! For scarcely had the King finished speaking before a thundering knock shook the palace, and the next instant a giant hand came splintering through the wall, reached down, seized the iron ring and lifted the huge chest into the air as lightly as though it were a match box. Up, up, up before the terrified eyes of the Courtiers went the Princess's fortune, and the chest and the hand were withdrawn through the yawing hole in the wall. "In one month I will return for your daughter," roared the giant voice of Tonto. At this the excitement was terrific. The King fell flat upon his back. The Princess fell prone upon her face—prone, flat and slantwise tumbled everyone!

But Tonto, with the chest upon his back, hurried off to the deep woods and buried the chest under an oak tree, then, standing beside the oak tree, pretending to be its cousin, he thought and thought and thought how he could marry the Princess. For ten whole days and nights he thought and, at the end of the tenth night, he had come to the conclusion that he could only marry her by ceasing to be a giant. For nineteen days more he pondered upon this puzzling question, but on the night of the nineteenth day he strode quickly over the hills and dales until he had come down to the sea. He waded in, and when the water rose higher than his head he began swimming with all his might. On and on he plowed, faster than the fastest steamboat in the world till he came to the very centre of the sea.

In the centre of the sea, you know, is a tiny island where the last witch in the world with her forty cats lives safe from the heartless witch-burning folks of today. When Tonto reached this island, he raised his giant head out of the water and called, "Come out, good mother, I beg," and the witch who had not had a visitor for one hundred years, stuck her black head out of her little hut to see what it all might mean. Tonto in great excitement began to tell her all about the dimpled Princess, but so lusty was his voice that at the first word the little old woman was blown into the sea. Now a witch likes water just about as much as a cat, and when Tonto set her on dry land again she scolded him roundly. Swimming off a few strokes he began in his gentlest giant voice all over again, ending with the statement that he no longer wished to be a giant.