Storieta
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Slender Foods and Round Foods

Snythergen’s mother was poor—so poor that she did not feel able to support her baby boy. So she put him in a basket—it had to be a large one—and left it on the doorstep of a little old couple who had long wished for a child.

The pair were very much surprised, not only at finding Snythergen, but at his unusual appearance. He was thin as bones and very long—so long that he appeared to be wearing stilts. His body was very ungainly and the couple’s first feeling was one of disappointment—until they looked into his eyes. These were bright and roguish and something else not easy to name—something that made them know he was their child, and they loved him.

The new papa and mamma were very proud. First of all they wanted their boy to fill out into a healthy well-fed child, so they stoked his neglected stomach with the richest of farm foods. The effect was prompt. It was amazing how Snythergen changed from day to day. His cheeks rounded, his shoulders broadened, and the layers of flesh spread over his lean trunk until he was as bulging as a rubber ball. He was getting enormous and his parents were beginning to sense a new danger.

“He will burst if he keeps on getting fatter,” said his mother anxiously.

“I must study the question,” said his father, who was a philosopher.

One day the father came in much excited. “I know what it is that makes baby so fat! He eats the wrong kind of food. His diet is too round. It is all pumpkins, potatoes, tomatoes, eggs, oranges. Now to get thin he should eat thin foods, like celery, asparagus, pie-plant, and macaroni.”

So they fed him long slender foods, and he began changing at once. He shot up almost as fast as Jack’s beanstalk, until they were alarmed for fear he would never stop shooting up. He had grown until he could look into the second story windows standing on the ground, and could place his hand on the top of the chimney without getting on tiptoes. Again it was time something was done, and they sat down to think the matter over.

“I have it,” said the papa at last. “Son must not eat all round nor all slender foods! The two must be mixed!”

So they mixed them just in time to save Snythergen from shooting up like a skyrocket. But by the time his growth was arrested he was altogether too big for a boy.

There was no room in the house large enough for him to sleep in and he could not go upstairs; the passage was too small and the ceiling too low. But they found a place by letting his legs and body curl around through the hallways and connecting rooms of the ground floor. His head rested on a pillow in the living room and his feet projected out of the window in the butler’s pantry. Every night before he went to bed his mother tucked him in carefully, unfurling a roll of sheets and quilts that had been sewed together and were long enough to stretch from his feet to his neck.

Before he left for school in the morning his parents always kissed him good-by affectionately. The parting took place outdoors in front of the house. Snythergen would bend over and place his broad hands on the ground, palms up. His father would stand on one hand and his mother on the other, holding tightly to their son’s coat sleeves. Then Snythergen would raise his arms, lifting his parents until they were on a level with his face.

“Now be a good boy, Snythergen,” said the little father, “or I shall spank you severely!”

“Of course he will be a good boy,” said the mother, as she leaned over and kissed him.

Then the papa would climb up his ear and place his hands on his son’s head and give him his blessing. Snythergen would then lower both parents gently to the ground and start for school.

Snythergen was nearly always late in starting for school. He seldom slept well, for his bed was uncomfortable and he could not turn over or even change his position, without injuring the house. Every night before going to sleep he would resolve to be up early on the morrow, but regularly failed. And one morning he arose so very late that it was necessary to find a short cut if he were to arrive at school in time.

What could he do? He tried to think of a scheme while collecting his books. Bending over to pick up his slate pencil, he placed his head between his heels, just for the fun of it. And this gave him an idea! With his head still in this position, he bent his body into a circle making a hoop of himself. Then he began to roll down hill across the fields, slowly at first, then faster and faster, then so fast he could not stop. He bounded over fences and ditches, until, all out of breath and very much flushed, he found himself at the school house door! This short cut saved him at least a mile, and it was such fun rolling down hill, he went that way every morning thereafter, rolling up to the door just as the school-bell was ringing—to crawl into the passage on his hands and knees.

There was not room enough for Snythergen to stand up in school, so the janitor cut a trap door beside his desk so that his feet extended into the basement. Even then he stood taller in the school room than the other pupils. But he would have managed very well had the janitor not been absent-minded and near-sighted. He seemed never able to remember that those long shanks were legs—not pillars. Again and again he would tie the clothes-line to them, and on wash days when Snythergen went out at recess, usually he trailed a piece of clothes-line behind each leg, with the washing hanging on. And the janitor got such a scolding from his wife for this that he grew to dislike Snythergen almost as much as Snythergen disliked him.

One morning the janitor painted the basement. And when Snythergen went out at recess his legs were a brilliant yellow and pinned to each was a sign: “Fresh Paint.” That day he had an easy time playing tag, for no one wanted to get smeared with paint badly enough to touch him.

One day the janitor was so forgetful as to start to drive a nail into one of Snythergen’s legs. This was too much! The poor boy jumped out of the cellar, and in rising thrust his head through the roof. So angry was he, he hardly knew what he was doing. He stepped over the walls carrying the roof with him, then tossed it on the ground and hurried away. “I won’t, won’t go back to school,” he kept saying to himself. Rather than go back and face the ridicule of his schoolmates he decided to run away.

A Ticklish Tree

For some time Snythergen had been thinking of running away and had planned to go to the forest and live with the trees, whose size was about like his own. While waiting for the time to arrive, he had made himself a disguise—and a very good one it was, too,—it was a suit of brown and green that made him look just like a tree. For a long time he had kept it hidden in some bushes. Yes, he had quite made up his mind to run away.

He went home that night and looked into the upstairs windows for a last sight of his dear mother and father. His father was already asleep when he arrived, but his mother was sitting anxiously by the window waiting for her little boy to come home. He rubbed his nose on the glass until she noticed that he was there, then placed a finger to his lips cautioning her to be quiet. She raised the window softly and whispered:

“Snythergen, what is the matter?”

“Mother, dear, I am going away. I cannot stand going to school any longer. I am too big and they are beginning to laugh at me. I was never meant for a student anyway. I am going to live in the forest with the trees. They will not make fun of me. I have made myself a suit of bark and branches which makes me look just like one of them. Some day I will come back to you and take you to my new home. But now I must leave you and go and seek my fortune!”

The poor mother’s heart was almost breaking. The tears streamed from her eyes, but deep in her heart she knew it was best for him to go. Like mothers the world over she knew how to sacrifice herself when it was for the good of her child. She kissed him again and again. Just then the father turned uneasily in his sleep.

“Hurry, hurry, my darling boy! If your father hears you he will give you a terrible spanking.” As he rushed away, great tears were dashed from his eyes by the branches of tree-tops.

Snythergen went straight to the forest and very early the next morning dressed in his suit of green and took his place as a tree. For a long time he stood very still, holding his branches out and waving his leaves in the breeze. “I wish something would happen,” he said to himself. “It certainly bores one to be a tree.” He had been standing there since daybreak and the sun was now high in the sky. The birds as yet had not lighted on him. Some instinct made them hesitate. At last a daring woodpecker approached his trunk, and began a series of sharp pecks. Snythergen stifled an “ouch” and made a wry face. The first woodpecker was followed by others. They attacked his bark until it itched and smarted all over. In spite of his discomfort he tried to stand very still for he thought it beneath a tree’s dignity to show its feelings.

Unfortunately Snythergen was ticklish and whenever the birds touched a sensitive spot he could not help wiggling. This frightened the woodpeckers for a while and they flew to a neighboring limb to gaze at the strange tree. But as soon as they stopped tickling Snythergen always stopped shaking. This puzzled the birds. They could not understand why they felt the tree shake when they pecked, but could not see it move when they stopped to look at it. Finally they decided that they only imagined it moved, and after that they did not fly away unless the wiggling was very violent—which it was whenever a bird happened to blunder upon Snythergen’s “funny bone.” Snythergen was beginning to realize that the life of a tree is not all joy. Hardly could he wait for night to come when the birds would fly away. In the meantime he tried and tried to think of a plan to outwit them. “I have it!” he whispered to himself at last.

When it was quite dark he pulled off his tree suit, and went to a near-by town to purchase several xylophones. These are musical instruments with keys usually made of wood, and played on with a little mallet. Snythergen took the keys apart and strung them about his trunk so that they hung about him like a skirt of mail, to protect his bark from woodpeckers. The next morning when the birds began to circle around him, he smiled to himself. When one of them lighted and began pecking away, a cheery sound came forth. And when the others followed his example the whole tree became a bedlam of musical jingles. “Peck away, peck away!” said Snythergen to himself, “you cannot hurt me now!”

It was not long before the strange sounds issuing from the tree attracted all the wild life of the forest. The air became almost black with flying things, and the ground was swarming with animals little and big. Even a bear came along and Snythergen trembled from roots to peak leaf. How he wanted to run home to his mother! It would be easier to go back and face his schoolmates than to stay alone with a bear. But at heart Snythergen was really a brave little boy and his courage soon returned. He had set out to be a tree and he made up his mind he would be a worthy one. He did not want the forest to be ashamed of him. “I must not be the first tree that ever ran away. It would set all the others such a bad example!” he thought. So he held his teeth together very firmly, and stood up ever so straight and stiff. “I must appear calm and unconcerned,” he said to himself, but his heart beat so rapidly and thumped so loudly he thought the bear must surely hear it. But the big brute was too much absorbed in the strange concert to think of anything else, and did not suspect that a spare-ribbed boy trembled behind a disguise of bark, boughs and leaves.

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