The Adventures of Peterkin

Peterkin Afloat

WHEN last we heard of Peterkin—do you remember?—he was afloat on the waves in his pumpkin house. And sailing swiftly out to sea!

Peterkin, as soon as he had gained his breath, climbed out of the tangle of bed-clothes and furniture which his sudden fall had thrown over and all about him. Then he pinched himself in every limb, and was glad to find everything whole and sound.

“Whew!” he gasped. “That was an escape! To think of landing in the sea!”

He pulled his little ladder out from under a tumble of pots and pans and bric-a-brac and blankets, and set it up against the wall. Then up he clambered, step by step, until he had poked his head through the hole, in the Pumperkin’s top, which served for a door and a window and ceiling, all at the same time. It gave him just a glimpse of the open air and the wide stretch of sea on every hand. Waves—blue, choppy, hopping waves, as far as Peterkin could see ... nothing but waves!

Well, there was nothing for it but to go back into his house and sit by the stove and begin to cry. Not that crying could help matters any—but Peterkin was sad at all these sudden happenings, and somehow his tears did make him feel a little better.

“Boohoo!” wept he. “It’s all the fault of the wicked wind! One moment I was safe and dozing at home in my old pumpkin patch; the next, here I am bobbing and lost on the face of the ocean. The only thing I have to be thankful for is that there’s still a warm fire in my stove. Boohoo!”

And oh, the saddest part of it all is that he wept so hard, and so many of his tears spilled down into the stove that—what did he do but put the fire out! And soon enough his pumpkin house grew cold and cheerless and wet with the briny waves which came dashing in through the door-window-ceiling.

It was a dreary party now. Peterkin felt his yellow ball of a boat leap and fall with every wave. Everything rattled and jingled to the see-saw motion. He grew dizzy. He could scarcely steady himself to climb up the ladder a second time. He could hardly see the white froth at the crests of the waves and the deep green of their troughs. He made out a ship passing by, miles and miles away. He screamed and waved his coat and whistled between two fingers—did everything he could think of to make the sailors see and save him. But the ship sailed on and away, until the white specks of its sails had faded from view.

Night came on, gray and then blue, and the waves never tired of their ceaseless jigging. Peterkin crouched on the floor of his Pumperkin and thought of the fate which awaited him, and worried himself into a troubled sleep. Many times during the long, dark hours he woke up with a start, and, through the hole in the house-top, caught a glimpse of the stars and a smack of the salt spray. The last time he awoke, the stars had been swallowed up in the graying sky by a streak of glowing red, and Peterkin knew it was the dawn.

Later, when the sunshine came straggling into his shell on the drops of glistening spray, he climbed his ladder for an early morning peek. White mists were rolling back across the waves, and ... oh! what was that?

Not a hundred yards away, a thin fountain, shimmering like silver, rose up out of the green of the sea and curved down again upon it. Again it came—and again! Up, up—fifty feet into the air, a gleaming fountain! And then, as it came nearer and nearer, Peterkin caught the glimpse of a black fin ... and a huge jaw!

Ugh! What could it be?

“An early morning peek” ]

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Peterkin and the Whale

A WHALE! Yes, it was a big, black, hungry whale! And it was drawing closer and closer to Peterkin’s pumpkin boat every time he blinked.

Peterkin could see its forked tail now and its great, darkly gleaming sides. Once it disappeared completely under the foam, and when it rose again, it was so near that Peterkin saw its ugly little eyes and a white row of jagged teeth. Whenever it flashed its tail and fins, there was a great churning of water, and the Pumperkin would roll and rock so fiercely that it almost dumped its poor owner into the ocean.

The whale, I’m sure, did not know what to make of it. The whale was used to boats, of course—but boats with sails and pointed prows and sailors in the rigging. While here was something round and fat, and such a golden yellow! No bow it had, nor stern, nor sails, nor flags, nor rudder. “Is it really and truly a boat?” thought the whale. Well, this would have to be looked into very closely!

So the big whale came puffing and fountaining up to the little Pumperkin.

“Oh, oh,” it sighed, “what a pretty thing to frisk with! Just like a play-toy! Here’s where I have my day’s fun!” And with that it dived deep under the pumpkin boat and came up on the other side. “Haw, haw,” it chuckled—as only a whale can chuckle—“what bully good sport! Just to look at that little man who is peeking out over the side of this yellow ball! Just to see how surprised he looks to find me over here, where he didn’t expect me to be! Haw, haw!” And the whale gave another frolicsome wiggle to his tail—nearly upsetting the Pumperkin again.

As for Peterkin, he was chattering with fear. He did not know what was coming next! Perhaps the whale was about to swallow him for breakfast. Yes, yes, it was surely up to some mischief, was this black whale. For it had disappeared again. Oh, what now?

True, the playful whale had taken another dive under the bottom of the pumpkin. But it didn’t bother to come up on the other side. It just stayed there under water, directly beneath the Pumperkin.

“Haw, I wonder what would happen if I should squirt my fountain into the air?” thought the whale—and being a whale, it had to take a long while to think it over. In the dreadful pause, Peterkin trembled so hard that his stove and his bed and all the furniture took to rattling, too.

Then, suddenly, the Pumperkin, Peterkin and all, shot fifty feet high into the air! Up, up, like a bubble at the top of a mighty geyser, it rose with the stream of the whale’s fountain. For the wink of an eye, it seemed to hang there—then down it came again—down with a spatter and splash into the trough of the sea!

Peterkin could stand it no longer. He screamed aloud—with such a scream as the whale had never heard. It was a scream to make every fish in the sea shudder along its fins.

“Oh, dear me!” sighed the whale, “I have made an enemy. I’ve been hurting somebody’s feelings, I fear. I should have been very glad to make a breakfast of that little man and his yellow bubble, if only he hadn’t minded and had acted cheerfully about it. But now, since he’s so cross and cranky, I shall punish him by going away and never looking at him again. So there!”

Which was just what the big whale did. And it never could understand why the little man clapped his hands and laughed with delight when he saw it dwindle away into the waves of the distance.

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Peterkin’s Appetite

NOW all this while poor Peterkin had not had a single bit to eat. Not a dry biscuit even. And as for a whole meal, why—that was out of the question. For wasn’t his stove drearily cold? And the eggs in his basket all crushed by the many falls his Pumperkin had taken? And he was hungry. So would you be, if you had gone so long without a meal—and Peterkin, for all he lived in a pumpkin, was not so far different from you. He sat and listened to the slap of the waves upon the bottom of his round yellow boat and rubbed his empty stomach mournfully.