"Don't mention it," replied the giant. "I have a book that once belonged to my boy when he was a little fellow. It's called the Iceberg Express, and you look so like the little girl on the cover that I'd almost believe you were she.""I am, I am," shouted Mary Louise, jumping out of her chair. "And that's the reason I wanted to sit in the big Wishing Stone chair. I was going to wish I was home with mother.""You don't say so," exclaimed Mr. Merry Laugh."Well, well, well. Ittakes me back to the time when my boy was a little fellow and sat on my knee to hear me read Little Journeys to Happyland. How time flies!" And the big kind giant took his pocket handkerchief out again to wipe his blue eyes, and after that he went over to the piano and sang:
"If I had my little boy again How happy I should be, I'd piggy- back him all around And trundle him on my knee.
"But oh, dear me. It's so long ago, And he's been away so long, That all I can do is to wish and wish That he could hear this song.""Dear me," said little Mary Louise, when the giant had finished. "You want your little boy and I want my mother."Well pretty soon when Mary Louise walked into the dining room she saw the most wonderful turkey that ever graced a Thanksgiving table. Why, it weighed upty'leven pounds and was stuffed with a bushel of chestnuts.
"Now eat slowly and tuck your napkin under your chin," said Mr. Merry Laugh, "for we don't have Thanksgiving every day, although we ought to be thankful every day, just the same." And he stuck in the fork which was as big as a pitch-fork and began to carve with a knife that was even larger than General Pershing's sword.
Well, after a while, a mince pie was brought in, so large that it would have taken Mary Louise thirteen minutes to walk around it if the giant had placed it on the floor. But of course he didn't. No sireemam. He first cut a little piece for her and then a great big tremendous piece for himself, and would you believe he ate two pieces while she was eating one!
At last, when the dinner was over, and the giant had dried the wish bone on the steam heater till it was nice and dry, he handed little Mary Louise the magic knife and told her to make it into a whistle. And would you believe it if I didn't say so, in less than five hundred short seconds she had carved out the prettiest little whistle you ever saw.
"Now, little girl," said Mr. Merry Laugh, "blow on it and make a wish. But don't make the same wish you did before.""Oh dear me," sighed the little girl. "I only wish one thing, and that is to be home with mother.""Get your pony back and I'll help you," said Mr. Merry Laugh kindly.
So Mary Louise blew on her whistle and made a wish, when, all of a sudden, quicker than a wink, they heard a neigh in the courtyard, and looking out of the window, saw Dapple Gray.
"Here, take this little ring," said the giant, "and if ever you are in trouble, turn it around your finger three times and a half."Just then the little yellow bird began to sing:
"'Tis a little golden ring, Such a tiny, pretty thing. But be careful lest you lose it, For you may have need to use it, It possesses such a charm It will keep you from all harm.""Good luck," said Mr. Merry Laugh as he opened the castle door. "Good-by and good luck. Drop in the next time you're in town, and don't forget Castle Merry Laugh, Forest City, U.S.A.""Thank you," answered Mary Louise.
Just then down flew the beautiful Dream Bird.
"I'll take you home," he said."Climb up between my wings!"Then away he went through the air so softly that maybe the little girl fell asleep, for when she woke up, there she was on the beach where she had first met the little Mermaid Princess.
"Oh, oh," yawned Mary Louise, "am I really here?" But nobody answered, so she jumped to her feet and ran home to her mother.
Well, well, have we come to the end of the story, you and I, little reader? I'm sorry I've nothing more to tell you in this book, but listen-- lean over to me and listen--I've written another book for the "Little Journeys to Happyland" series--it is called "The Wind Wagon." Isn't that a strange title?But I know you'll like it--yes, I'm sure you will.
So don't forget.It will be published next year. Yours for a story,David Cory.
