MERRIMEG E-Book

William Bowen

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Once upon a time there was a little girl whose name was Merrimeg. Sometimes she was good, and sometimes she was, well, not so good. Whatever the situation she found herself in, or managed to get herself into, she was always merry and happy - if not always obedient.

In this illustrated book are 7 magical adventures on which Merrimeg goes. They are:
Merrimeg and The Chimney Imps
Merrimeg and The Clop-Clop Shoes
Merrimeg and The Starlight Fairies
Merrimeg and The Echo Dwarfs
Merrimeg and The Rag-Bone Man
Merrimeg and The Apple-Seed Elf
Merrimeg and The May-Dew
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KEYWORDS/TAGS: Folklore, fairytales, myths, legends, fairy tales, fables, childrens stories, bedtime stories, air, angry, Apple-Seed, arms, asleep, beautiful, blackbird, bottom, butterfly, caterpillar, cave, children, chimney imps, crying, Elf, echo, fairies, Florrie, forest, garden, gnomes, handkerchief, Hark, ladder, laughter, Malkin, Merrimeg, Myrma, Nibby, Painter, Pennie, Peter, ponies, Rag-and-Bone, Sappy, trees, village, walked, waterfall, white, wings, Winnie, starlight, clop-clop, dwarfs, may-dew

Leseprobe

Merrimeg

BYWilliam Bowen

Illustrated byEmma Brock

Originally Published By

The Macmillan Company, New York[1923]

resurrected by

Abela Publishing, London

[2019]

MERRIMEG

Typographical arrangement of this edition

© Abela Publishing 2019

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission

of the publisher.

Abela Publishing,

London

United Kingdom

ISBN-: 978-X-XXXXXX-XX-X

email:

[email protected]

Website

Abela Publishing

THE TWO GNOMES LED MERRIMEG AWAY

Acknowlegements

Abela Publishing

acknowledge the work that

WILLIAM BOWEN

and

EMMA BROCK

did in authoring and illustrating

this work in a time well before

electronic media was in use.

Dedication

ToMarjorie Ann

Contents

1Merrimeg And The Chimney Imps

2Merrimeg And The Clop-Clop Shoes

3Merrimeg And The Starlight Fairies

4Merrimeg And The Echo Dwarfs

5Merrimeg And The Rag-Bone Man

6Merrimeg And The Apple-Seed Elf

7Merrimeg And The May-Dew

Illustrations

The two gnomes led Merrimeg away - Frontispiece

“Bless my soul!” said one of the gnomes.

In front of them rose a great mountain of snow.

The clop-clop shoes went on into the woods.

Around the walls was a row of gray owls.

“Look!” she cried.

Upward through the water

“Oxtragob borgs, gooblik!”

“How dare you say such a thing? How dare you?”

“Gimme a handkerchief, quick,” said the Rag-Bone Man.

“I can see her peeking in through the door.”

Merrimeg was sitting in an apple tree.

The two gnomes followed him out of the door.

“Have you got the May-dew?”

Merrimeg and the Chimney Imps

ONCE upon a time there was a little girl. Her name was Merrimeg.

Sometimes she was good, and sometimes she was naughty. But she was always merry.

One morning her mother gave her a little broom and told her to sweep the kitchen floor and her mother said, “Now, Merrimeg, be sure to sweep all the dust neatly into the dustpan, and carry it out to the cabbage garden. Will you do that?”

“Yes, mother,” said Merrimeg.

“Don’t sweep any dust into the corners,” said her mother; and she left Merrimeg in the kitchen, and went into the front room to make the beds.

Merrimeg swept and swept with her little broom, and she made up a little song and sang it out loud, keeping time with the broom.

Every little while her mother would call to her from the next room and say,——

“Have you finished yet, Merrimeg?”

“Not yet, mother!” Merrimeg would say, and then she would go on with her sweeping and singing.

She was very happy, but this wasn’t her day to be good; for she was in a great hurry to be out in the garden in the sunshine, and she forgot all about what her mother had said to her; so instead of wasting time on the dustpan, she swept all the dust into the nice clean fireplace, a very large fireplace, big enough to roast a pig in. An iron pot was hanging there, but there wasn’t any fire, and her mother had just cleaned off the hearth so that it was as spotless as new brick.

She swept the dust from under the table and chairs, and out of the corners, and everywhere. And every single bit of the dust she swept into the fireplace, and piled it up at the back on the clean bricks, out of sight. And all the while she kept on singing.

She was stooping down into the fireplace, with her head right at the back, under the chimney, when her mother called to her from the next room and said,——

“Have you finished now, Merrimeg?”

“Yes, mother!” said Merrimeg. “I’m going out into the garden now!”

But she didn’t go out into the garden. Instead of that,—just as she said, “I’m going out into the garden now,” whack! she was knocked against the iron pot, and bang! she was tossed against the back of the fireplace, and whoof! she was whirled up into that black dirty chimney like a leaf in a wind.

And it was a wind, too! She was sucked up in a wind that was rushing up the chimney,—and such a wind! Never had she been caught in a wind like that, not even in the wildest March weather. Before she knew it, she was high up inside the chimney in the pitch dark, stuck fast, and the wind began to die down.

“Mother!” she cried, at the top of her voice. But her mother couldn’t hear her; and all that Merrimeg heard was a sound as if a great many people were laughing at her, a long way off.

It was pitch dark. But all around her, in the black soot of the chimney, were little sparks, like the sparks you see in the soot at the back of the fireplace when the fire is crackling on the hearth,—thousands of tiny sparks, and all of them getting dimmer as the wind died down more and more.

Suddenly the wind sprang up again, stronger and stronger, and the harder the wind blew the brighter the sparks burned. Merrimeg had to hold on fast with her feet and back to keep from being blown out of the top of the chimney.

She could see better now, and she saw what these sparks were. There were thousands of little black imps, sitting along the edges of the bricks in the walls of the chimney; and each spark was the head of a little black imp. She had to look close to see them, they were so tiny, but there they were, sure enough. She could hear them laughing, and it sounded as if a great crowd of grown-up people were laughing fit to kill, a long, long way off.

Every one of them was holding in his hands a wee mite of a bag with two handles, and when he would press these handles together a strong wind would come out of the bag and blow on his head, and make it burn bright like a spark of fire; and when he stopped pressing the handles of his wind bag his head would grow dim again. They were working away at a great rate, keeping their heads alive, and the wind they made nearly blew Merrimeg up out of the chimney.

She didn’t have much time to think about it, for all at once the imps stopped working at their wind bags, and the wind began to go down and their heads to grow dim, and before she knew what was coming Merrimeg felt these little imps, thousands of them, pounce on her, all over her, as thick as flies on honey, over her hair, and face, and arms, and legs, and dress, everywhere, and they were scratching and pinching, so that she screamed out in fright, and nearly fell down the chimney, for there was no wind now to hold her up.

But just then, when all the sparks had nearly gone out, the terrible little creatures suddenly stopped scratching and pinching and began to pump away at their wind bags like mad; for in another second their sparks would have been out, and that would have been the end of them.

That was what saved Merrimeg. The wind that sprang up from the wind bags was twice as strong as it has been before. It caught her, and tore her loose, and picked her up, and whirled her up the chimney, right up to the top of it and out.

There she was, standing in the bright sunshine, on the roof of her own house, looking down into the cabbage garden.

It was a little house, only one story high, but it was too high for her to jump down to the ground; so she crawled to the edge of the roof, and sure enough there was the garden ladder standing against the front wall of the house, and it didn’t take her more than a minute to clamber down the ladder and run to the door.

She knocked on the door and waited for her mother to let her in.

The door opened, and her mother stood in the doorway looking at her. When she saw the little girl who was waiting on the step she raised both her hands in astonishment and opened her mouth wide.

“Oh, mother!” cried Merrimeg. “Let me in, quick! I’m terrible sorry, and I’ve been up the chimney, and I’ll never, never do so any more, indeed I won’t!”

“Why, child,” said her mother, “who are you?”

“Let me in, mother!”

“Who are you, child?”

“Who am I? I’m Merrimeg, of course! Let me in!”

Her mother laughed. “Merrimeg!” she cried, and laughed louder than before. “You! The idea! You must be crazy! Why, child, you’re as black as ink! My Merrimeg is as fair as a lily! I never saw you before!”

“Oh, mother!” cried Merrimeg. “I’m not black. I’m Merrimeg, and I want to come in!”