…so it was that miserable Jack Sprat under the tree while biting through his pencils on his rock under the tree, heard a slow moaning and a wet snort of a huge nose – not a brutal snort – yet a huge nose. Then came a yowl of sorts from the unmistakable sound from a bull. ‘Ferdinand!’ Sprat cried as he remembered his friend from the ages and he spun around to see the great huge bull pop tall as Jack had never seen him move before. Sprat left several spent, chewed pencils on the other side of the tree, as though they were a nest of great needles. The huge animal sat upon them and yowled for his life. ‘Ferdinand Galena!’ Sprat howled again and caught the bull’s attention as he calmed down. Jack plucked out the pencils from Ferdinand’s quarters and they both rested again.
‘It’s so nice to see you again,’ said Jack the the large brahma, and he nodded and said the same. Sprat relayed the story of the letters he lost from his friends on the way back from his Aunties house in Lugano, and informed him the letters most written and the letters least written were lost in the lake. The brahma frowned at such news and was glad Hen Wen was on the loose to swim in the lake to find them all! The two decided to retrace Jack’s steps in attaining the letters and they set out for the adventure!
Upon the road down into Lake Lugano from the tree Grabaunden, where they sat upon the rock, a flight of geese happened to the merry two and popped tall to introduce themselves. ‘Pleasure to make your acquaintance!’ Jack and the brahma, Ferdinand quipped together. Jack informed the lead of the goose flight of the plight of the two and even three – minus Hen Wen – she was in the lake, gathering the letters. Mother Goose, as she called herself, honked, “Coarse, Jack Sprat, your pig will do well to find those letters! Don’t you worry.” ‘Thank you, Mother Goose,’ ‘for your faith in my pig’s works.’ “You bet!” she honked back, and they waddled down the path in course of single file then out to the dell where they ran into a loose flight to look for Hen Wen about the lach.
In the glen of the lach, Sprat and Ferdinand Galena came upon a diamond form of trumpeting white swans. ‘How do you do?’ asked Sprat in confidance to the tall and beautiful lead flight. “Fine fine fine, trumpeted the swan. They moved forward in tight formation, all in the same step, already knowing of Sprats plight. They took flight in step, quickly and each wing flapped in synch with all others. Soon they were low to the lach, in diamond form, searching for Hen Wen, with the flight of geese loosely above in V formation, honking at every movement not their own. As mother goose discovered the diamond flight below she quickly took higher to the sky…she knew the trumpeting swans would be ever in her sight and she had to have a better look, higher in the skiy – and so she did. Sure as gold is a sparkle, the diamond form was all trumpeting together at the neck of the bridge out of the lach into the river. The fine fine trumpeters had located Hen Wen. She was lumping along with Sprats messenger bag. “A great sign, the diamond form trumpt back to Sprat,” and Ferdinand and Jack were soon lolliping over the hill to the neck of the lack to bridge where his faithful pig had his messenger bag. ‘Hen Wen!’ Jack cried to her, ‘Have you found them?’ “Yes, I have” the pig snortled back to Sprat. “All of them!” “They floated to the bottem of the lake and took rest there under a beautiful rock with bright green burl. I tried to raise the stone as well, but it was too heavy, Jack!” “Perhaps I was just chicken!” ‘No Hen Wen,’ ‘you were not chicken, I was chicken and am chicken.’ ‘To not attempt the swim to the burled stone myself and have you do it for me! You are so brave, pig!’ He fed her celery and crackers as he laid out the high and low written letters and thought of their value among the median of the remaining letters. ‘Their value is equal and equitable as well, Grand Matron, and shall be included in your vesture! The pig, the brahma and the boy quickly stepped out to the small chalet in Grabaunden where mom was staying, and they returned the letters!
As it so happened, after Young Jack Sprat had his table and the Good Matron set him to bath; she informed him she had an enormous task for the pithy svelt child when he had leder-hosen himself to boots and cleft himself to blouse and coat under hat. She had no need to kilten hose the poor child any longer herself. The kind woman set him down a number of times for such an affair and taught him economy with his very own feet. Proud Young Sprat knew the intricacies of modern econium just by putting on his own socks! He knew the inside and the outside of every manner of business and was not yet six years old, and he knew in seven different languages. Oh, how Young Sprat looked forward to the task the Good Mother was to set him to! And so after his socks and his boots upon his poor svelt stacks were donned befitted tight laced cinched and bowed, for this was no job the mother told him for buckles, he stood up tall and sallied to the matron for his assignment. Looking snappy in his cour-ier wear, the Good Mother parted the messenger bag to fine young sprat which was full of letters from his friends! “I want you to run these letters to your Auntie in Lugan so she may see all the letters you receive from all your friends, Jack Sprat! I included all of them from the infrequentest to the frequentest letters; and I wish for your Auntie to know all of your friends no matter how much or how little they write! Do you understand me, Jack Sprat?” Jack nodded and said “Yes, Ma’am!” Loudly, for he always wished for the Good Matron to know he was listening to her. Poor Young Sprat thought that Lugan was so far away to himself but that he would enjoy the walk. Summertime in southern Switzerland was so beautiful anyway and the route was so well worn anyhow, and with his new boots anything was possible! No, he decided he was going to look forward to this trip, and he was even going to bring his pig, HenWen with him! So the Good Mother packed him some fresh baked bread and some cheese and some beef enough for the journey and sent the Poor Young Sprat on the trail to Lugano to deliver his friends letters to his Auntie so she could see them all. He gathered up his pig, HenWen and they set out on the beautiful alpen trail south into Lugano. Tired young sprat had been whistling for hours and even singing to HenWen when his little stacks caved under him and his messenger bag flew wide open and the letters were suddenly taken up in a gust of wind and a great number of the letters were taken up into the sky and Poor Young Sprat and HenWen watched as the letters tustled and busted and withered thithered and yonned and even sullied and scullied down into Lake Lugano; almost down into the middle of the thing. “Oh well, thought Young Sprat,” “Surely Auntie doesn’t need ALL of the letters. I will bring her what I have left in my messenger bag and that will be good.” When Young Sprat arrived at the Good Auntie’s house, he was surprised to see her take inventory of Jack’s messenger bag’s contents, and even the contents of the letters and from whom and the frequency of the letters from thence! Auntie sure is thorough, Jack thought. Auntie gave Young Jack the very thorough inventory back to him, patted him on the head, offered him a bed for the night, and in the morning sent him back to the Good Matron with strict orders not to lose the inventory. After his breakfast he set out on the trail with HenWen and made it home to the Good Grand Matron Without incident. He forgot to inform her of the lost letters in the lake; after all, they were HIS letters from HIS friends. The Matron, however, was not happy one bit about the contents of her sisters inventory. “Sprat!” “Where are the most frequent letters and the least frequent letters?” she bellowed and echoed. Poor Young Sprat rocked back and forth and slobbered a bit and bit down on his pencil. He was doing his arithmetic. He explained to the Mother that he had no idea that such a specific amount of letters high and low were taken by the wind when he lost his footing. He told her through great heaving sobs of tears he would be glad to go down to the bottom of Lake Lugano to retrieve the letters for her to add them to the rest, and he ran out of the house crying loudly through and rocking heavily, biting down on pencil and looking for HenWen. “HenWen!!! HenWen!! Where are you? Where are you HenWen!?” He ran, sobbing in the night until he reached the great huge tree where he would sit sometimes and read and sob and cry and hurt. And under the great huge tree was a great huge stone; and it was up on this great huge stone Poor Young Sprat would sit and sob and cry and hurt and under the tree the same, he waited for his pig to go to the lake to retrieve the letters, high and low, for the Good Matron Mother; but for now – sob and cry and hurt and ruin another pencil.
As the rain beat down upon the roof, and poor Young Little Sprat sallied his ankles and knees and elbows and tiny sunken chest and empty, unassuming and blissfully ignorant stomach into the bench of the kitchen’s table, he immediately grabbed for his tall glass of fresh from the tit, cold crisp milk. He drank the glug entirely, looked in amazement at the size of his plate and it’s accompaniment, widened his eyes immediately at his self-cranium sized ribe-eye and glanced at his grand matron mother. She smiled and advised he eat every bit of it, especially the beats; ecumen apothic mage the world over purport mysterious magic property about the pickling process. Poor Sprat turned smile right end down at that. The clastic tinc from the origin was enough to make him vomit; the ferment in his mind made the tuber’s dowdy snap a bit tolerable, though. He thought he may tackle the beats straight-aweigh. One taste and a crinkle of the nose told Mother she might just advise him do his best on the beats. And she did. He ate nor tasted beats again, though they were always served. The Mother decides to join him at this point and settles herself in to advise Young Jack on his plates contaminants; and to entertain him thoroughly. He would need such comfort through the episode of consumption; it was such a chore. The beef’s rib-eye cut was still hot and steaming hot. He always looked forward to it’s meat; though the large ribbons of fat troubled him a great deal. The benificient Mother perceived the crinkle there and explained the ribbons aweigh at once to Poor Young Sprat in as much they had the same rights as the great tendril straps of cooked muscle to be eaten. She disregarded common table manner, even; as the house is hers and reached her hand across the quarter of the table’s station, and with her thumb and middle finger,, pinched a piece of fat Young Sprat lopped off and ate it up with great delight! She further explained the ribbons apiece as a saturate device to the cooked beef for excellent flavor and behavoir.
Frightened Young Sprat visited the locker of the house on several occasions. The Mother’s man showed him the sectors of the beast and from where what he would eat would be apportioned from; and so Young Sprat’s vision of the hanging meat was next on the woman’s tongue to remind him. Poor Young Sprat had no difficulties with knowing the where of what for his own plate. With ribbons apart the plate’s daily manner and the Glad Mother Woman’s smiles, song, affirming eye, thumb and long-est finger, Poor Svelt Young Jack Sprat achieved his morning’s duty of finishing the cow’s glass of fat his own self and the plate’s wraps of muscle and ribbons of flavored saturate device devoid of content!
Join us tomorrow and then some. Young Jack Sprat is taught the Very High Manner and Ability of his own stack’s digits as he gathers his pet sow and embarks with her happily to the houses fold. He is scheduled to meet, as he knows it: The Cat and the Fiddle, Every-Other Little Piggy O’ the Reticulate, Ferdinand The Great, The Magnificient Swans No Longer Guinne Fowl, and many many others. …And a funny thing happened on the way to the forum!! So be sure to follow!
Upon picking up the sticks; on the weigh to water the guinne fowl, Little Jack Sprat immediately set his first bundle down. HenWen and her crew were still a great distance of and for the incoming rolling noise. Poor Little Jack Sprat; he was so frightened of un-sunny weather. Mother told him to be the little man of the house for grand-mother as she was both set to work. As fast as his sveltie stacks could carry him past the burn pile and up the hill to the great house he stopped beneath the great russian olive to watch how the storm rolled in to the buttress. He caught his poor little breath in writhing, twisted gasps as the magnificient mountains bellowed fresh, new reided plumes of cummulus activity and he listened as they farted out the best pruut they could manage. “What a site I’ve dropped my bundle for,” Young Sprat shouted to the poofy cush sponging down the basin, …”and Mother will surely be upset,” shaking his finger in anger and turning to the visage of the Lady Herself at the door. “Young Sprat!” She thundered fifty times fifty over and within the incoming noise, “have yourself in the house at once and out of that mess! I have a nice rib-eye sliced for your breakfast and some lovely beats, too with a nice glass of milk.” The incoming parted in several particular directions, he advised his pet pig HenWen stay on the porch and that he would return after his meal.
More tomorrow from Young Sprat at the sight of his table and plate.