ONCE upon a time there lived a little old man, with his little old wife, in a little old house that ran on wheels.  Did you ever?  Well, I never did.

The reason why the little old house ran on wheels was, that the little old man used to keep a monkey show in it, and drove it about for a caravan; with an old white horse, that had a blind eye, to draw it; but now the monkeys were all dead and buried, and the little old man and woman lived all alone-ty-donty.  It had bright green blinds, bright red sides, a bright blue door, and bright yellow steps.  On the bright blue door there was a bright brass knocker, which was polished up at such a rate that you could see your face in it, looking as l-o-n-g as anything; and underneath that was a bright brass door plate, with the old showman’s name, “Timmy Timmens,” on it, which was also polished up until you could see your face in it, looking as b-r-o-a-d as anything.  Did you ever?  Well, I never did!

Inside there was a rag carpet of all the colors of the rainbow; a little old four-post bedstead, with a patchwork counterpane; two high-backed rocking chairs, with patchwork covers over the backs; a table with an oil cloth cover, that had a little old tea tray on it, set up against the wall; two bright brass candlesticks, and a china tea set; and in one corner was a glass cupboard, which contained the other plates and dishes.  Hung against the wall over the mantlepiece was a sampler worked by Mrs. Timmy Timmens when she was a girl, which represented Noah’s ark, with all the animals, of exactly the same size, done in cross stitch, in such bright grass-green worsted that it quite set your teeth on edge to look at it.  Besides these, there was a little round stove, with a long stove pipe, that came out on top of the caravan, and ended with a flourishing weathercock, representing a fat old woman in a high gale, with her umbrella turned inside out; which moved when the smoke came puffing up harder than usual, and had no connection whatever with any wind that blew.

Now, Mr. Timmy Timmens and his wife, being mighty simple old people, were fond of reading fairy stories, and believed entirely in every word of them.  They hadn’t the smallest doubt that sprites and fairies were as common as peas this very minute, and would have thought it quite a matter of course if a wonderful gift had suddenly tumbled down the very stove pipe, or a beautiful lady come bursting through the wall, and offered to carry them off to fairy land in a mother-of-pearl chariot, drawn by milk-white doves.  If a cat looked hard at her and mewed piteously, the little old woman would sigh, “Well, this is fairy work, I’ll bet a crooked sixpence!  She looks like an enchanted princess, poor thing! don’t she, Timmy, dear?” If a donkey brayed louder than usual, and seemed more obstinate than ever before, the little old man would exclaim, “There, I told you so! an unfortunate young man, of surpassing beauty, enchanted in this dreadful shape by a wicked fairy!  That’s plain to be seen!  No wonder he utters such cries of distress!” and then they both groaned together, and waggled their heads, and blew their noses so exactly in time with two yellow silk pocket handkerchiefs, that people thought two fishmen must be blowing their horns at once.  Did you ever?  Well, I never did!

One fine morning the little old man and woman went out to take a walk on the common; for the house stood right beside the road, in an empty field of scrubby grass, with no fence round it.  Just behind the house, to be sure, was a paling, which enclosed a garden about as big as a good-sized dining table, where the little old man and woman grew one or two cabbages, two or three tomatuses, three or four potatuses, and four or five radishes, for their own eating; but all the rest was just open common.  The old woman had a large basket in her hand, all ready to pop down over any fairies she might see lying asleep in a bluebell, and the old man was leaning heavily on his stick, as he was rather feeble, and, besides, had the rheumatism in his big toe.

“Dear me, Timmy,” said the old woman, “what a good thing it would be, now, if we could only find a kind fairy who would move our house for us somewhere nearer the village.  Now that poor old Dobbin is dead killed, I’ve no doubt, by a wicked enchanter we can no longer get around from place to place without stirring a step from the house; and we are so far away, that we can’t walk over to take tea with any of our neighbors.  Do let us keep a sharp lookout as we walk along, and see if we can’t find a fairy ring or a fairy flower.”

“With all my heart!” said Tim; and so they tottered along, peering very hard into all the bushes, and hurrying to examine every little patch of grass that looked greener and brighter than the rest, in the hope that it was a fairy ring.  All at once, the little old man stopped short, and pointed with his stick at a beautiful spray of foxglove.

“There!” cried Mr. Timmens.

“Where?” cried Mrs. Timmens.

“Right before your eyes!” said the little old man.  “Don’t you see it?  A fairy foxglove, as my name is Timmy Timmens!”

“My goodness gracious, stars, and what’s-his-names!” cried the little old woman; “so there is! as sure as my name is Polly Timmens!”

So the little old man and woman hurried up to the flower, and after trying a great many times to stoop down, making their old joints crack like so many torpedoes, Mrs. Polly succeeded in plucking it, and off they went, pell-mell, hurry-scurry, to the little old house that ran on wheels, to consult their fairy story books, and see what was the right thing to be done in such a case! Did you ever?  Well, I never did.

Down sat the little old man in his rocking chair with the patchwork cover, and down sat the little old woman in her rocking chair with the patchwork cover; and after a long consultation of the “Sorrows of Prince Popinjay,” and the “Wonderful History of the Princess Lillie Bulero and the Fairy Allinmieyeo,” they discovered that the proper way to do was to hold the fairy foxglove in your hand exactly as the clock struck twelve, at noon, and say

“Rorum corum torum snoram,
Highcum tickleme cockolorum!”

seven times; then shut your eyes tight and wish, stand on one leg and turn round three times, and, presto! you would find, when you opened your eyes, that your wish was accomplished!

“Dear me!” cried Mrs. Polly Timmens when her husband had finished reading this wonderful charm; “how lucky it is that we should be the ones to find the fairy foxglove! just as we were wishing, too, for something of the sort.  Let me see, it is half past eleven now, I declare!  Timmy, my dear, I’ll go into the garden and gather two or three tomatuses and three or four potatuses for dinner, for it would be a shame to leave our fine vegetables behind; and then, as the clock strikes twelve, we’ll try the fairy spell, wish that our house was in the village, and see what comes of it.”

So the little old woman, taking a small basket off a nail, and a sharp knife in her hand, went into the garden to gather the vegetables.  Down she plumped beside the bed, and began to dig and cut at the potatuses to get them up.  Her back was turned to the house, and the tall stalks and thick leaves of the tomato bushes quite hid it from her view when she sat on the ground, for she was a teeny-tawny little old woman.  While she was thus engaged, the little old man was sitting inside with the book open in one hand, for fear he should forget the charm, and the fairy foxglove tight in the other, waiting impatiently for her return.  The hands of the clock kept getting nearer and nearer to twelve, and at last there was only one moment wanting to the time.

“Why, goodness gracious me!” cried Mr. Timmy Timmens; “has Polly forgot all about the fairy wish?  I declare, I have a great mind to begin alone.”  Just as he said these words, the clock began to strike! and at the same moment a tremendous hullabaloo arose on the road.  “There come the fairies!” squeaked the little old man; and without waiting another second, he stood straight up in the middle of the floor, and said, in a trembling voice: 

“Rorum corum torum snorum,
Highcum tickleme cockolorum!”

seven times over; then, shutting up his eyes as tight as possible, stood on one leg, and cried, “Please, good fairy, Polly and I wish our house was in the middle of the village!”

Hardly had he said these words, than a long red object, that looked wonderfully like a cow’s tail, suddenly whisked in at the half open door; the wind caught the door, and shut it to, slam! bang! and with a jerk that made the bright brass knocker give a tremendous double knock on the bright blue door, and sent the bright tin saucepans scattering in every direction, the house started suddenly down on the road on a double-quick trot!  Did you EVER?!  Well, I NEVER did!!

It happened that a large drove of cows and oxen were going down to market that day, and being very hot, and tired, and thirsty, they naturally objected to being driven in that way any longer, and commenced cutting a variety of capers that were enough to frighten you out of your wits.  At last one irascible little bull, who had been riding on the other ones’ backs, charging at all the innocent ducks, geese, and pigs he could find on the road, and finally had tossed one of the men who were driving him right up in the air, dashed on ahead, and, seeing the little house with the bright red sides, took the color as a personal insult to himself.  Down went his head and up went his heels, and in another minute he would have bounced right into poor Mr. Timmy Timmens’ dwelling, when one of the drivers saw him, and rushing up, gave him a good whack with his whip.  Master Bull turned round to see what was to pay; in an instant his tail was caught in the door as I told you, and, frightened half out of his wits, he galloped off, dragging the little house on wheels after him, and roaring with pain, while the drivers looked on, roaring with laughter.

Meanwhile, the little old man remained standing on one leg, not daring to open his eyes, for fear the charm would be broken, and only wishing that the little old woman were with him.  At last the house stopped, moving with another jerk, that sent the little old man toppling back in his rocking chair, and a moment afterward the door was opened a little bit, and a strange voice said, “Well, here we are at the village, old gentleman, begging your pardon,” and then all was silent.

Up jumped the little old man, opening his eyes very wide this time, hobbled to the door, and looked out.  There, sure enough, he was, in the pleasant, shady village street, with the church directly opposite, so nice for Sundays, and nothing to be seen but a drove of cows and oxen going down the road at some distance!

“Well, was there ever anything known like this?” cried Mr. Timmy Timmens.  “If this isn’t the most wonderful fairy doings I ever heard of!  I must go right off to find Polly, and tell her the happy news.”

So saying, he went down the bright yellow steps, carefully shut the bright blue door behind him, and toddled off as fast as he could to the common.

Now the little old woman, before she had finished digging up the potatuses, found the sun very warm and herself very sleepy, and thinking her husband would be sure to call her when twelve o’clock came, she just got under the shade of the tomatuses, and went off in a nice nap.  When she woke, she jumped up in a hurry, exclaiming, “Why, bless me how could I have forgotten about twelve o’clock?  I must make haste into the house this minute.”  But where was the house?  The little old woman stared all around until she nearly stared her eyes out, but it was nowhere to be seen.

“Why, my goodness gracious, stars, and what’s-his-names!” squealed the little old woman, letting fall her knife and basket; “where has the house runned to?  Timmy must have tried the fairy charm without ever telling me!  I mean to go right to the village and see if it is there.”

So she gathered up her basket and knife, stuffed the basket, and her apron, and her pockets with all the vegetables she could carry, and started off for the village.  Before she was half way there, however, she met her husband.  “Where is it?” “There it is!” they called at the same moment, and falling into each other’s arms and a mud puddle, they stood for a long time, saying by turns:  “Did you ever?” “No, I never!” “Would you believe it?” “Not ’less I see’d it!” and then they took hold of hands and trotted off to the little house that ran on wheels.

There they found it, all high and dry, under a big apple tree, looking as nice as ninepence.  With joyful hearts they hurried inside, picked up the saucepans, and cooked all the tomatuses and potatuses for dinner, with an apple dumpling for dessert, made of some of the apples that had fallen off the tree; and after that, the little old man and the little old woman, and the bright green blinds, and the bright red walls, and the bright blue door with the bright brass knocker, and the bright yellow steps, all lived in peace and the middle of the village, believing more firmly than ever in the existence of fairies, and never doubting that their house had been moved solely by the miraculous power of the fairy spell,

“Rorum corum torum snorum,
Highcum tickleme cockolorum!”

And if they’re not dead they live there still!  Don’t you believe it?  Well I NEVER did!