Don

Cook made him too good and much too sweet.
Gingerbread Man could not stand the heat.

So then she added a little salt and reached up into the spice cabinet for some spice. Most of her spice bottles had pictures on them, but this one did not, so she added just a dash, and maybe it's lucky she did because when she rolled the dough out flat it turned into a beautiful, smooth, dark-yellow dough. Cook pursed her lips and said, "Hmm, I wonder what that spice was? I've never seen my dough come out this way before."

But you know, when you cannot read or write you never do know how your dough will turn out. Do you? So, cook took the funny looking dough, if it was dough, and rolled it out first thick and then real thin. "It still looks funny. Did I forget to put something in? Or maybe I put too much in. Ah well --"

Then she took the square tins out of a drawer and powdered them up so good that powder went everywhere. Next Cook cut out some square cakes for the little boys, and with some round tins she cut out some round cakes for the little girls, and then she said, “You know what I think I'm going to do? I’m going to make a little gingerbread man for little Bobby.”

So she took a nice round lump of the funny looking dough for the body of the GingerBread Man, and a smaller lump for his head, which she pulled out a little for the neck. Two other lumps were stuck on beneath the body to make the legs, and they were pulled out into proper shape, with feet and teeny weeny little toes all complete, and last of all -- two still smaller pieces of the funny looking dough were made into arms, with dear little hands and fingers.

But Cook's sweetest work was applied to the head, for the top was frizzed up into a pretty sugary hat; on either side was made a dear little ear, and in front, after the nose had been carefully molded, a beautiful mouth was made out of a big prune, and two bright little eyes were made with burnt almonds and out of her spice rack came what might have been some caraway seeds.

Then the gingerbread man was finished, ready for baking, and a very jolly little man he was. In fact, he looked so sly that the cook was suddenly afraid he was plotting some mischief, and when the batter was ready for the oven, she put in the square cakes and she put in the round cakes; and then she put the little gingerbread man in a far back corner, where she couldn’t see him grin.

Then she went up to sweep the parlor, and she dusted and she swept so much she opened the back door to let the dust out, then she swept till the clock struck eleven, or was it twelve? Cook couldn't count because she had skipped school so much, so she always had to guess how many times the clock struck.

So, the thirty nine year old cook that could not count, read or write because she had skipped school so much dropped her broom in a hurry, and exclaimed, “Lawks! If that clock was striking twelve then the potatoes are supposed to be done and I haven't even peeled them yet -- Oh NO! the gingerbread will be baked all to a cinder.”

Cook kicked the broom out of her way and then she ran into the kitchen, and yanked the oven door open. But maybe it was only eleven after all because the square cakes were all done, nice and hard and brown, and the round cakes were all done, nice and hard and brown too. But where in the dickens was the gingerbread man?

There he was! Standing up and hiding in the corner with his little caraway-seed eyes sparkling, and his split prune mouth was just bubbling over with mischief.

As soon as he decided Cook had seen him he darted to the left and he darted to the right. Then, with a hop, and a skip, and a jump, he sailed right over the square cakes made for the boys and ran around the round cakes made for the girls, then he gathered up speed and jumped right over the cook’s arm. Before she could say “Drot the Luck anyway” he was skidding across the kitchen floor just as fast as his teeny weeny little legs would carry him towards the back door, which was still standing wide open, and through which he could see the open garden path.

The thirty nine year old cook that couldn't count, read or write because she had skipped school so much when she was young, turned round as fast as she could. That wasn’t very fast, for she was rather a heavy woman and she had been taken quite by surprise. Then she saw -- lying right across the open door-way, fast asleep in the sun of course, old Mouser, the cat. What great luck that was, don't you think?

But, NO, it wasn't. Cook was too excited and she began to order the cat around instead of saying PLEASE; as we all know, cats don't take orders very well.

“Mouser, Mouser,” Cook cried, “stop the gingerbread man! I want him for little Bobby.” When the cook first called, Mouser pretended it was only some one calling in her dreams, and she simply rolled over lazily. One eye twitched open a teeny weeny little bit, then it closed and Mouser went back to sleep.

But when Cook called again, “Mouser, Mouser!” the old cat sprang up with a jump, but just as she turned round to ask the cook what all the noise was about, the little gingerbread man cleverly crawled under her twitching tail, and in an instant he was trotting down the garden walk as if nothing at all were happening, he even whistled a jaunty little tune as he trotted along.

Mouser turned in a hurry and ran after the gingerbread man, although she was still rather too sleepy to know just what it was she was trying to catch, and after the cat came the cook, lumbering along rather heavily, but also making pretty good speed.

Now at the bottom of the walk, lying fast asleep in the sun against the warm stones of the garden wall, was Towser, the dog.

And the cook called out: “Towser, Towser,
stop the gingerbread man!
I want him for little Bobby.”

And when Towser first heard her calling he thought it was some one speaking in his dreams, so he only turned over on his side, with another wheeze, but then the cook called again: “Towser, Towser, stop him, stop him if you can!”

Then the dog yanked both eyes open and he woke up in good earnest. He jumped up on his feet to see what it was that he should stop. But just as the dog jumped up, the little gingerbread man, who had been watching for this sort of chance, quietly slipped between the dog's legs, and climbed up on the top of the stone wall, so that Towser saw nothing but the cat running towards him down the walk, and behind the cat the cook came running. She was huffing and puffing, and now quite out of breath.

He thought at once that the cat must have stolen something from the kitchen, and that it was the cat that the cook wanted him to stop. That put a grin on the dog's face because if there was anything that Towser liked to chase, it was that drotted cat.

He jumped up on the walk, growling so fiercely that the poor cat did not have time to stop herself or to get out of his way, and they came together with a great fizzing, and barking, and meowing, and howling, and scratching, and biting, as if a couple of Catherine-wheels had gone off in the wrong way and had got mixed up with one another.

But the old cook had been running so hard that she was not able to stop herself any better than the cat had done, and she fell right on top of the mixed up dog and cat, so that all three rolled over onto the grass in a heap together.

And the cat scratched whichever came nearest, whether it was a piece of the dog or a piece of the cook, and the dog bit at whatever came nearest, whether it was a piece of the cat or a piece of the cook, so that the poor cook was badly mauled on both sides.

Meanwhile, the gingerbread man had quit laughing and climbed up on the garden wall. There he stood on the top with his hands in his pockets, looking at the scrimmage below, and he laughed till the tears ran down from his little caraway-seed eyes and his split plum mouth was bubbling hot juice all over with fun.

After a little while, the cat managed to pull herself out from under the cook and away from the dog, and a very cast-down and crumpled-up-looking cat she was. She had had enough of hunting gingerbread men, and she crept back to the kitchen to repair damages.

The dog, who was very cross because his face had been badly scratched, quit nibbling on the cook, and at last, catching sight of the gingerbread man, dashed off like a streak of lightning for the garden wall. The cook picked herself up, and although her face was also badly scratched and her dress was torn, she was determined to see the end of the chase, and she followed after the dog, though this time Cook moved much more slowly.

When the gingerbread man saw the dog coming, he jumped down on the farther side of the wall, and began running across the field. Now in the middle of the field was a tree, and at the foot of the tree was lying Jocko, the monkey. He wasn’t asleep—monkeys never are—and when he
saw the little gingerbread man running across the field and heard the cook calling, “Jocko, Jocko, stop the gingerbread man,” he at once gave one big jump. But he jumped so fast and so far that he went right over the gingerbread man, and as luck would have it, he came down on the back of Towser, the dog, who had just scrambled over
the wall, and whom he had not noticed before.

Towser was naturally taken by surprise by the monkey landing on his back, so he snapped his head around and promptly bit off the end of the monkey’s tail. With a fierce chattering Jocko quickly jumped off again, chattering his indignation.

Meanwhile, the gingerbread man had ran
to the bottom of the tree, and was reasoning
with himself:
“Now, I know the dog can’t climb a tree,
and I'm fairly certain the old cook can't climb
a tree. But as for the monkey I’m not sure, for
I’ve never seen a monkey before, but I know
that I can climb a tree and so I am going up.”

As he came down, he could see through the window
in the field beyond the garden the cook, and the dog,
and the monkey, and could even hear the barking of
Towser and the chattering of Jocko. He scampered
down the walk, with his teeny weeny little bare feet
pattering against the warm gravel, climbed over the
wall, and in a few seconds arrived under the tree,
just as Jocko was holding up the poor little gingerbread man.

Bobby gave a second bite,
and he swallowed the rest of the body
-- and then the arms, too.

and Cook decided she should get out more often
so she took up night classes and struggled hard
to learn how to read and write.