the boy, laughing at the idea. “And of course it can’t ever be alive, because it is made of wood.”
“So am I,” answered the man.
Tip looked at him in surprise.
“Why, so you are!” he exclaimed. “And the magic powder that brought you to life is here in my pocket.”
He brought out the pepper box, and eyed it curiously.
“I wonder,” said he, musingly, “if it would bring the sawhorse to life.”
“If it would,” returned Jack, calmly for nothing seemed to surprise him “I could ride on its back, and that would save my joints from wearing out.”
“I’ll try it!” cried the boy, jumping up. “But I wonder if I can remember the words old Mombi said, and the way she held her hands up.”
He thought it over for a minute, and as he had watched carefully from the hedge every motion of the old witch, and listened to her words, he believed he could repeat exactly what she had said and done.
So he began by sprinkling some of the magic Powder of Life from the pepperbox upon the body of the sawhorse. Then he lifted his left hand, with the little finger pointing upward, and said: “Weaugh!”
“What does that mean, dear father?” asked Jack, curiously.
“I don’t know,” answered Tip. Then he lifted his right hand, with the thumb pointing upward and said: “Teaugh!”
“What’s that, dear father?” inquired Jack.
“It means you must keep quiet!” replied the boy, provoked at being interrupted at so important a moment.
“How fast I am learning!” remarked the Pumpkinhead, with his eternal smile.
Tip now lifted both hands above his head, with all the fingers and thumbs spread out, and cried in a loud voice: “Peaugh!”
Immediately the sawhorse moved, stretched its legs, yawned with its chopped-out mouth, and shook a few grains of the powder off its back. The rest of the powder seemed to have vanished into the body of the horse.
“Good!” called Jack, while the boy looked on in astonishment. “You are a very clever sorcerer, dear father!”
5. The Awakening of the Sawhorse
The SawHorse, finding himself alive, seemed even more astonished than Tip. He rolled his knotty eyes from side to side, taking a first wondering view of the world in which he had now so important an existence. Then he tried to look at himself; but he had, indeed, no neck to turn; so that in the endeavor to see his body he kept circling around and around, without catching even a glimpse of it. His legs were stiff and awkward, for there were no knee-joints in them; so that presently he bumped against Jack Pumpkinhead and sent that personage tumbling upon the moss that lined the roadside.
Tip became alarmed at this accident, as well as at the persistence of the SawHorse in prancing around in a circle; so he called out:
“Whoa! Whoa, there!”
The SawHorse paid no attention whatever to this command, and the next instant brought one of his wooden legs down upon Tip’s foot so forcibly that the boy danced away in pain to a safer distance, from where he again yelled:
“Whoa! Whoa, I say!”
Jack had now managed to raise himself to a sitting position, and he looked at the SawHorse with much interest.
“I don’t believe the animal can hear you,” he remarked.
“I shout loud enough, don’t I?” answered Tip, angrily.
“Yes; but the horse has no ears,” said the smiling Pumpkinhead.
“Sure enough!” exclaimed Tip, noting the fact for the first time. “How, then, am I going to stop him?”
But at that instant the SawHorse stopped himself, having concluded it was impossible to see his own body. He saw Tip, however, and came close to the boy to observe him more fully.
It was really comical to see the creature walk; for it moved the legs on its right side together, and those on its left side together, as a pacing horse does; and that made its body rock sidewise, like a cradle.
Tip patted it upon the head, and said “Good boy! Good Boy!” in a coaxing tone; and the SawHorse pranced away to examine with its bulging eyes the form of Jack Pumpkinhead.
“I must find a halter for him,” said Tip; and having made a search in his pocket he produced a roll of strong cord. Unwinding this, he approached the SawHorse and tied the cord around its neck, afterward fastening the other end to a large tree. The SawHorse, not understanding the action, stepped backward and snapped the string easily; but it made no attempt to run away.
“He’s stronger than I thought,” said the boy, “and rather obstinate, too.”
“Why don’t you make him some ears?” asked Jack. “Then you can tell him what to do.”
“That’s a splendid idea!” said Tip. “How did you happen to think of it?”
“Why, I didn’t think of it,” answered the Pumpkinhead; “I didn’t need to, for it’s the simplest and easiest thing to do.”
So Tip got out his knife and fashioned some ears out of the bark of a small tree.
“I mustn’t make them too big,” he said, as he whittled, “or our horse would become a donkey.”
“How is that?” inquired Jack, from the roadside.
“Why, a horse has bigger ears than a man; and a donkey has bigger ears than a horse,” explained Tip.
“Then, if my ears were longer, would I be a horse?” asked Jack.
“My friend,” said Tip, gravely, “you’ll never be anything but a Pumpkinhead, no matter how big your ears are.”
“Oh,” returned Jack, nodding; “I think I understand.”
“If you do, you’re a wonder,” remarked the boy “but there’s no harm in thinking you understand. I guess these ears are ready now. Will you hold the horse while I stick them on?”
“Certainly, if you’ll help me up,” said Jack.
So Tip raised him to his feet, and the Pumpkinhead went to the horse and held its head while the boy bored two holes in it with his knife-blade and inserted the ears.
“They make him look very handsome,” said Jack, admiringly.
But those words, spoken close to the SawHorse, and being the first sounds he had ever heard, so startled the animal that he made a bound forward and tumbled Tip on one side and Jack on the other. Then he continued to rush forward as if frightened by the clatter of his own footsteps.
“Whoa!” shouted Tip, picking himself up; “whoa! you idiot whoa!” The SawHorse would probably have paid no attention to this, but just then it stepped a leg into a gopher-hole and stumbled head-over-heels to the ground, where it lay upon its back, frantically waving its four legs in the air.
Tip ran up to it.
“You’re a nice sort of a horse, I must say!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t you stop when I yelled ‘whoa?’”
“Does ‘whoa’ mean to stop?” asked the SawHorse, in a surprised voice, as it rolled its eyes upward to look at the boy.
“Of course it does,” answered Tip.
“And a hole in the ground means to stop, also, doesn’t it?” continued the horse.
“To be sure; unless you step over