MR. WHISTLE-IT

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1028, 19 July 1930, Page 31

MR. WHISTLE-IT

In the far-away days when it was summer all the year round, and mulberries grew on apple trees, there lived a little man called Mr. Whistle-It. They called him that because whenever he heard a tune he would whistle it for weeks on end, and nobody minded, because his whistle was such a merry one.

He used to travel about a great deal, and nobody minded that either, because he made people happy wherever he went.

Well, one day he was walking along a country road, with a new tune on his lips, when a blackbird swooped down and stole his whistle. Poor Mr. Whistle-It tried in vain to whistle it, but not a sound would come. And there was the blackbird perched on the topmost bough of a nearby tree, whistling that self-same tune to the morning. “The impudence!” said Mr. WhistleIt. “I must get it back immediately!” And he climbed the tree to the topmost bough, and reached out to seize the blackbird.

“Try again!” whistled the culprit, as he flew to another tree, and of course poor Mr. Whistle-It had to climb that also.

All day long he chased the blackbird from tree to tree, until, quite exhausted, he decided to go home. And just as he reached his gate, down swooped the blackbird and gave him back his whistle. “I just wanted to borrow it,” he said, “so I could learn how to whistle.”

So Mr. Whistle-It went on whistling all his life long, and there will always be noisy blackbirds in the world, even though mulberries no longer grow on apple trees.