“why are you making such a fine camp here, general?” asked the doctor, as he noticed that the teenie weenies continued to improve the camp. “won’t we have to move on pretty soon if the wild men do not attack?”
“we’ll stay right here for some time,” answered the general, taking off his tiny sword and laying it on the table which stood in front of his tent. “we are within striking distance of the wild men’s village, so the aviator tells me, and we’ll use this camp for our base of operations.”
“general,” said the cook, saluting the commander of the teenie weenie army, “i beg your pardon, but there is something i must tell you.”
“what is it, sir?” said the general, returning the cook’s salute.
“why sir, there’s a thimble missing from among my cooking things. i put two beans to soak in it last night and when i went to look at them a little while ago the beans were lying on the ground and the thimble was gone.”
“that’s most strange,” said the general; “i’ll have the cowboy look into the matter and see if he can find out what has happened to the thimble.”
“thank you, sir,” said the cook, “i’m a little short of cooking pans and kettles and i’d like to have it back.”
the cowboy was ordered to look for the lost thimble, but before he had fairly started the search, the thimble turned up in a most peculiar way. down the main street of the camp towards the general’s tent marched the dunce with the lost thimble over his head and followed by a laughing crowd of soldier.
“what’s the idea of this?” asked the general as the dunce stopped before him.
“safety first,” answered the dunce.
“what do you mean by safety first?” asked the general, trying hard to keep from laughing at the ridiculous sight.
“w-w-well, you s-s-see,” began the dunce, “i thought this thimble would make a fine suit of armor, and protect me from the wild men’s arrows. i took it out back of camp, got some tools and cut a couple of holes for my arms to go through and another hole to see through—”
“yes, and spoiled a perfectly good thimble,” put in the general.
“jinks!” exclaimed the dunce, “i never thought of that.”
“of course you didn’t,” answered the general sternly. “you have a habit of doing your thinking afterwards, and that is a mighty bad habit.”
“quite right! quite right!” cried a field mouse, who had been hanging around the camp for a few days. “quite right, i says. there’s always a time to think. one ought to do a heap of thinking before one acts, i says.”
“yes, you’re right,” put in the general, glaring at the mouse, who was very talkative. “one ought to think a great deal and then he ought to say only about one half of what he thinks.”
“words of wisdom! words of wisdom!” cried the mouse, never dreaming the general’s rebuke was aimed at him, and he strolled down the camp street quite pleased with himself.
“now, dunce,” said the general, “i’m going to try to see if i can help you do a little thinking.”
“y-y-yes, s-s-s-sir,” answered the dunce.
“i’m going to make you wear that thimble for the rest of the day and that ought to help you to remember that you have spoiled a perfectly good cooking pot, just because you didn’t happen to think.”
all day long the poor dunce was forced to walk up and down in front of the general’s tent, wearing the heavy thimble. it was a warm day and the thimble grew quite hot in the sunshine, so his punishment was pretty hard, but there is no doubt it did him a great deal of good.
