fish fellow. He was always willing anybody should divide
good things with him, but was never willing, himself, to divide with
anybody else. He was never willing to play with others, for fear he would
not be treated right. His two brothers and his sister had their playthings
together, but Simon would not play with them, for fear he should not get
his rights in all things, and so he took his little stock and set up for
himself. His brothers and sister, of course, by putting theirs together,
had many more than he. Then, too, by working together, they managed to
fix up many nice things. But poor Simon had nobody to help him, and
nobody to play with him. So he came to feel very bad. He thought
everybody was angry with him.

One sunny afternoon, when the other children were laughing and shouting
merrily, poor Simon tried in vain to be happy by himself. Something in
his throat kept choking him.

("I guess it was the cry that choked him," broke in the Small Chicken. "I
had a cry in my throat yesterday. It was bigger than my fist, and most
choked me to death, till I let it out.")

Yes, that was what hurt him, and presently he let it out, as you say, and
had a good, hard cry. Then gradually he went off into a sort of doze.
Soon he felt something strike him on the head.

"Wake up! wake up!"

Simon opened his eyes, and saw a funny, little, old man standing over
him, who kept one of his eyes shut all the time, and looked out of the
other with the queerest twinkle in the world. He had a knotty stick in
his hand, and was tapping Simon over the head with it.

"What do you want?" growled Simon.

With that the old man hit him another sharp blow over the head.

"Get up," he said, "and come with me, and I will show you where I live. I
am one of the Garulies."

Simon got to his feet, partly because he was afraid of another blow from
the cudgel, and partly because he had a very great desire to know
something of the Garulies.

"Come along! come along!" said the queer little man, as he gave Simon
another tap.

He took the road through the woods pasture, down under Swallow Hill, and
then through the blackberry patch, until they came to the brook known as
"Bee Tree Run." Here, just at the foot of a large sycamore, and among its
roots, was fastened a curious boat, made of a large turtle shell turned
upside down.

"Get in! get in!" squealed the little old Garuly.

"I am too large," said Simon; "that craft will sink if I step in."