The Adventures of Horace Tidwiddler, jlee smith [fastest ebook reader .txt] 📗

CHAPTER ONE - THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

Once upon a time, long ago, before time had numbers and there were no Saturdays, Sundays or Holidays, only work days, there existed a forest of tall, stately oak trees. In this forest was a small valley, and in the valley a very small village known as Placidshire.
Everyone in Placidshire knew when the sun came up it was time to go to work, when the sun was high overhead it was time for the midday meal, and when it was dark it was time to go home. There was no need for calendars with days or clocks with numbers.
Placidshire was governed by Sir Dalton, the King’s second cousin. He was known in the village as Sir Sleeps-a-lot because every day about the crack of Noon, he would lean from the second story bedroom window of his very small castle, wearing an old green nightshirt, and ask: “How goes the work?” The villagers would reply “Hurump, Hurump.” No one knew why, they just did.
In the village, there lived a family by the name of Tidwiddler. There was Papa, Mamma and their young son, Horace Tidwiddler. Horace was rather an unusual child, and even at an early age, it became apparent that he was going to be very different. He was very inquisitive, fascinated with bugs and things like that. He was tall for his age, quite polite and rather a nice looking boy. He had red hair like his mother and his father's blue green eyes and smile. There was just one little thing about Horace that you could not overlook. He was terribly forgetful. He could not remember anything. If he was asked to go somewhere and do something, before he got there, he would forget what he had been asked to do and even where he was going.
As time went by, he became known as Horace the Forgetful. Horace got lost a lot, an awful lot. On these days when Horace went missing, the villagers would stop their work and hunt for Horace. After a few years of this, it became quite a gay affair with pickle sandwiches, apples and cider. They had a grand time looking for Horace.
After several years of hunting for Horace, the villagers decided to divide into teams. The Team that found Horace got to wear bright red ribbons that said “We Found Horace”. Everyone loved a Hunt for Horace Day. Everyone, except Sir Dalton.
On the days that Horace went missing, Sir Dalton would lean from his bedroom window and ask “How goes the work?.” But he got no “Hurumps Hurumps”. This troubled Sir Dalton as he knew that all the village chores were not being taken care of because everyone was out searching for Horace. Something had to be done.
Finally, Sir Dalton came up with a plan to keep Horace from getting lost so often; he would put him to work. Sir Dalton tore his old green nightshirt into two pieces and painted a large black “T” for Tidwiddler on each piece. He then tied one piece to his old rusty suit of silver armor which hung on a nail in the barn. The other piece was tied to the bridle of his horse, Guiensenbach. Sir Dalton then called all the villagers to a meeting and proclaimed he was giving the jobs of polishing his armor and the daily brushing of his horse, Guiensenbach, to Horace Tidwiddler. Everyone in the village was very proud of Horace.
Horace took pride in his new job and did very well at brushing Guiensenbach’s beautiful white mane and long flowing tail. However, Horace found it hard to polish the limp armor hanging on a nail. Horace had an idea. He stuffed Sir Dalton’s armor with his own dirty laundry and tied the armor to Guiensenbach’s saddle. This way, he could polish and brush at the same time, His plan worked very well.
One day, Sir Dalton received an urgent message from the King. The dreaded Worscheskies of Worskivania were invading the land and all the villagers were to prepare for battle. The only thing Sir Dalton knew about battle was that the troops must have swords and know how to march. As he knew his villagers had no swords, he ordered all men in the village to make wooden swords for practice and prepare to learn to march. Sir Dalton then ordered the villagers to set aside every sixth and seventh day for marching and sword swinging practice, everyone that is, except Horace, since he was in charge of polishing armor and brushing Guiensenbach. There were only twenty men in the village and each was given a bright red sash to hold his wooden sword while they practiced marching. Oh, they were a grand sight preparing for battle as they stomped up and down the dusty trail that led through the village.
One fateful morning, as the men practiced their marching and sword swinging, Horace was brushing and polishing when an accident occurred which would change things forever. Horace was busy in the barn polishing Sir Dalton’s armor, which was stuffed with Horace’s dirty laundry and tied firmly to Guiensenbach’s saddle. The horse backed her rump into Sir Dalton’s long silver lance, let out a loud surprised whinny, and broke from the barn in a full gallop. Horace grabbed a hand full of Guiensenbach’s white flowing tail and held on for dear life. As they rounded a bend in the trail, Horace was thrown head over heels into the bushes. Guiensenbach, with Sir Dalton’s armor tied firmly in place, charged on down the trail right past the marching, stomping, wooden sword swinging villagers. Thinking battle was at hand, the hearty little band grabbed hold of Guiensenbach’s flowing tail and each other; then holding on to their wooden swords, and, running as fast as they could, tried to keep up with what they thought was their brave leader, Sir Dalton. Guiensenbach galloped down the trail and over the hill. Oh, it was a glorious, magnificent sight.
Over the hill and head long into five hundred mounted Worscheskies in full battle armor. The brave little band of twenty souls so startled the advancing ranks of mounted warriors that the warriors parted and formed a great circle around them.
As Guiensenbach pranced around the circle with the small band of villagers holding tight to her tail, and to each other, wood swords flailing the air, a single arrow flew and pierced the chest of Sir Dalton’s armor. All fell silent as the great Knight, in his armor, continued to circle the field of battle with an arrow stuck firmly in his chest. As the Family Coat of Arms, a Black “T” on a field of green, fluttered in the breeze, the leader of the Worscheskies raised his hand and shouted “Hold”. “Let this brave knight retire from the field of battle so that he may live to fight another day”.
The circle parted and, Guiensenbach, spying the opening, raced through with all twenty brave souls in tow and headed straight for the barn at a gallop. The Worscheskies, seeing the bravery of these men, decided it may be best to return home and fight another day, so they did.
Horace, having seen all of this from his place in the bushes, rushed back to the barn just in time to meet Guiensenbach. The twenty brave souls rushed back to the village with their of tales of glorious bravery and victory, just in time to see Sir Dalton, in his new bright red nightshirt, stick his head from the bedroom window of the small two story castle and shout, “How goes the work?” The truth was out, it was Horace that led their magnificent charge, not Sir Dalton.
So, to this day in Placidshire, on every sixth and seventh day, and the Hunt for Horace Day, a small flag with a large black “T” on a field of green flies over the Village Square, while around the campfires of the dreaded Worscheskies, the tale is told and retold of the bravery of Horace the Horrible. And, in Placidshire, Horace was no longer known as Horace the Forgetful but rather as Horace the Brave.


CHAPTER TWO - HORACE MEETS AUNT MATT


With his new status in the village as Horace the Brave, came a new responsibility. Horace was required to say good morning and good evening to everyone he met. This was because everyone said good morning and good evening to him. His Mother told him it was the polite thing to do but Horace began to wish there were not as many people in the village as there were. Horace started slipping out to the edge of the forest to be alone and sit on the grass and just think. Not about anything in particular, just everything in general. Like why bullfrogs don’t bump their behinds when they jump, important stuff like that.
One morning, during one of these thinking sessions, a large round bug came wandering by. It stopped and stared at Horace for the longest time, so Horace just stared back. It was green with purple wings and whiskers. It was the strangest bug Horace had ever seen. Horace picked up a stick and poked the bug. The bug did not like the poke and moved back on its hind legs, reared up with its fore legs in the air and spit at the stick. Horace was not the smartest kid in the village, but he knew stink when he smelled it. This bug gave off the worst smell Horace had ever come across in his life. Horace knew he had to show this bug to somebody, so without thinking a second thought, Horace carefully picked up the bug by its wings and placed it in his shirt pocket.
Horace was in rare spirits because it was not raining, he had polished Sir Dalton’s suit of armor and had brushed Guiensenbach’s flowing white tail. The sky was clear blue and he had not sat in cow poop like last week. All in all, it was turning out to be a wonderful day! It was at this point that Bug began to wiggle around in Horace’s shirt pocket and poked his head out to see where he was. Looking up into the underside of Horace’s large nose would have scared most creatures but Bug was terrified! It gave a shutter and with all it’s stink power let the nose have a full blast. At first Horace lost the ability to breath, his eyes began to water, his legs got weak and gave way. Horace fell on his butt and passed out. Bug crawled out of the shirt pocket and went home.
When Horace awoke, he had a very bad taste in his mouth, an awful headache and grass in his teeth. He had never in his life passed out so he was not sure just what had occurred. But one thing he was sure of, he did not want to do it again. It was about this time he noticed two small round black eyes staring at him from under a bush.