CHIMBORAZO was a very unhappy boy. He pouted, and he sulked, and he said, “Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!” He said it till everybody was tired of hearing it.

“Chimborazo,” his mother would say, “please don’t say, ‘Oh, dear!’ any more. It is very annoying. Say something else.”

“Oh, dear!” the boy would answer, “I can’t! I don’t know anything else to say. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!! oh, DEAR!!!”

One day his mother could not bear it any longer, and she sent for his fairy godmother, and told her all about it.

“Humph!” said the fairy godmother. “I will see to it. Send the boy to me!”

So Chimborazo was sent for, and came, hanging his head as usual. When he saw his fairy godmother, he said, “Oh, dear!” for he was rather afraid of her.

“‘Oh, dear!’ it is!” said the godmother sharply; and she put on her spectacles and looked at him. “Do you know what a bell-punch is?”

“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo. “No, ma’am, I don’t!”

“Well,” said the godmother, “I am going to give you one.”

“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “I don’t want one.”

“Probably not,” replied she, “but that doesn’t make much difference. You have it now, in your jacket pocket.”

Chimborazo felt in his pocket, and took out a queer-looking instrument of shining metal. “Oh, dear!” he said.

“‘Oh, dear!’ it is!” said the fairy godmother. “Now,” she continued, “listen to me, Chimborazo! I am going to put you on an allowance of ‘Oh, dears.’ This is a self-acting bell-punch, and it will ring whenever you say ‘Oh, dear!’ How many times do you generally say it in the course of the day?”

“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “I don’t know. Oh, dear!”

“Ting! ting!” the bell-punch rang twice sharply; and looking at it in dismay, he saw two little round holes punched in a long slip of pasteboard which was fastened to the instrument.

“Exactly!” said the fairy. “That is the way it works, and a very pretty way, too. Now, my boy, I am going to make you a very liberal allowance. You may say ‘Oh, dear!’ forty-five times a day. There’s liberality for you!”

“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo, “I—”

“Ting!” said the bell-punch.

“You see!” observed the fairy. “Nothing could be prettier. You have now had three of this day’s allowance. It is still some hours before noon, so I advise you to be careful. If you exceed the allowance—” Here she paused, and glowered through her spectacles in a very dreadful manner.

“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo. “What will happen then?”

“You will see!” said the fairy godmother, with a nod. “Something will happen, you may be very sure of that. Good-by. Remember, only forty-five!” And away she flew out of the window.

“Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo, bursting into tears. “I don’t want it! I won’t have it! Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, DEAR!!!”

“Ting! ting! ting-ting-ting-ting!” said the bell-punch; and now there were ten round holes in the strip of pasteboard. Chimborazo was now really frightened. He was silent for some time; and when his mother called him to his lessons he tried very hard not to say the dangerous words. But the habit was so strong that he said them unconsciously. By dinner-time there were twenty-five holes in the cardboard strip; by tea-time there were forty! Poor Chimborazo! he was afraid to open his lips, for whenever he did the words would slip out in spite of him.

“Well, Chimbo,” said his father after tea, “I hear you have had a visit from your fairy godmother. What did she say to you, eh?”

“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “she said—oh, dear! I’ve said it again!”

“She said, ‘Oh, dear! I’ve said it again!’” repeated his father. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, dear! I didn’t mean that,” cried Chimborazo hastily; and again the inexorable bell rang, and he knew that another hole was punched in the fatal cardboard. He pressed his lips firmly together, and did not open them again except to say “Good-night,” until he was safe in his own room. Then he hastily drew the hated bell-punch from his pocket, and counted the holes in the strip of cardboard; there were forty-three! “Oh, dear!” cried the boy, forgetting himself again in his alarm, “only two more! Oh, dear! oh, DEAR! I’ve done it again! oh—” “Ting! ting!” went the bell-punch; and the cardboard was punched to the end. “Oh, dear!” cried Chimborazo, now beside himself with terror. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!! what will become of me?”

A strange whirring noise was heard, then a loud clang; and the next moment the bell-punch, as if it were alive, flew out of his hand, out of the window, and was gone!

Chimborazo stood breathless with terror for a few minutes, momentarily expecting that the roof would fall in on his head, or the floor blow up under his feet, or some appalling catastrophe of some kind follow; but nothing followed. Everything was quiet, and there seemed to be nothing to do but go to bed; and so to bed he went, and slept, only to dream that he was shot through the head with a bell-punch, and died saying, “Oh, dear!”

The next morning, when Chimborazo came downstairs, his father said, “My boy, I am going to drive over to your grandfather’s farm this morning; would you like to go with me?”

A drive to the farm was one of the greatest pleasures Chimborazo had, so he answered promptly, “Oh, dear!”

“Oh, very well!” said his father, looking much surprised. “You need not go, my son, if you do not want to. I will take Robert instead.”

Poor Chimborazo! He had opened his lips to say, “Thank you, papa. I should like to go very much!” and, instead of these words, out had popped, in his most doleful tone, the now hated “Oh, dear!” He sat amazed; but was roused by his mother’s calling him to breakfast.

“Come, Chimbo,” she said. “Here are sausages and scrambled eggs: and you are very fond of both of them. Which will you have?”

Chimborazo hastened to say, “Sausages, please, mamma,”—that is, he hastened to try to say it; but all his mother heard was, “Oh, dear!”

His father looked much displeased. “Give the boy some bread and water, wife,” he said sternly. “If he cannot answer properly, he must be taught. I have had enough of this ‘oh, dear!’ business.”

Poor Chimborazo! He saw plainly enough now what his punishment was to be; and the thought of it made him tremble. He tried to ask for some more bread, but only brought out his “Oh, dear!” in such a lamentable tone that his father ordered him to leave the room. He went out into the garden, and there he met John the gardener, carrying a basket of rosy apples. Oh! how good they looked!

“I am bringing some of the finest apples up to the house, little master,” said John. “Will you have one to put in your pocket?”

“Oh, dear!” was all the poor boy could say, though he wanted an apple, oh, so much! And when John heard that he put the apple back in his basket, muttering something about ungrateful monkeys.

Poor Chimborazo! I will not give the whole history of that miserable day,—a miserable day it was from beginning to end. He fared no better at dinner than at breakfast; for at the second “Oh, dear!” his father sent him up to his room, “to stay there until he knew how to take what was given him, and be thankful for it.” He knew well enough by this time; but he could not tell his father so. He went to his room, and sat looking out of the window, a hungry and miserable boy.

In the afternoon his cousin Will came up to see him. “Why, Chimbo!” he cried. “Why do you sit moping here in the house, when all the boys are out? Come and play marbles with me on the piazza. Ned and Harry are out there waiting for you. Come on!”

“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo.

“What’s the matter?” asked Will. “Haven’t you any marbles? Never mind. I’ll give you half of mine, if you like. Come!”

“Oh, DEAR!” said Chimborazo.

“Well,” said Will, “if that’s all you have to say when I offer you marbles, I’ll keep them myself. I suppose you expected me to give you all of them, did you? I never saw such a fellow!” and off he went in a huff.

“Well, Chimborazo,” said the fairy godmother “what do you think of ‘Oh, dear!’ now?”

Chimborazo looked at her beseechingly, but said nothing.

“Finding that forty-five times was not enough for you yesterday, I thought I would let you have all you wanted to-day, you see,” said the fairy wickedly.

The boy still looked imploringly at her, but did not open his lips.

“Well, well,” she said at last, touching his lips with her wand, “I think that is enough in the way of punishment, though I am sorry you broke the bell-punch. Good-by! I don’t believe you will say ‘Oh, dear!’ any more.”

And he didn’t.