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Updated: May 18, 2025
A nice, broad cover of an egg-crate. It would fit exactly. So, quick as a wink, Jehosophat picked it up and clapped it over the hole. Then he looked around again. It wasn't quite safe yet. But there was the big rock which they used for "Duck-on-the-rock." The very thing!
And that is always the very best way when a friend's in trouble, don't bother him with a lot of questions and pester the life out of him but just take his mind off his troubles by suggesting some nice game to play like marbles or "Duck-on-the-Rock," or going fishing, or something; and if you can't do that, just sit beside him, "quiet-like," and be his friend.
Sometimes he did that, and the tart juice puckered his mouth all up, and what was worse puckered his stomach all up, too. Any way, he felt tired and out-of-sorts; tired of his toys, tired of all the games, even such nice ones as "Duck-on-the-rock" and "Red Rover." There was nothing to do but sit on the fence. Still, the world looked pretty nice from up there.
And then he looked on while they played games hide-and-seek, and duck-on-the-rock, and follow-my-leader, and ever so many others. Now and then old Mr. Crow flew up and tried to talk with Major Monkey. But the Major had very little to say. And at last Mr. Crow lost all patience with him. "Are you going to sit here all day and do nothing?" Mr. Crow demanded. "S-sh!" Major Monkey said. "Do be quiet!
Jehosophat thought for a moment, then he suggested something worth-while: "I'll tell you what, let's play 'Duck-on-the-Rock." Now as every boy in the world at least in America knows, that is a wonderful game, but Marmaduke only said very crossly, "I don't want to play any of your ol' games." Now when Marmaduke acted that way there must have been something the matter.
He carved for us with his knife, with an especial knack for willow whistles. He showed us the colors that lay upon the world when we looked at it through one of the glass pendants of the parlor chandelier. He sat by us when we played duck-on-the-rock. He helped us with our kites and gave a superintendence to our toys.
It whistles on ahead my ideals down the slope of the world. It roars softly, while I sleep, my religion in my ears. When I was small, and wanted suddenly to play tag or duck-on-the-rock I had a little square half-mile of boys near by to play with. My daughter plays tag or plays dolls, any minute she likes, with a whole city.
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