Read Online Stuart Little by E. B. White, Garth Williams - Free Book Online

sky, in this loveliest of all towns Stuart stopped to get a
drink of sarsaparilla.
    Parking his car in front of
the general store, he stepped out and the sun felt so good that he sat down on
the porch for a few moments to enjoy the feeling of being in a new place on a
fine day. This was the most peaceful and beautiful spot he had found in all his
travels. It seemed to him a place he would gladly spend the rest of his life
in, if it weren’t that he might get homesick for the sights of New York and for
his family, Mr. and Mrs. Frederick C. Little and George, and if it weren’t for
the fact that something deep inside him made him want to find Margalo.
    After a while the
storekeeper came out to smoke a cigarette, and he joined Stuart on the front steps.
He started to offer Stuart a cigarette but when he noticed how small he was, he
changed his mind.
    “Have you any sarsaparilla
in your store?” asked Stuart. “I’ve got a ruinous thirst.”
    “Certainly,” said the
storekeeper.
    “Gallons of it. Sarsaparilla,
root beer, birch beer, ginger ale, Moxie, lemon soda, Coca Cola, Pepsi Cola, Dipsi
Cola, Pipsi Cola, Popsi Cola, and raspberry cream tonic. Anything you want.”
    “Let me have a bottle of
sarsaparilla, please,” said Stuart, “and a paper cup.”
    The storekeeper went back
into the store and returned with the drink. He opened the bottle, poured some
out into the cup, and set the cup down on the step below Stuart, who whipped
off his cap, lay down on his stomach, and dipped up some of the cool refreshing
drink, using his cap as a dipper.
    “That’s very refreshing,”
remarked Stuart. “There’s nothing like a long, cool drink in the heat of the
day, when you’re traveling.”
    “Are you going far?” asked
the storekeeper.
    “Perhaps very far,” replied
Stuart. “I’m
    looking for a bird named
Margalo. You haven’t sighted her, have you?”
    “Can’t say I have,” said the
storekeeper.
    “What does she look like?”
    “Perfectly beautiful,”
replied Stuart, wiping the sarsaparilla off his lips with the corner of his
sleeve. “She’s a remarkable bird. Anybody would notice her. She comes from a place
where there are thistles.”
    The storekeeper looked at
Stuart closely.
    “How tall are you?” he
asked.
    “You mean in my stocking feet?”
said Stuart.
    “Yes.”
    “Two inches nothing and a
quarter,” answered
    Stuart. “I haven’t been
measured recently, however. I may have shot up a bit.”
    “You know,” said the
storekeeper, thoughtfully, “there’s somebody in this town you really ought to
meet.”
    “Who’s that?” asked Stuart,
yawning.
    “Harriet Ames,” said the
storekeeper.
    “She’s just your size—maybe a
trifle shorter, if anything.”
    “What’s she like?” asked
Stuart. “Fair, fat, and forty?”
    “No, Harriet is young and
she is quite pretty. She is considered one of the best dressed girls in this
town, too. All her clothes are tailored specially for her.”
    “That so?” remarked Stuart.
    “Yes. Harriet’s quite a
girl. Her people, the Ameses, are rather prominent in this town. One of her
ancestors used to be the ferryman here in Revolutionary days. He would carry
anybody across the stream—he didn’t care whether they were British soldiers or
American soldiers, as long as they paid their fare. I guess he did pretty well.
Anyway, the Ameses have always had plenty of money. They live in a big house with
a lot of servants. I know Harriet would be very much interested to meet you.”
    “That’s very kind of you,”
replied Stuart, “but
    I’m not much of a society man
these days. Too much on the move. I never stay long anywhere—I blow into a town
and blow right out again, here today, gone tomorrow, a will o’ the wisp. The
highways and byways are where you’ll find me, always looking for Margalo.
Sometimes I feel that I’m quite near to her and that she’s just around the turn
of the road. Other times I feel that I’ll never find her and