Read Online The Exploits of Moominpappa (Moominpappa's Memoirs) by Tove Jansson - Free Book Online
Authors: Tove Jansson
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a king, until I suddenly remembered that I was a royalist. God save the King, I said quickly three times to myself. The stone's a colonist, the Groke take him.
'Morning,' said the Mymble's daughter. She was standing at the pump washing her small brothers and sisters. 'Have you swallowed a lemon?'
'We're not explorers any more, we're colonists,' I said.
'Pestilence,' said the Mymble's daughter. 'That's bad. What do colonists do?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'Probably something silly. I think it would be better to follow the Hattifatteners, lone as the desert wind or the mountain eagle.'
'I'm coming with you!' said the Mymble's daughter.
'There's a lot of difference between Hodgkins and you,' I said (markedly).
'Yes, isn't there,' cried the Mymble's daughter happily. 'Mother! Where are you?'
'Here,' said the Mymble and put her head out from under a large leaf. 'How many have you washed?'
'Half,' said her daughter. 'I'll leave it at that. Because this Moomin has asked me to go round the world with him.'
'Well, as a matter of fact...' I managed to say.
But the Mymble said wonderingly: 'You don't say! Then you won't be back for dinner?'
'Oh no, mother,' said the Mymble's daughter. 'Next time we meet I'll be grown-up and the biggest Mymble in the world! When do we start?'
'I suppose colony life isn't so bad after all,' I said faintly. 'We're a Mymble short. So if you'd rather like to become just a colonist...'
She rather liked it
Mymbles like anything.
About two nautical miles north of Daddy Jones's kingdom there lies a moderately big, heart-shaped island. We colonized it.
We moored ship in the cove (the map will show you), and Hodgkins remained aboard and started inventing trap doors for the Autocrat. The Joxter settled down in an apple tree on the eastern side, and I moved the Moominhouse from the boat to the western shore. The Muddler's tin was rolled up on the hill in the middle of the island, because he was a little scared to live near the edges, he said. The rest of the island belonged to the Mymble's daughter - except the tip of the heart which we chose for a secret meeting-place.
We held the first council (to make laws for the colony) on a Thursday at dusk. Each of us had a large sea-shell to sit on, and Hodgkins pulled the bung from a hollow tree that we had filled with a supply of Daddy Jones's home made palm wine.
The Muddler served us corn cobs (my favourite food) and plum cake. A bright orange moon was poking its head over the horizon. The night was quite warm.
'And now, what is a colonist, please?' I asked.
'Colonists are strangers in a country that do not quite like to live alone,' explained the Joxter. 'So they move together in the wilderness and start quarrelling, I believe. I suppose they like that better than not to have anybody to quarrel with.'
'Do we have to quarrel?' asked the Muddler. 'I wouldn't like it Excuse me! Ifssosad!'
'Bless me, no,' said Hodgkins. 'We're going to live in peace.'
"Exactly,' said the Joxter. 'And sometimes we'll make something unusual and sudden happen. Then peace again. What?'
'Exactly!' we all said.
'My tree on the sunside,' the Joxter continued dreamily. 'Songs and apples and sleeping late, you know. Nobody buzzing around and telling me that things cannot be postponed.... I'm going to let things run themselves.'
'And do they?' asked the Muddler.
'Do they?' exclaimed the Joxter. 'Just leave them alone and you'll be surprised. The oranges grow, and the flowers open, and now and then a new Joxter is born to eat them and smell them. And the sun shines on it all.'
'Great big oranges,' said the Nibling. (He sat by himself drinking milk, because he was too small for palm wine.)
'You, little Nibling,' said Hodgkins kindly. 'You're going home to your mother. Tomorrow morning on the packet boat.'
'You don't say,' said the Nibling and sipped his milk.
'But I'll stay,' said the Mymble's daughter. 'Until I'm grown-up. Hodgkins, can't you invent anything to make
'Morning,' said the Mymble's daughter. She was standing at the pump washing her small brothers and sisters. 'Have you swallowed a lemon?'
'We're not explorers any more, we're colonists,' I said.
'Pestilence,' said the Mymble's daughter. 'That's bad. What do colonists do?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'Probably something silly. I think it would be better to follow the Hattifatteners, lone as the desert wind or the mountain eagle.'
'I'm coming with you!' said the Mymble's daughter.
'There's a lot of difference between Hodgkins and you,' I said (markedly).
'Yes, isn't there,' cried the Mymble's daughter happily. 'Mother! Where are you?'
'Here,' said the Mymble and put her head out from under a large leaf. 'How many have you washed?'
'Half,' said her daughter. 'I'll leave it at that. Because this Moomin has asked me to go round the world with him.'
'Well, as a matter of fact...' I managed to say.
But the Mymble said wonderingly: 'You don't say! Then you won't be back for dinner?'
'Oh no, mother,' said the Mymble's daughter. 'Next time we meet I'll be grown-up and the biggest Mymble in the world! When do we start?'
'I suppose colony life isn't so bad after all,' I said faintly. 'We're a Mymble short. So if you'd rather like to become just a colonist...'
She rather liked it
Mymbles like anything.
About two nautical miles north of Daddy Jones's kingdom there lies a moderately big, heart-shaped island. We colonized it.
We moored ship in the cove (the map will show you), and Hodgkins remained aboard and started inventing trap doors for the Autocrat. The Joxter settled down in an apple tree on the eastern side, and I moved the Moominhouse from the boat to the western shore. The Muddler's tin was rolled up on the hill in the middle of the island, because he was a little scared to live near the edges, he said. The rest of the island belonged to the Mymble's daughter - except the tip of the heart which we chose for a secret meeting-place.
We held the first council (to make laws for the colony) on a Thursday at dusk. Each of us had a large sea-shell to sit on, and Hodgkins pulled the bung from a hollow tree that we had filled with a supply of Daddy Jones's home made palm wine.
The Muddler served us corn cobs (my favourite food) and plum cake. A bright orange moon was poking its head over the horizon. The night was quite warm.
'And now, what is a colonist, please?' I asked.
'Colonists are strangers in a country that do not quite like to live alone,' explained the Joxter. 'So they move together in the wilderness and start quarrelling, I believe. I suppose they like that better than not to have anybody to quarrel with.'
'Do we have to quarrel?' asked the Muddler. 'I wouldn't like it Excuse me! Ifssosad!'
'Bless me, no,' said Hodgkins. 'We're going to live in peace.'
"Exactly,' said the Joxter. 'And sometimes we'll make something unusual and sudden happen. Then peace again. What?'
'Exactly!' we all said.
'My tree on the sunside,' the Joxter continued dreamily. 'Songs and apples and sleeping late, you know. Nobody buzzing around and telling me that things cannot be postponed.... I'm going to let things run themselves.'
'And do they?' asked the Muddler.
'Do they?' exclaimed the Joxter. 'Just leave them alone and you'll be surprised. The oranges grow, and the flowers open, and now and then a new Joxter is born to eat them and smell them. And the sun shines on it all.'
'Great big oranges,' said the Nibling. (He sat by himself drinking milk, because he was too small for palm wine.)
'You, little Nibling,' said Hodgkins kindly. 'You're going home to your mother. Tomorrow morning on the packet boat.'
'You don't say,' said the Nibling and sipped his milk.
'But I'll stay,' said the Mymble's daughter. 'Until I'm grown-up. Hodgkins, can't you invent anything to make
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