The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad Page #4

the fair Katrina.

She often wished that some

champion would appear

and take the field openly

against the boisterous Brom.

A wiser man would have

shrunk from the competition,

but love is blind.

Ichabod was aware only

that Dame Fortune

was at last thundering at his door.

It's true that Brom liked a

joke as well as the next,

but enough was too much.

It was time for open warfare.

He'd double that schoolmaster up

and lay him on a shelf

in his schoolhouse!

But this was easier said than done.

No doubt of it, this was

Ichabod's lucky day.

The schoolmaster was a

man of hidden talents,

a rival to be reckoned with.

Still, wars are neither won nor

lost at the first encounter.

The high-flyer might yet

be brought to earth.

For Brom Bones was never

a man to cry quits.

On the occasion of her father's

annual Halloween frolic,

Katrina chose to stir the embers

of the smouldering rivalry.

One invitation in particular

carried a most personal summons.

The worthy schoolmaster

was in a transport of joy.

To him, this could

mean but one thing.

Ichy, you sly old dog, you!

What is this strange power

you have over women?

Well, tonight's the night, boy!

Just turn on the old charm.

The fair Katrina is

yours for the asking.

Gaily bedecked and nobly mounted

on a horse he had borrowed,

Ichabod issued forth like

a knight errant of old

to keep a tryst with his lady fair.

There was nothing to

equal the merrymaking

at Mynheer Van Tassel's farm.

To Ichabod, here was a perfect

field for his endeavours.

How would he put his

best foot forward!

Beyond all his other talents, he

prided himself upon his dancing.

Unhappy Brom, already

bested at every turn,

saw himself once more outmatched.

For as he watched the

posturing pedagogue,

he had to admit that here

was a flawless picture

of ease and grace.

There was no doubt that Ichabod

was the man of the hour.

Brom had to concede his

rival another victory.

Yet, there was still a

chance his time would come.

For when the hour grew late, Van

Tassel would call on his guests

to tell him ghostly

tales of Halloween.

Brom knew there was no

more potent believer

in spooks and goblins

than Ichabod Crane.

Just gather round

and I'll elucidate

what goes on outside,

when it gets late.

Around about midnight,

the ghosts and banshees

get together for nightly jamborees.

Things with horns and saucer eyes,

and some with fangs

about this size!

- Some are fat.

- And some are thin!

And some don't even

wear their skin!

I'm telling you, brother,

it's a frightful sight

what goes on, Halloween night.

When spooks have a

midnight jamboree

They break it up with fiendish glee

Ghosts are bad, but

the one that's cursed

Is the Headless Horseman,

he's the worst

That's right, he's a

fright on Halloween night

When he goes a-joggin'

across the land

Holdin' his noggin in his hand

Demons take one look and groan

And hit the road for parts unknown

Beware, take care, he rides alone

And there's no spook like

a spook who's spurned

They don't like him and

he's really burned

He swears to the

longest day he's dead

He'll show them that

he can get ahead

They say he's tired

of his flamin' top

He's got a yen to make a swap

So he rides one night each year

To find a head in the hollow here

Now, he likes them little,

he likes them big

Part in the middle, or a wig

Black or white, or even red

The Headless Horseman needs a head

With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop

He's out lookin' for a top to chop

So don't stop to figure out a plan

You can't reason

with a headless man

Now, if you doubt this tale is so,

I met that spook just a year ago.

Now, I didn't stop

for a second look,

but made for the bridge

that spans the brook.

For once you cross that

bridge, my friends

The ghost is through,

his power ends

So, when you're riding home tonight

Make for the bridge

with all your might

He'll be down in the hollow there

He needs your head

Look out! Beware!

With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop

He's out lookin' for a head to swap

So don't try to figure out a plan

You can't reason

with a headless man

It was the witching hour of night

as Ichabod pursued his travel home.

The sky grew darker.

One by one, the stars

winked out their lights.

Driving clouds obscured

the moon from sight.

Never had the schoolmaster

felt so melancholy,

so utterly alone.

The nearer he

approached the hollow,

the more dismal he became.

Once inside the murky glen, Ichabod's

anxiety increased one-hundredfold.

The forest seemed to

close in behind him.

Every small detail of

Brom's awful story

returned to haunt his recollection.

Headless Horseman.

Beware!

Once you cross that

bridge, my friends,

the ghost is through,

his power ends.

Next morning, Ichabod's

hat was found.

And close beside it,

a shattered pumpkin.

But there was no trace

of the schoolmaster.

Shortly thereafter, Brom Bones led

the fair Katrina to the altar.

Rumours persisted that

Ichabod was still alive,

married to a wealthy widow

in a distant county.

But the good Dutch settlers

refused to believe such nonsense.

They knew the schoolmaster

had been spirited away

by the Headless Horseman.

With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop

He's out looking for a head to swap

But don't try to figure out a plan

You can't reason

with a headless man

Man, I'm getting out of here!

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