 Ah-ah-ah! Don't turn that dial. This is the right station if you want to hear about Jonathan Thomas and his Christmas on the moon. If it's all about Jonathan Thomas, you'd know, then gather up close to your radio. For right now, don't you worry, is the rest of the story of what happened in the last episode. There deep in the gloom of the forest of doom, there by the side of the road. You remember, of course, Gordon's all of the horse, and the kind old man on the moon, and the sweet fairy queen, the loveliest seam, and the three dwarfs who sang their tune, and the wicked old witch of Rumpelstich, and the squirrel named Whiskery Bill. And, of course, you've heard what has occurred in the forest so deep and still? No. Well, the witch brewed her brew, as all witches do, and made a terrible promise to hold in her keep through the magic of sleep. Poor little Jonathan Thomas. But the sweet fairy queen had the spell foreseen, and worked out an antidote true, an acorn to take to keep them away until they were the deep forest through. But before very long, something went wrong in that forest so dark and deep, and the evil-y spell worked more than quite well, and Jonathan Thomas went sound asleep. And now, Gordon's all of the horse, and all the others, of course, are shedding the saltiest tears. For the witch's dire promise is that Jonathan Thomas won't wake for a million years. But the squirrel and the horse, and the man in the moon, say that something has got to be done. And they're planning and scheming, even more than you're dreaming, of everything under the sun. And, of course, very soon, the man in the moon, trying to think of something that men's, sent all around to every near town for all of his very good friends. But the day is so sad, and most horribly bad, and the snow is covering the ground. And all they can do is to cry, boo-hoo, which you'll have to admit is the mournfulest sound. But quite far away, there is one who is gay, who rules all the kingdom of Rumpelstich, who wears such a smile that it sets my blood rile. She's the terrible and wicked old witch. Hee-hee-hee-hee. Scream-dum-dee. Scream-dum-do. There are some things that I would know on the wall. Speak the truth. Oh, witch of Rumpelstich, is that your spell has worked most well. For deep within the forest, blue is a scene of doleful doom. And most well you've kept your promise. For there, on the snow, is one you know by the name of Jonathan Thomas. Ah, the truth which makes me most happy and gay. For I've well kept my promise about Jonathan Thomas, who'll sleep forever. Hee-hee-hee. And a day. Is there no potion which can break this notion, or which of Rumpelstich, which can break through open quite well with your needle and the magic stitch? There is one indeed, but one which nobody knows. This spell can be broken. My only is the red. A scheme of such a scheme. And if they did, and the winter wind that blows. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. For Jonathan Thomas, oh, whatever shall we... Wait a minute. I've got an idea. Why didn't I think of it before? My gracious to goodness, Mr. Man in the Moon, I do believe you're growing feeble-minded. She said whenever there was trouble, why, yes, I remember this plenary queen. She said to say, Hone, squee, non, squee, giggly vey. You sent for me? I heard your call as plain could be. Oh goodness gracious, and Jiminy Cricut, I'm glad you came. Poor Jonathan Thomas, he fell off the horse. Of course. And it seems he's fallen under the spell. Which the wicked old witch has cast quite well. And now he's going so sound asleep, we can't awaken him when we've tried for a week. I can give not, but my tears through the weary years. For my magic has not the strength to break this sleep which is very deep. And no one can tell its length. Then what shall we do? We plead with you before our hearts do break. We'll go through all strife and even give up my life to make Jonathan Thomas awake. There is but one way that I can say. Yeah, what is it? Far away where the north wind blows, and deep, deep under the icy snows, there lies the bush of the red, red rose. Yes? Please go on, Your Majesty. Oh yes, please do. If spring were here to bring us cheer, the spell could be broken well, but nowhere grows the red, red rose when the demons of winter shriek and yell. But if you would, or if you could, go to the brambly briar and tell your woes to the red, red rose and speak your heart's desire. And do you suppose that it would grow us a rose? Until you've tried, nobody knows. Well, we'll sure try. I'll be yours for you. Do you suppose they'll find the rose in time to save Jonathan Thomas? Oh, I hope so, don't you? For then our dreams will come true, and they must, mustn't they? Because they've just got to find Santa Claus. So don't forget to listen to the next story of Jonathan Thomas, will you? I won't.