The Little Man and His Little Gun

Quick Answer

Why This Story Works for Bedtime

It’s humorous, not scary. The mishaps are slapstick-style, and the ending is reflective and calm—great for bedtime after a giggle.

Story Synopsis

Jimson is fully grown, with whiskers and a shiny bald head, but he’s still very small. He tries hard to copy what bigger men do—wearing the right hats, coats, boots—because he wants to feel important. When hunting season arrives, Jimson decides this is his chance. He sets out with a little gun, determined to bring home something impressive. But the world is not built for him: the brook is slippery, the birds are quick, the bigger men are clumsy around him, and one misstep leads to another. In the story’s funniest stretch, Jimson’s proud efforts end in a cascade of problems—splashes, confusion, and even his wig going missing in the water. He does manage to get a small duck, but the “victory” is expensive and exhausting. At home, his wife Joan turns the duck into a pie. Jimson eats, then pauses and admits the truth: that duck cost him twelve dollars—far too much for one little duck. The story ends with a gentle, practical shift: Jimson realizes he’s happier doing work that fits him—work that doesn’t require proving anything. It’s a quiet bedtime lesson about self-acceptance and choosing what’s right for you, not what looks impressive to others.

Story Excerpt

There was once a little man named Jimson. He was all grown up, but he was still very small. He had a shiny bald head and soft gray whiskers, so people knew he was a man. Still, Jimson often wished he were bigger. He tried hard to do what other men did. When he went to church, he wore a tall silk hat and a long coat with tails. When he rode a horse, he wore a cap and big boots. He carried a little cane when he walked, and he even had a little umbrella for rainy days. One day, hunting season came. The bigger men in town cleaned their guns and talked about hunting birds by the brook. Jimson said, “ I can do that, too. ” So he had a little gun made — just his size. When he brought it home, he showed it to his wife, Joan. Joan was a very big woman, and she looked at that little gun with worried eyes. “ Jimson, ” she said, “ you’d better use bullets made of bread. Then you won’t hurt anything. ” “ Nonsense, Joan, ” Jimson said. “ I shall have bullets made of lead, just as other men do. And every duck I see, I shall shoot and bring home to you. ” Joan sighed. “ I’m afraid you won’t get many. ” But Jimson felt proud. Early the next morning, before the sun was properly up, he took his little gun and walked to the brook. The air was cool and quiet. The water made a soft, moving sound. Jimson sat on the bank and…

In One Glance