A ludicrous description indicating short stature.
1824. He has lived with me ever since he was “knee high to a musquitoe.”—Letter to The Microscope, Albany, N.Y., June 12, p. 55/1.
1833. A bit of a rogue he was too, when he want more ’n knee high to a bumbly-bee.—John Neal, ‘The Down-Easters,’ i. 78.
1841. [He has] been known on the Congaree ever since I was knee high to a splinter.—W. G. Simms, ‘The Kinsmen,’ ii. 63 (Phila.).
a. 1853. To see little saplings, some of them scarce knee-high to a milkstool,—“bigger b’hoys,” green as unsunned pumpkins, &c.—Dow, Jun., ‘Patent Sermons,’ iii. 115.
1854. The first gentleman I ever saw was “an editor.” I have been acquainted with them ever since I was knee high to a huckleberry!—Sara Payson Parton (‘Fanny Fern’), ‘Fern Leaves,’ p. 358 (Auburn, N.Y.).
1856. A poor leetle brat of a boy, knee-high to a young turkey.—W. G. Simms, ‘Eutaw,’ p. 248 (N.Y.).
1856. A brat of a boy, knee-high to a bantam.—Id., p. 249.
1856. There is not an urchin, knee-high to a cock-sparrow, but will tell you that the first blow is always half of the battle.—Id., p. 530.
1860. I have been ‘a constant reader’ (in the usual acceptation of that term) of your pages most of the time, since I was ‘knee-high to a grasshopper,’ or at least since my second pair of ‘pants.’—Knick. Mag., lvi. 329 (Sept.).
1861. I have n’t been poking into keyholes since I was knee-high to a katydid for nothing.—Theodore Winthrop, ‘Cecil Dreeme,’ p. 128 (N.Y., 1876).
1862. The kite fever is raging here at present. In one part of town you’ll see a chap with a mammoth kite flying zenith-ward; while in another place you’ll see a six year shaver with a miniature edition, flying not knee-high to a toad.—Rocky Mountain News, Denver, May 10.
a. 1894. I ain’t bin inside a schoolhouse since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.—F. Bret Harte, ‘A Pupil of Chestnut Hill.’
1899. One of the men said that he had known Jerry since he was “knee-high ter a duck.”—Mary N. Murfree, ‘The Bushwhackers,’ p. 102
1904. I know’d ’im when he wasn’t knee-high to a duck, when he fetched his stolen nickels to my shop to buy custard-pies.—W. N. Harben, ‘The Georgians,’ p. 89.
