|PETER RABBIT and Mrs. Grouse are very good friends. In fact they are
the best of friends. For one thing they are very near neighbors. Once in
a great while Mrs. Grouse comes to the dear Old Briar-patch and walks
along Peter's private little paths. However, that isn't often. But up
in the bramble tangle on the edge of the Green Forest they spend a great
deal of time together. You see, they both fear the same enemies, and so
they have a great deal to talk over, and each is always ready to help
the other.
When winter comes Peter is sometimes rather lonely. You see, a lot of
his feathered friends fly away to the warm, sunny Southland to spend the
winter. Other friends, Johnny Chuck and Striped Chipmunk and Grandfather
Frog for instance, retire and sleep all through the cold weather. Peter
cannot understand what they do it for, but they do. So Peter has very
few to gossip with after Jack Frost arrives. But he can always count on
Mrs. Grouse. No matter how hard Jack Frost pinches, or how bitter the
breath of rough Brother North Wind, somewhere in the Green Forest Mrs.
Grouse is bravely doing her best to get enough to eat, and Peter knows
that if he looks for her he will find her.
There was one thing about Mrs. Grouse that puzzled Peter for a long
time, and this was the difference between the footprints she made in the
soft damp earth after a rain in the summer and the prints she made
in the snow. The first time he noticed those prints in the snow, he
actually didn't know who had made them. You know how very, very curious
Peter is. He followed those queer footprints, and when he found that
they led right straight into the bramble tangle, he just didn't know
what to think. He sat down on the edge of the bramble tangle and
scratched his long right ear with his long left hind foot. When Peter
does this it is a sign that he is very much puzzled about something.
“Good morning, Peter Rabbit. You seem to have something on your mind,”
said a voice from the middle of the bramble tangle.
Peter gave a little start of surprise. Then he hopped into the bramble
tangle along one of the little paths he had cut there. “Good morning,
Mrs. Grouse,” he replied. “I _have_ got something on my mind. I have
been following some strange tracks, and I don't know what to make of
them.” He pointed at one of them as he spoke.
“Oh,” replied Mrs. Grouse in a tone of great surprise. “I made those
with my snowshoes. I supposed you knew.”
“Snowshoes! What are snow-shoes?” asked Peter, looking more puzzled than
ever.
Very proudly Mrs. Grouse held out one foot for Peter to look at. Instead
of the slim smooth toes he often had admired Peter saw that the bottom
of each was covered for its whole length with queer-looking, horny little
points that prevented the foot from sinking way down in the snow as it
would have done without them. This made it very easy for Mrs. Grouse to
get about on the snow instead of having to wade through it.
“My!” exclaimed Peter. “How perfectly splendid! Where did you get them?”
“Oh,” replied Mrs. Grouse with pride in her voice, “they have been
in the family a great many years. They were given to my
great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather by Old Mother Nature.”
“Tell me about it. Do please tell me about it,” begged Peter, who had
not had a story since Grandfather Frog went to sleep for the winter.
Mrs. Grouse fluffed out her feathers and settled herself comfortably.
“There isn't much to tell,” she began, “but all the same our family
always has been rather proud of the way we came by our snowshoes. It all
happened a great while ago.”
“Way back in the time that Grandfather Frog tells about, when the world
was young?” interrupted Peter.
Mrs. Grouse nodded and went on. “Great-grandfather Grouse lived very
comfortably in those days, even when the hard times came and so many
took to killing their neighbors because food was scarce. He always
managed to get enough to eat because he didn't believe in being fussy.
When he couldn't get what he wanted, he took what he could get and was
thankful. When he couldn't find grasshoppers or crickets or bugs of any
kind, or chestnuts or beechnuts or berries that he liked, he ate such
berries as he could find, whether he liked them or not; and when he
couldn't find berries or seeds, he ate the buds of trees. So one way or
another he managed to pick up a living and to keep out of the way of his
enemies, for he was just as smart as they were. You know, in those days
there were no hunters with dreadful guns.
“So Grandfather Grouse managed to get along without really suffering
until the coming of the first snow. That first snow was hard on
everybody, but it was particularly hard on Grandfather Grouse. His slim
toes cut right through. They wouldn't hold him up at all. Of course he
spent as much time as possible up in the trees, but when he wanted to
get low-hanging berries on the bushes, the kind that stay on all winter,
you know, he just had to stand on the ground and reach up for them.
Then, too, his feet were intended for walking and running rather than
for perching in trees, and it made his toes ache dreadfully to have to
cling to the branch of a tree too long. I know just how it felt because
I have had to do it when Reddy Fox has been hunting for me.
“But Grandfather Grouse made the best of a bad matter and didn't say a
word, not a word. He waded around in the snow as best he could, but it
was dreadfully tiresome. He couldn't take more than a few steps without
stopping to rest. And this wasn't all; the snow made his feet ache with
the cold. He had to keep drawing first one foot and then the other up to
warm them in his feathers.
“Now Grandfather Grouse had sharp eyes, and he knew how to use them. He
had to, to keep out of danger. He watched the other little people, and
he soon saw that those with big feet, feet that were big for the size of
their bodies, didn't sink in like those with small, slim feet. For the
first time in his life he began to wish that Old Mother Nature had made
him different. He wished that he had broad feet. Yes, Sir, he wished
just that. Then a thought popped into his head. Perhaps the snow wasn't
going to last forever. Perhaps it would go away and never come again.
Then he wouldn't want broad feet, but just the kind of feet he already
had. He sighed. Then he tried to smile bravely.
“'I guess,' said he, talking out loud to himself, for he thought he
was quite alone, 'I guess the thing to do is to stop worrying about the
things I haven't got and make the most of the blessings I have got,' and
he started to wade through the snow for some berries just ahead.
“Now Old Mother Nature happened to be passing, and she overheard
Grandfather Grouse. 'I wish that every one felt as you do.' said she.
'It would make things a great deal easier for me. But what is it that
you wish you had?'” Grandfather Grouse felt both pleased and a little
ashamed--ashamed that he should even _seem_ to be dissatisfied. At first
he tried to pretend that everything really was all right, but after a
little urging he told Old Mother Nature all about his troubles since the
coming of the snow. She listened and looked thoughtful. Then she told
Grandfather Grouse to be patient and perhaps things would not be so bad
as they seemed. Somehow Grandfather Grouse felt better after that, and
when he went to bed for the night in a big hemlock-tree he was almost
cheerful.
“The next morning when he flew down to get his breakfast, he had the
greatest surprise of his life. Instead of sinking way down into the
snow, he sank hardly at all. He could get about with the greatest ease.
He didn't know what to make of it until he happened to look down at his
feet and then he saw--”
“That he had snowshoes!” interrupted Peter Rabbit, dancing about in
great excitement.
“Just so,” replied Mrs. Grouse. “He had snowshoes just like the ones I
have now. When spring came, Old Mother Nature came around and took them
away, because he no longer had need of them; but when the next winter
came, she returned them to him. She called them the reward of patience.
And ever since that long-ago day our family has had snowshoes in the
winter. I really don't know how we would get along without them.”
“I don't know how you would,” replied Peter Rabbit. “Isn't it splendid
how Old Mother Nature seems to know just what everybody needs?”
And with that Peter started for the dear Old Briar-patch to tell little
Mrs. Peter all about the snowshoes of Mrs. Grouse.