A FROLIC IN THE FOREST
The grounds of the Greenwood Club were situated in and about a natural
clearing on the edge of a grove of pine-trees. Here, once a week, as
the Rabbit had said, the wood people gathered for a session of play and
talk, their minds free from the cares of every-day life.
“We have the games and races first, and the literary exercises
afterward,” the Rabbit informed Buddie. “Not many go to the lecture.
Doctor Goose is rather dry.”
Now they had entered the amphitheater which formed what might be called
the main club-room, and, glancing around, Buddie saw nearly all her
wood friends and many she had yet to know.
“I declare, there’s Colonel!” she exclaimed. “I suppose the Laziest
Beaver was too lazy to come; I don’t see him anywhere. And I’m glad
Colonel has finished that tiresome old song; and I hope he isn’t put
out because I didn’t stay to listen to it. It wasn’t my fault.”
If the Yellow Dog was put out he exhibited no signs of annoyance. He
smiled pleasantly as Buddie came up, and held out a paw in his best
manner.
“Who’s your friend with the long ears?” he asked in an undertone.
“They both have long ears,” replied Buddie, looking from the Rabbit to
the Donkey. “But I suppose you mean Professor Bray. He’s dreadfully
wise. He’s been everywhere and knows everything and everybody.”
“Present me,” requested Colonel; and Buddie contrived to do so, after a
fashion; “presenting” people was a new experience.
“What war were you in, Colonel?” asked the Donkey, affably.
“No war of any account,” replied the Yellow Dog, “unless you would
call a brush with Indians--”
“Sufficient to justify the title? Certainly. I served six months in
South Africa and was decorated--”
Buddie did not wait to hear the repetition of the story. At the
Rabbit’s suggestion she moved along and made the acquaintance of
various members of the Club.
There was a Reticent Magpie, who never spoke unless he was spoken
to, and whose only replies were Yes and No; a Refined Pig, who never
grunted, and who would walk miles out of his way to avoid mud or bog
land; an Improvident Squirrel, who never laid by nuts for a rainy or
wintry day, and was continually borrowing supplies of his neighbor, a
Prosperous Churchmouse, who was so fat that he could barely waddle; a
Bat, who could see for miles, and who always officiated as judge in the
club races; a Hen with the toothache, and a number of others of more or
less account.
[Illustration]
One animal in particular attracted Buddie’s attention. He wore gay
plaids and a funny little cap, and he carried a stick with which he
knocked a small ball from one end of the clearing to the other. First
he placed the ball on a tuft of grass; then he swung the stick over
his shoulder and shouted “Fore!” and then he whacked at the ball,
sometimes hitting it and sometimes not.
“Who is he?” Buddie asked.
“He’s the Golf Lynx,” replied the Rabbit, “and he’s a great nuisance,
for he’s always hitting somebody with the ball, and it hurts, I can
tell you. Doctor Goose says the poor fellow can’t help it, as--”
“Fore!” shouted a voice close at hand, and a ball whizzed by within an
inch of Buddie’s ear.
“The games are beginning!” cried another voice, and everybody began to
move toward one end of the clearing, where the ground pitched up and
formed a sort of grandstand.
“You must excuse me for a while,” said the Rabbit to Buddie, as they
fell in with the procession. “My race with the tortoise comes first.”
“Oh, do you fall asleep and wait for him to come poking along?” asked
Buddie, her mind on the old fable.
“No, indeed,” replied the Rabbit. “We’re pretty evenly matched. First
he wins, and then I win. It’s my turn this week. On a straight line I
could beat him every time; but, as I explained to you this morning, I
have to do a great deal of zigzagging.”
When every one had found a seat Doctor Fox announced that the Club’s
distinguished Visitor, Professor Bray, had kindly requested to act as
master of ceremonies, and a great cheer went up.
The race between the Tortoise and the Rabbit was quickly run. They got
away in a pretty start, and it was nip and tuck to the other end of the
clearing. As it was some distance across the open, Buddie could not see
who was ahead at the finish; but the Bat announced that the Rabbit had
won by an ear.
“That’s the advantage of having long ears,” remarked the Yellow Dog,
who sat next to Buddie.
“I don’t see how the Tortoise manages it,” said she. “It’s wonderful
the way he gets over the ground.”
“He’s a high-geared tortoise--the fastest one in the wood,” said the
Yellow Dog. “Hello! here comes the Bear with the Weasel. Now we’ll have
some fun.”
Out of the brush near the grandstand came the Great Huge Bear, rolling
a furry object over and over with his paws.
“What’s the matter with the Weasel?” Buddie asked. “Can’t he walk?”
“He’s asleep,” replied Colonel. “He’s always asleep. You know the old
saying: You can’t catch a weasel awake. Come along and help toss him.”
Buddie followed the others, and presently found herself holding one
corner of a blanket, upon which the Weasel had been rolled. Then the
jolly party began to skip around in a circle, singing--
“Impty, mimpty, jiggety-jig,
Ibbity, bibbity, beazle,
Timty, tumty, tibbity-fig,
Pop! goes the Weasel.”
At the word “Pop!” the weasel was tossed high in the air; and as he
sailed skyward he half awoke and made a sound like a cork coming out of
a bottle. Before he began to descend he was sound asleep again.
Round and round they skipped and sang, until every one was tired and
out of breath.
“If I could only sleep like that!” sighed the Great Huge Bear, as he
rolled the Weasel back into the bushes.
The next event was an exhibition of bear-back riding by the Stork. The
Great Huge Bear raced around the clearing as fast as he could go, and
tried in various ways to shake the Stork off; but the bird finished the
trip in triumph, and caused a great sensation by balancing, part of the
time, on one leg. Buddie was especially delighted by this unexpected
feat; for it was she that had suggested the idea to the Stork. Next to
the pleasure of being able to do a thing oneself comes the pleasure of
suggesting it to some one else that can, and thereby sharing in his
success.
“Playing _’Possum_” was the next game on the program.
“Choose partners!” called out the Donkey, and the company, pairing off,
formed a ring around the ’Possum. “Change partners!” called the Donkey,
and a scramble followed. “’Possum!” was the next call, and there was
another scramble, followed by a laugh at Buddie’s expense. The ’Possum
had seized a partner, and Buddie was left without one. She had been
forced into the ’Possum’s place in the center of the ring. It was
something like “Old Dan Tucker,” with the music and dancing omitted.
[Illustration]
Next came a bowling contest, open to all members of the Club large
enough to take part. Ten chipmunks, sitting up straight and stiff,
served as pins, and the Fretless Porcupine curled himself up for the
ball. In the ordinary bowling alley the ball must be rolled back in a
trough; but the Porcupine simply uncurled himself after each throw, and
trotted back for another. He seemed to enjoy the game as much as the
others, and the chipmunks didn’t mind being pins, for they were seldom
knocked over, and when they were it didn’t hurt them a bit.
While these sports were going on two teams of bats were playing
cricket, and the still smaller members of the Club were playing
_Leapfrog_, _Worm i’ the Bud_, _Who Killed Cock Robin?_, _Beetle,
Beetle, Who’s Got the Beetle?_ and other games; and everybody was
having such a good time that very few heard the Donkey announce that
Doctor Goose’s lecture was about to begin.
“Shall you stay for the lecture?” asked the Rabbit, hurrying up to
Buddie.
“I should like to hear part of it, at least,” said she. “The Donkey is
going to stay; aren’t you, Professor?”
“Certainly,” replied the Donkey. “Some of us should remain. The growth
of letters should be encouraged.”
“I like lettuce as well as any one,” said the Rabbit; “but Doctor Goose
never talks about lettuce.”
The Donkey put on his most pitying smile.
“Life is not all eating and drinking,” said he.
“Maybe not,” returned the Rabbit; “but I’d rather eat than hear one of
Doctor Goose’s lectures.”
“Philistine!” muttered the Donkey.
“What’s that?” asked the Rabbit, suspiciously.
But the Donkey scorned to reply.