were not made for swimming, it took him a long time to get there. Old
Mother Nature smiled as she watched him. 'You look better on the water
than you do on land,' said she. 'In fact, I believe that is just where
you belong. Now tell me how you happened to take to the water.'
"Grandfather Quack told her the whole story and how Old Mother Nature
did laugh when he described how frightened he was when he fell in that
time. Suddenly she reached out and caught him by the bill. 'I don't
think much of that bill for poking about in the mud,' said she. 'How
will this do?' She let go, and Grandfather Quack found he had a broad
bill just suited for getting food out of the mud. Then Old Mother Nature
bade him hold forth first one foot and then the other. Between the toes
she stretched a tough skin clear to the toe nails. 'Now let me see you
swim,' said she.
"Grandfather Quack tried. He kicked one foot and then the other, and to
his great joy he shot along swiftly. When he drew his feet back for
another kick his toes closed together, and so his feet came through the
water easily. But when he kicked back they were wide spread, and the
skin between them pushed against the water, and drove him ahead. It was
wonderful! It was splendid! He hurried over to Old Mother Nature, and
with tears of joy in his eyes he thanked her. And from that day to this
members of my family have had the same broad bills and webbed feet, and
have lived on the water," concluded Mr. Quack.
[Illustration: Peter noticed those feet the first time he met Mr. and
Mrs. Quack. _Page 111._]
IX
WHERE THUNDERFOOT THE BISON GOT HIS HUMP
Thunderfoot the Bison, often called Buffalo, is not a handsome fellow,
as you very well know if you have seen him or a picture of him. His head
is carried low, very near the ground, and on his shoulders is a great
hump. No, you wouldn't call him handsome. You would hardly call him
good-looking even. In fact, you would, I suspect, call him homely.
Certainly there is nothing about him to suggest pride. Yet according to
the story Digger the Badger once told Peter Rabbit, pride and nothing
less was the cause of that big hump which makes Thunderfoot appear so
clumsy and homely.
Peter Rabbit, as you know, is very fond of stories. In this respect he
is very like some other folks I know. Anyway, he never misses a chance
for a story if he can help it. He had discovered that Digger the Badger
and Old Man Coyote, both of whom had come to the Green Meadows from the
Far West, were full of stories about their neighbors of the distant
prairies, folk whom Peter never had seen. Sometimes when he had nothing
else to do, Old Man Coyote would come over to the dear Old Briar-patch
and tell stories to Peter, who sat safe behind the brambles. Perhaps Old
Man Coyote hoped that Peter would become so interested that he would
forget and come out of the dear Old Briar-patch. But Peter never did.
But most of the stories of the people of the Far West Peter got from
Digger the Badger because, you see, he wasn't afraid to go beg for them.
He knew that Digger couldn't catch him if he wanted to, and so when
Grandfather Frog hadn't a story for him, Peter would go tease Digger for
one. It was thus that he heard about Thunderfoot the Bison and where he
got that great hump of his.
"I don't suppose," said Peter, "that there are any very big people out
there on those prairies where you used to live any more than there are
here on the Green Meadows. All the very big people seem to prefer to
live in the Green Forest."
"It is that way now, I must admit," said Digger the Badger, "but it
wasn't so in the old days, in the good old days when there were no
terrible guns, and Thunderfoot and his followers shook the ground with
their feet." Digger shook his head sadly.
Instantly Peter pricked up his ears. "Who was Thunderfoot?" he demanded.
Digger looked at Peter with such a look of pity for Peter's ignorance
that Peter felt almost ashamed. "He doesn't live here and never did, so
far as I have heard, so how should I know anything about him?" he added
a wee bit defiantly.
"If that's the case," replied Digger, "it is time you learned about the
Lord of the Prairies."
"But I want to know about Thunderfoot first!" cried Peter. "You can tell
me about the Lord of the Prairies another time."
"Were you born stupid or have you grown so?" asked Digger impatiently.
Then without waiting for an answer he added: "Thunderfoot was the Lord
of the Prairies. He ruled over the Wide Prairies just as Old King Bear
ruled in the Green Forest. He ruled by might. He ruled because no one
dared deny him the right to rule. He ruled because of his great size and
his great strength. And all who lived on the Wide Prairies looked up to
him and admired him and bowed before him and paid him the utmost
respect. When he and his followers ran the earth shook, and the noise
was like thunder, and everybody hastened to get out of the way and to
warn his neighbors, crying: 'Here comes my Lord of the Prairies! Make
way! Make way!' And truly Thunderfoot and his followers were a
magnificent sight, so my great-grandfather told me, and he had it from
his great-grandfather, who was told so by his great-grandfather, who saw
it all with his own eyes. But that was in the days before Thunderfoot's
head was brought low, and he was given the great hump which none of his
descendants have ever been able to get rid of."
"Tell me about that hump and where my Lord of the Prairies, Thunderfoot
the Bison, got it!" begged Peter, with shining eyes. That there was a
story he hadn't the least doubt.
Digger the Badger flattened himself out on the ground, and into his eyes
crept a dreamy, far-away look as if he were seeing things a great, great
way off. "Way back In the days when the world was young, so my
great-grandfather said," he began, "Thunderfoot, the first Bison, was
given the Wide Prairies for a kingdom by Old Mother Nature and strode
forth to take possession. Big was he, the biggest of all living
creatures thereabouts. Strong was he with a strength none cared to test.
And he was handsome. He held his head proudly. All who lived on the Wide
Prairies admired him with a great admiration and hastened to pay homage
to him.
"For a long time he ruled wisely. All the other people brought their
disputes to him to be settled, and so wisely did he decide them that the
fame of his wisdom spread even beyond the Wide Prairies and was talked
about in the Green Forest. The humblest of his subjects could come to
him freely and be sure of a hearing and that justice would be done. Big
as he was and mighty as he was, he took the greatest care never to
forget the rights of others.
"But there came a time when flattery turned his head, as the saying is.
Mr. Coyote and Mr. Fox were the chief flatterers, and in all the Great
World there were no smoother tongues than theirs. They never lost an
opportunity to tell him how handsome he was, and how mighty he was, and
how they admired him and looked up to him, and how unequaled was his
wisdom. You see, being themselves dishonest and mischief-makers, they
frequently were in trouble with their neighbors and would have to appear
before Thunderfoot for judgment. Even when it went against them they
praised the wisdom of it, admitting that they were in the wrong and
begging forgiveness, all of which was very flattering to Thunderfoot.
"Little by little, without knowing it, he yielded to the flattery of
Mr. Coyote and Mr. Fox. He liked to hear the pleasant things they said.
Little by little it became easier to find them in the right than in the
wrong when they were accused of wronging their neighbors. Of course they
flattered him still more. They hinted to him that it was beneath the
dignity of one so big and strong and handsome to take notice of the very
small and humble people like Mr. Meadow Mouse and Mr. Toad and Mr.
Meadow Lark and others of his subjects.
"Gradually the little people of the Wide Prairies began to notice a
change in Thunderfoot. He became proud and vain. He openly boasted of
his strength and fine appearance. When he met them he passed them
haughtily, not seeing them at all, or at least appearing not to. No
longer did he regard the rights of others. No longer did he watch out
not to crush the nest of Mrs. Meadow Lark or to step on the babies of
Danny Meadow Mouse. It came about that when the thunder of his feet was
heard, those with homes on the ground shivered with fright and hoped
that my Lord of the Prairies would not come their way.
"One day, as he raced over the Wide Prairies for no reason but that he
felt like running, Mr. Meadow Lark flew to meet him. Mr. Meadow Lark was
in great distress. 'Turn aside, my Lord!' he begged. 'Turn aside, my
Lord of the Prairies, for before you lies my nest with four precious
eggs, and I fear you will step on them!'
"Thunderfoot the Bison, Lord of the Wide Prairies, tossed his head. 'If
you will build your nest where it can be trodden on, you can't expect me
to look out for it,' said he. 'If anything so unfortunate happens to it,
it is your own fault, and you mustn't blame me.' And he neither looked
down to see where he was putting his feet nor turned aside so much as an
inch. On he galloped, and presently with a cry of fright out from
beneath his feet flew Mrs. Meadow Lark, and at the very next step he
trod on the little nest in the grass and crushed the four eggs.
"Mr. Coyote, who was racing beside him on one side and saw what had
happened, grinned. Mr. Fox, who was racing beside him on the other side
and saw what had happened, grinned. Seeing them grin, Thunderfoot
himself grinned. Thus grinning heartlessly, they continued to run until
they came to a place where Mother Nature walked among the flowers of
the Wide Prairies. Mr. Coyote and Mr. Fox, whose heads were not held so
high, saw her in time to put their tails between their legs and slink
away. Thunderfoot, holding his head high, failed to see her until he was
so close to her that it was with difficulty he stopped before running
her down.
"'My Lord of the Prairies seems in fine spirits,' said Mother Nature
softly. 'Is all well with my Lord?'
"Thunderfoot tossed his head proudly. 'All is well,' said he.
"'I am sorry that others cannot say as much,' replied Mother Nature, and
all the softness was gone from her voice, and it was sharp. 'I seem to
hear the sobs of a broken-hearted little Meadow Lark,' she continued.
'Little though she be and humble, she is as much to me as is my Lord of
the Prairies who has made her suffer.'
"Stooping swiftly, Mother Nature picked up her staff and with it struck
Thunderfoot on the neck, so that his head was brought low, and in fear
of another blow he humped his shoulders up. 'Thus shall you be, still
big, still strong, but hump-shouldered and carrying your head low in
shame, no longer Lord of the Prairies, until such time as you restore to
Mrs. Meadow Lark the eggs you destroyed,' said she, and turned her back
on him.
"It was so. From that day on, Thunderfoot ceased to rule over the Wide
Prairies. He was hump-shouldered and he carried his head low, looking
and looking for the eggs he never could find to restore to Mrs. Meadow
Lark. And though his children and his children's children became many,
there never was one without the hump or who ceased to carry his head low
in shame," concluded Digger the Badger.
X
WHERE LIMBERHEELS GOT HIS LONG TAIL.
Have you ever seen Limberheels the Jumping Mouse when he was in a hurry?
If you have, very likely the first time you felt very much as Peter
Rabbit did when he saw Limberheels for the first time. He was hopping
along across the Green Meadows with nothing much on his mind when from
right under his wobbly nose something shot into the air over the tops of
the grasses for eight or ten feet and then down and out of sight. Peter
rubbed his eyes.
"Did I see it, or didn't I? And if I did, what was it?" gasped Peter.
A squeaky little laugh answered him. "You saw it all right, Peter, but
it isn't polite to call any one it. He would be quite provoked if he had
heard you. That was my cousin, Limberheels," replied a voice quite as
squeaky as the laugh had been.
Peter turned to see the bright eyes of Danny Meadow Mouse twinkling at
him from the entrance to a tiny little path that joined the bigger path
in which Peter was sitting.
"Hello, Danny!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me that was a
relative of yours? Since when have any of your relatives taken to
flying?"
Danny chuckled. "He wasn't flying," he retorted. "He just jumped, that
was all." Danny chuckled again, for he knows that Peter considers
himself quite a jumper and is inclined to be a bit jealous of any one
else who pretends to jump save his cousin, Jumper the Hare.
"Jumped!" snorted Peter. "Jumped! Do you expect me to believe that any
Mouse can jump like that? I didn't get a good look at that fellow, but
whoever he is I tell you he flew. Nobody can jump like that."
Danny chuckled again. "Wait a minute, Peter," said he. He disappeared,
and Peter waited. He waited one minute, two minutes, three minutes, and
then suddenly Danny poked his head out from the grass beside the path.
"Here he is, Peter," said he, coming wholly out into the path. "Let me
introduce my cousin, Limberheels."
As he spoke the grass beside him rustled, and out crept some one beside
whom Danny Meadow Mouse looked big, clumsy and homely. One glance was
enough to tell Peter that the stranger was a sure-enough member of the
Mouse family, but such a member as he never had seen before. He was trim
and slender. He wore a reddish-brown coat with a white waistcoat. But
the things that made Peter stare very impolitely were his tail and his
legs. His tail was nearly twice as long as his body, slim and tapering,
and his hind legs were very long, while his fore legs were short. It
took only one glance to convince Peter that here was a born jumper. Any
one built like that _must_ jump.
"You two must become acquainted and be friends," continued Danny Meadow
Mouse. "Peter is one of my best friends, Limberheels. He wouldn't hurt a
flea. I'm sure that from now on he will be one of your best friends."
"I'll be happy to," said Peter promptly. "Danny has been telling me what
a wonderful jumper you are. Would you mind showing me how you jump? I
guess you jumped right in front of me a few minutes ago, but I was so
surprised that I didn't really see you."
"I guess I did," replied Limberheels rather timidly. "You see, I didn't
hear you coming until you were almost on top of me, and then I didn't
know who it was so I got away as quickly as I could. I'll be ever so
glad to have you for a friend and next time I won't run away."
"Show him how you can jump," interrupted Danny Meadow Mouse. "He
wouldn't believe me when I told him that you didn't fly."
Limberheels grinned rather sheepishly. "Of course I didn't fly," said
he. "No animal can fly but Flitter the Bat. I just jumped like this."
With a tremendous spring from his long hind legs Limberheels leaped,
while Peter Rabbit stared, his mouth wide open with astonishment. He
hadn't dreamed that any one could jump so far in proportion to his size
as this slim, trim little cousin of Danny's. Later, after Limberheels
had jumped for Peter's benefit until he was tired and had gone to hunt
for a lunch of grass seeds, Peter wanted to know all about Limberheels.
"Never in my life have I seen such jumping," he declared. "And never
have I seen such a tail. I thought Whitefoot the Wood Mouse had a fine
tail, but it doesn't compare with that of Limberheels."
"It is a fine tail," replied Danny, whose own tail, as you know, is
very short.
"It is a fine tail," he repeated rather wistfully. "Would you like to
hear where he got it?"
"I know," retorted Peter with a grin. "He got it from his father, who
got it from his father, and so on way back to the days when the world
was young." Then, seeing a look of disappointment on Danny's face, and
eager for a story as usual, he added: "But I would like to know how such
a tail as that came in the family."
Danny brightened up at once. "It's funny how things come about in this
world," he began. "The great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of
Limberheels, the first one, you know, was quite an ordinary Mouse when
Old Mother Nature made him and started him out to make his way in the
Great World. He was little, one of the smallest of the family, and his
tail was short, no longer than mine. His hind legs were like those of
all his relatives. He ran about just as his relatives did. He was so
small and kept out of sight so much that he didn't even have a name.
There was nothing about him to suggest a name.
"For a long time he was contented and happy. Then one day he happened to
see Mr. Hare jump. It seemed to him the most wonderful thing in the
world that any one should be able to jump like that. So he began to
spend most of his spare time where he could watch Mr. Hare. One day Old
Mother Nature happened along unseen by him, as he was watching Mr. Hare
jump, and she overheard him say very, very wistfully, 'How I wish I
could jump like that! I wish I had long hind legs like Mr. Hare.'
"Old Mother Nature's kindly eyes twinkled. 'That's easily arranged,'
said she. 'If you think long hind legs will be of more use to you than
the ones you have, you shall have them.'
"The next morning when little Mr. Mouse awoke, he discovered that in the
night something had happened to his hind legs. They were very long and
strong, regular jumping legs like those of Mr. Hare. Of course he was in
such a great hurry to try them that he couldn't wait for his breakfast.
He began by making little short hops, and in no time at all he was
getting about splendidly. At last he got up his courage to try a long
jump. Up in the air he shot, and then something happened. Yes, Sir,
something happened. He couldn't kept his balance. He turned two or
three somersaults and landed on his back.
"'I guess,' said he to himself, 'I've got to _learn_ to make long
jumps.' So he kept trying and trying, but always with the same
result--he never knew when, where, or how he was going to land. As long
as he made short jumps he had no trouble, but every time he tried a long
jump he lost his balance, and try as he would he couldn't discover why.
So at last he gave up trying and contented himself with short jumps.
Finally Old Mother Nature came that way again.
"'How do you like your long hind legs?' she asked.
"'Very much, thank you,' replied little Mr. Mouse politely.
"'Let me see you jump,' said Old Mother Nature.
"Little Mr. Mouse made half a dozen little jumps. They were not much
more than hops. 'You don't call that jumping, do you?' laughed Old
Mother Nature. 'With such long, strong legs as I've given you, you ought
to be one of the best jumpers anywhere about. Now let me see you make a
long jump.'
"Little Mr. Mouse tried his best to think of some excuse, but he
couldn't. So he made a long jump, and the usual thing happened--he
turned two or three somersaults and landed on his back. Old Mother
Nature looked astonished. Then she laughed until she had to hold her
sides. 'Do it again,' she commanded.
"With the most shamefaced air that you can imagine, little Mr. Mouse
jumped again. Old Mother Nature watched him closely. 'Come here to me,'
said she as he scrambled to his feet after his tumble. 'It's all my
fault,' said she kindly, as he obeyed her. 'It was very stupid of me.
What you need is a long tail to balance you on a long jump. That short
tail is all right for short jumps, but it won't do for long jumps. It
won't do at all. I should have thought of that when I made your legs
long.'
"She reached down and took hold of the tip of that little short tail and
drew it out until it was long, almost twice as long as the body of
little Mr. Mouse. 'Now jump,' she commanded, 'and jump with all your
might.'
"A little fearfully but with the beginning of a little hope Mr. Mouse
jumped with all his might. Away he sailed straight and true and landed
lightly on his feet so far from where he had left the ground that he
could hardly believe his own eyes as he looked back. Mother Nature was
smiling.
"'There you are, Mr. Limberheels. I guess that that will make you quite
the most wonderful jumper of all my children,' said she.
"And so it was that little Mr. Mouse, all at one time, became possessed
of a long tail, a name, and the ability to out jump all his neighbors,"
concluded Danny Meadow Mouse. "Do you know," he added wistfully,
"sometimes I envy my cousin Limberheels."
"I envy him myself," declared Peter.
XI
WHERE OLD MR. GOBBLER GOT THE STRUTTING HABIT
Peter Rabbit never will forget the first time he saw Big Tom Gobbler. It
was very early one spring morning, when Peter was not yet old enough to
have made the acquaintance of all the people who live in the Green
Forest, and when it seemed as if the chief thing in life with him was to
satisfy his curiosity about the ways of the Great World. Several times
when he had been hopping along, lipperty-lipperty-lip, through the Green
Forest just after sun-up, he had heard a strange sound quite unlike any
other of all the many sounds his long ears had learned to know. He knew
that it was the voice of some one who lived in the Green Forest, but
though he had looked and looked he had been unable to discover the owner
of that voice.
On this particular morning Peter happened to be sitting under some ferns
on the edge of a little open space among the trees when again he heard
that strange voice. It seemed to come from somewhere back in the woods
in the very direction from which he had just come. "Gobble-obble-obble!"
said the voice, and again a moment later "Gobble-obble-obble!"
Peter was just preparing to go back to see if he could find the owner of
that voice when the noise of great wings caused him to look up just in
time to see a bigger bird than he ever had even dreamed of coming
swiftly over the tree-tops. With his eyes popping out and his mouth wide
open with astonishment, Peter saw the great bird set its wings and sail
down into the little opening on the edge of which Peter was sitting. The
instant this great bird was on the ground, he stood as still as if he
were made of stone, his long neck stretched up. Only the shine of a pair
of the sharpest eyes Peter ever had seen showed that he was alive.
Peter held his breath, and it was so still that you could have heard a
leaf drop had you been there. When at last the stranger moved, it was
his head only. He turned it suddenly to the right and a moment later to
the left. It was plain that he was listening for suspicious sounds. All
the time his bright eyes searched the edge of the opening until Peter,
although he was well hidden, felt that he must be seen. At last,
satisfied that all was safe, the stranger drew in his neck and began to
walk about, pecking at the ground here and there and swallowing what he
picked up, though what it was Peter couldn't tell.
A sound seemed to catch the stranger's quick ears, for he stopped and
stared very hard at a little clump of brush. Peter stared at it too. At
first he saw nothing, but presently he saw a head poked out, and this
also was a stranger. Peter glanced at the big stranger in the opening,
and for a minute he wondered if it could be that something was wrong
with his eyes. Never had he seen such a change in anybody. This stranger
didn't look like the same bird at all. He was swelled up until Peter was
afraid he would burst. His tail was spread out like a great fan. His
head was laid back on his humped shoulders. His wings were dropped until
the stiffly spread feathers brushed the ground. His head and neck were
as red as blood, and there were no feathers on either. All the feathers
of his body were ruffed out so that the sun shone on them and made them
shimmer and shine in colors that seemed to constantly change.
Back and forth in front of the brush from which the other stranger was
peeping very shyly this great bird strutted. He would stand still so
that the sun would fall full on his shining coat and show it off to the
best advantage, and at the same time he would draw in a great deal of
air and then puff it out all at once. Then he would walk a few steps,
turn, drag his wings on the ground to make them rustle, wheel, and run
a few steps. Never had Peter seen such vanity, such conceit, such
imposing, puffed-up pride. He watched until he grew tired, and then he
stole away and hurried over to the Smiling Pool to tell Grandfather Frog
all about it and ask who these strangers were.