THE SQUIRREL.
All this talking had passed away the morning, but in the afternoon, when
the sun got a little lower, and the heat was not quite so great, Bevis,
who had not been allowed to go out at noon, came forth again, and at
once started up the Home Field. He easily reached the great oak-tree,
and from there he knew his way to the corner of the wheat-field, where
he stopped and looked for the hare, but she was not there, nor did she
answer when he called to her. At the sound of his voice a number of
sparrows rose from the wheat, which was now ripening, and flew up to the
hedge, where they began to chatter about Kapchack's love affair.
Bevis walked on across the field, and presently found a footpath; he
followed this, as the toad had instructed him, and after getting over
two stiles there was the copse on the right, though he had to climb over
a high gate to get into the meadow next to it. There was nothing in the
meadow except a rabbit, who turned up his white tail and went into his
hole, for having seen Bevis with the hare, whom he did not like, the
rabbit did not care to speak to Bevis. When Bevis had crossed the meadow
he found, just as the toad had said, that there was a very deep ditch
round the copse, but scarcely any water in it, and that was almost
hidden with weeds.
After walking a little way along the ditch he saw the tree which had
been cut down and thrown across for a bridge. It was covered with moss,
and in the shadow underneath it the hart's-tongue fern was growing.
Remembering what the toad had told him, Bevis put his hand on the
rail--it was a willow pole--but found that it was not very safe, for at
the end the wasps (a long time ago) had eaten it hollow, carrying away
the wood for their nests, and what they had left had become rotten.
Still it was enough to steady his footsteps, and taking care that he did
not put his foot on a knot, Bevis got across safely. There was a rail to
climb over on the other side, and then he was in the copse, and began to
walk down a broad green path, a road which wound in among the ash-wood.
Nobody said anything to him, it was quite silent, so silent, that he
could hear the snap of the dragon-fly's wing as he stopped in his swift
flight and returned again. Bevis pulled a handful of long green rushes,
and then he picked some of the burrs from the tall burdocks; they stuck
to his fingers when he tried to fling them away, and would not go. The
great thistles were ever so far above his head, and the humble-bees on
them glanced down at him as he passed. Bevis very carefully looked at
the bramble-bushes to see how the blackberries were coming on; but the
berries were red and green, and the flowers had not yet all gone. There
was such a beautiful piece of woodbine hanging from one of the ash-poles
that he was not satisfied till he had gathered some of it; the long
brome-grass tickled his face while he was pulling at the honeysuckle.
He clapped his hands when he found some young nuts; he knew they were
not ripe, but he picked one and bit it with his teeth, just to feel how
soft it was. There were several very nice sticks, some of which he had
half a mind to stay and cut, and put his hand in his pocket for his
knife, but there were so many things to look at, he thought he would go
on a little farther, and come back and cut them presently. The ferns
were so tall and thick in many places that he could not see in among the
trees. When he looked back he had left the place where he came in so far
behind that he could not see it, nor when he looked round could he see
any daylight through the wood; there was only the sky overhead and the
trees and ash-stoles, and bushes, and thistles, and long grass, and fern
all about him.
Bevis liked it very much, and he ran on and kicked over a bunch of tawny
fungus as he went, till by-and-by he came to a piece of timber lying on
the ground, and sat down upon it. Some finches went over just then; they
were talking about Kapchack as they flew; they went so fast he could not
hear much. But the squirrel was nowhere about; he called to him, but no
one answered, and he began to think he should never find him, when
presently, while he sat on the timber whistling very happily, something
came round the corner, and Bevis saw it was the hare.
She ran up to him quickly, and sat down at his feet, and he stroked her
very softly. "I called for you at the wheat-field," he said, "but you
were not there."
"No, dear," said the hare, "the truth is, I have been waiting for ever
so long to come into the copse on a visit to an old friend, but you must
know that the weasel lives here."
"Does the weasel live here?" said Bevis, starting up. "Tell me where,
and I will kill him; I will cut off his head with my knife."
"I cannot tell you exactly where he lives," said the hare, "but it is
somewhere in the copse. It is of no use your looking about; it is in
some hole or other, quite hidden, and you would never find it. I am
afraid to come into the copse while he is here; but this afternoon the
dragon-fly brought me word that the weasel had gone out. So I made haste
to come while he was away, as I had not seen my old friend the squirrel
for ever so long, and I wanted to know if the news was true."
"Do you mean about Kapchack?" said Bevis. "I came to see the squirrel
too, but I cannot find him."
"Yes, I mean about Kapchack," said the hare. "Is it not silly of him to
fall in love at his age? Why, he must be ten times as old as me! Really,
I some times think that the older people get the sillier they are. But
it is not much use your looking for the squirrel, dear. He may be up in
the fir-tree, or he may be in the beech, or he may have gone along the
hedge. If you were by yourself, the best thing you could do would be to
sit still where you are, and he would be nearly sure to come by, sooner
or later. He is so restless, he goes all over the copse, and is never
very long in one place. Since, however, you and I have met, I will find
him for you, and send him to you."
"How long shall you be?" said Bevis. "I am tired of sitting here now,
and I shall go on along the path."
"Oh, then," said the hare, "I shall not know where to find you, and that
will not do. Now, I know what I will do. I will take you to the
raspberries, and there you can eat the fruit till I send the squirrel."
The hare leapt into the fern, and Bevis went after her. She led him in
and out, and round the ash-stoles and bushes, till he had not the least
idea which way he was going. After a time, they came to an immense
thicket of bramble and thorn, and fern growing up in it, and honeysuckle
climbing over it.
"It is inside this thicket," said the hare. "Let us go all round, and
see if we can find a way in."
There was a place under an ash-stole, where Bevis could just creep
beneath the boughs (the boughs held up the brambles), and after going on
his hands and knees after the hare a good way, he found himself inside
the thicket, where there was an open space grown over with raspberry
canes. Bevis shouted with delight as he saw the raspberries were ripe,
and began to eat them at once.
"How ever did they get here?" he asked.
"I think it was the thrush," said the hare. "It was one of the birds, no
doubt. They take the fruit out of the orchards and gardens, and that was
how it came here, I daresay. Now, don't you go outside the thicket till
the squirrel comes. And when you have quite done talking to the
squirrel, ask him to show you the way back to the timber, and there I
will meet you, and lead you to the wheat-field, where you can see the
oak-tree, and know your way home. Mind you do not go outside the thicket
without the squirrel, or you will lose your way, and wander about among
the trees till it is night."
Off went the hare to find the squirrel, and Bevis set to work to eat as
many of the raspberries as he could.
Among the raspberry canes he found three or four rabbit-holes, and
hearing the rabbits talking to each other, he stooped down to listen.
They were talking scandal about the hare, and saying that she was very
naughty, and rambled about too much. At this Bevis was very angry, and
stamped his foot above the hole, and told them they ought to be ashamed
of themselves for saying such things. The rabbits, very much frightened,
went down farther into their holes. After which Bevis ate a great many
more raspberries, and presently, feeling very lazy, he lay down on some
moss at the foot of an oak-tree, and kicked his heels on the ground, and
looked up at the blue sky, as he always did when he wanted some one to
speak to. He did not know how long he had been gazing at the sky, when
he heard some one say: "Bevis dear!" and turning that way he saw the
squirrel, who had come up very quietly, and was sitting on one of the
lower branches of the oak close to him.
"Well, squirrel," said Bevis, sitting up; "the toad said I was to
remember him to you. And now be very quick, and tell me all you know
about Kapchack, and who it is he is in love with, and all about the
rebel, Choo Hoo, and everything else, in a minute."
"Well, you are in a hurry," said the squirrel, laughing; "and so am I,
generally; but this afternoon I have nothing to do, and I am very glad
you have come, dear. Now, first----"
"First," said Bevis, interrupting, "why did the starling say it was a
great secret, when everybody knew it?"
"It was a great secret," said the squirrel, "till Prince Tchack-tchack
came down here (he is the heir, you know) in a dreadful fit of temper,
and told the tomtit whom he met in the fir-tree, and the tomtit told the
woodpecker, and the woodpecker told the starling, who told his lady-love
on the chimney, and the fly heard him, and when you opened the window
the fly went out and buzzed it to everybody while you were at breakfast.
By this time it is all over the world; and I daresay even the sea-gulls,
though they live such a long way off, have heard it. Kapchack is beside
himself with rage that it should be known, and Tchack-tchack is afraid
to go near him. He made a great peck at Tchack-tchack just now."
"But why should there be so much trouble about it?" said Bevis.
"Oh," said the squirrel, "it is a very serious business, let me tell
you. It is not an ordinary falling in love, it is nothing less than a
complete revolution of everything, and it will upset all the rules and
laws that have been handed down ever since the world began."
"Dear me!" said Bevis. "And who is it Kapchack is in love with? I have
asked twenty people, but no one will tell me."
"Why, I am telling you," said the squirrel. "Don't you see, if it had
been an ordinary affair--only a young magpie--it would not have mattered
much, though I daresay the queen would have been jealous, but this----"
"Who is it?" said Bevis, in a rage. "Why don't you tell me who it is?"
"I am telling you," said the squirrel, sharply.
"No, you're not. You're telling me a lot of things, but not what I want
to know."
"Oh, well," said the squirrel, tossing his head and swishing his tail,
"of course, if you know more about it than I do it is no use my
staying." So off he went in a pet.
Up jumped Bevis. "You're a stupid donkey," he shouted, and ran across to
the other side, and threw a piece of stick up into an elm-tree after the
squirrel. But the squirrel was so quick he could not see which way he
had gone, and in half-a-minute he heard the squirrel say very softly:
"Bevis dear," behind him, and looked back, and there he was sitting on
the oak bough again.
The squirrel, as the toad had said, was really a very good fellow; he
was very quick to take offence, but his temper only lasted a minute.
"Bevis dear," he said, "come back and sit down again on the moss, and I
will tell you."
"I sha'n't come back," said Bevis, rather sulkily. "I shall sit here."
"No, no; don't stop there," said the squirrel, very anxiously. "Don't
stop there, dear; can't you see that great bough above you; that
elm-tree is very wicked, and full of malice, do not stop there, he may
hurt you."
"Pooh! what rubbish!" said Bevis; "I don't believe you. It is a very
nice elm, I am sure. Besides, how can he hurt me? He has got no legs and
he can't run after me, and he has no hands and he can't catch me. I'm
not a bit afraid of him;" and he kicked the elm with all his might.
Without waiting a second, the squirrel jumped down out of the oak and
ran across and caught hold of Bevis by his stocking--he could not catch
hold of his jacket--and tried to drag him away. Seeing the squirrel in
such an excited state, Bevis went with him to please him, and sat down
on the moss under the oak. The squirrel went up on the bough, and Bevis
laughed at him for being so silly.
"Ah, but my dear Sir Bevis," said the squirrel, "you do not know all, or
you would not say what you did. You think because the elm has no legs
and cannot run after you, and because he has no hands and cannot catch
you, that therefore he cannot do you any harm. You are very much
mistaken; that is a very malicious elm, and of a very wicked
disposition. Elms, indeed, are very treacherous, and I recommend you to
have nothing to do with them, dear."
"But how could he hurt me?" said Bevis.
"He can wait till you go under him," said the squirrel, "and then drop
that big bough on you. He has had that bough waiting to drop on somebody
for quite ten years. Just look up and see how thick it is, and heavy;
why, it would smash a man out flat. Now, the reason the elms are so
dangerous is because they will wait so long till somebody passes. Trees
can do a great deal, I can tell you; why, I have known a tree, when it
could not drop a bough, fall down altogether when there was not a breath
of wind, nor any lightning, just to kill a cow or a sheep, out of sheer
bad temper."
"But oaks do not fall, do they?" asked Bevis, looking up in some alarm
at the oak above him.
"Oh, no," said the squirrel; "the oak is a very good tree, and so is the
beech and the ash, and many more (though I am not quite certain of the
horse-chestnut, I have heard of his playing tricks), but the elm is not;
if he can he will do something spiteful. I never go up an elm if I can
help it, not unless I am frightened by a dog or somebody coming along.
The only fall I ever had was out of an elm.
"I ran up one in a hurry, away from that wretch, the weasel (you know
him), and put my foot on a dried branch, and the elm, like a treacherous
thing as he is, let it go, and down I went crash, and should have hurt
myself very much if my old friend the ivy had not put out a piece for me
to catch hold of, and so just saved me. As for you, dear, don't you ever
sit under an elm, for you are very likely to take cold there, there is
always a draught under an elm on the warmest day.
"If it should come on to rain while you are out for a walk, be sure and
not go under an elm for shelter if the wind is blowing, for the elm, if
he possibly can, will take advantage of the storm to smash you.
"And elms are so patient, they will wait sixty or seventy years to do
somebody an injury; if they cannot get a branch ready to fall they will
let the rain in at a knot-hole, and so make it rotten inside, though it
looks green without, or ask some fungus to come up and grow there, and
so get the bough ready for them. That elm across there is quite rotten
inside--there is a hole inside so big you could stand up, and yet if
anybody went by they would say what a splendid tree.
"But if you asked Kauhaha, the rook, he would shake his head, and
decline to have anything to do with that tree. So, my dear Sir Bevis, do
not you think any more that because a thing has no legs, nor arms, nor
eyes, nor ears, that therefore it cannot hurt you. There is the earth,
for instance; you may stamp on the earth with your feet and she will not
say anything, she will put up with anything, but she is always lying in
wait all the same, and if you could only find all the money she has
buried you would be the richest man in the world; I could tell you
something about that. The flints even----"
"Now I do not believe what you are going to say," said Bevis, "I am sure
the flints cannot do anything, for I have picked up hundreds of them and
flung them splash into the brook."
"But I assure you they can," said the squirrel. "I will tell you a story
about a flint that happened only a short time since, and then you will
believe. Once upon a time a waggon was sent up on the hills to fetch a
load of flints; it was a very old waggon, and it wanted mending, for it
belonged to a man who never would mend anything."
"Who was that?" said Bevis. "What a curious man."
"It was the same old gentleman (he is a farmer, only he is like your
papa, Sir Bevis, and his land is his own), the same old gentleman who is
so fond of Kapchack, whose palace is in his orchard. Well, the waggon
went up on the hills, where the men had dug up some flints which had
been lying quite motionless in the ground for so many thousand years
that nobody could count them. There were at least five thousand flints,
and the waggon went jolting down the hill and on to the road, and as it
went the flints tried to get out, but they could not manage it, none but
one flint, which was smaller than the rest.
"This one flint, of all the five thousand, squeezed out of a hole in the
bottom of the waggon, and fell on the dust in the road, and was left
there. There was not much traffic on the road (it is the same, dear,
that goes to Southampton, where the ships are), so that it remained
where it fell. Only one waggon came by with a load of hay, and had the
wheel gone over the flint of course it would have been crushed to
pieces. But the waggoner, instead of walking by his horses, was on the
grass at the side of the road talking to a labourer in the field, and
his team did not pass on their right side of the road, but more in the
middle, and so the flint was not crushed.
"In the evening, when it was dark, a very old and very wealthy gentleman
came along in his dog-cart, and his horse, which was a valuable one,
chanced to slip on the flint, which, being sharp and jagged, hurt its
hoof, and down the horse fell. The elderly gentleman and his groom, who
was driving, were thrown out; the groom was not hurt, but his master
broke his arm, and the horse broke his knees. The gentleman was so angry
that no sooner did he get home than he dismissed the groom, though it
was no fault of his, for how could he see the flint in the night? Nor
would he give the man a character, and the consequence was he could not
find another place. He soon began to starve, and then he was obliged to
steal, and after a while he became a burglar.
"One night he entered a house in London, and was getting on well, and
stealing gold watches and such things, when somebody opened the door
and tried to seize him. Pulling out his pistol, he shot his assailant
dead on the spot, and at once escaped, and has not since been heard of,
though you may be sure if he is caught he will be hung, and they are
looking very sharp after him, because he stole a box with some papers in
it which are said to be of great value. And the person he shot was the
same gentleman who had discharged him because the horse fell down. Now
all this happened through the flint, and as I told you, Bevis dear,
about the elm, the danger with such things is that they will wait so
long to do mischief.
"This flint, you see, waited so many years that nobody could count them,
till the waggon came to fetch it. They are never tired of waiting. Be
very careful, Bevis dear, how you climb up a tree, or how you put your
head out of window, for there is a thing that is always lying in wait,
and will pull you down in a minute, if you do not take care. It has been
waiting there to make something fall ever since the beginning of the
world, long before your house was built, dear, or before any of the
trees grew. You cannot see it, but it is there, as you may prove by
putting your cap out of window, which in a second will begin to fall
down, as you would if you were tilted out.
"And I daresay you have seen people swimming, which is a very pleasant
thing, I hear from the wild ducks; but all the time the water is lying
in wait, and if they stop swimming a minute they will be drowned, and
although a man very soon gets tired of swimming, the water never gets
tired of waiting, but is always ready to drown him.
"Also, it is the same with your candle, Bevis dear, and this the bat
told me, for he once saw it happen, looking in at a window as he flew
by, and he shrieked as loud as he could, but his voice is so very shrill
that it is not everybody can hear him, and all his efforts were in vain.
For a lady had gone to sleep in bed and left her candle burning on the
dressing-table, just where she had left it fifty times before, and found
it burnt down to the socket in the morning, and no harm done. But that
night she had had a new pair of gloves, which were wrapped up in a piece
of paper, and she undid these gloves and left the piece of paper
underneath the candlestick, and yet it would not have hurt had the
candle been put up properly, but instead of that a match had been stuck
in at the side, like a wedge, to keep it up. When the flame came down to
the match the match caught fire, and when it had burnt a little way
down, that piece fell off, and dropped on the paper in which the gloves
had been wrapped. The paper being very thin was alight in an instant,
and from the paper the flame travelled to some gauze things hung on the
looking-glass, and from that to the window curtains, and from the window
curtains to the bed curtains, till the room was in a blaze, and though
the bat shrieked his loudest the lady did not wake till she was very
much burnt.
"Also with the sea; for the cod-fish told the seagull, who told the
heron, who related the fact to the kingfisher, who informed me. The
cod-fish was swimming about in the sea and saw a ship at anchor, and
coming by the chain-cable the fish saw that one of the links of the
chain was nearly eaten through with rust; but as the wind was calm it
did not matter. Next time the ship came there to anchor the cod-fish
looked again; and the rust had gone still further into the link. A third
time the ship came back to anchor there, and the sailors went to sleep
thinking it was all right, but the cod-fish swam by and saw that the
link only just held. In the night there came a storm, and the sailors
woke up to find the vessel drifting on the rocks, where she was broken
to pieces, and hardly any of them escaped.
"Also, with living things, Bevis dear; for there was once a little
creeping thing (the sun-beetle told me he heard it from his grandfather)
which bored a hole into a beam under the floor of a room--the hole was
so tiny you could scarcely see it, and the beam was so big twenty men
could not lift it. After the creeping thing had bored this little hole
it died, but it left ten children, and they bored ten more little holes,
and when they died they left ten each, and they bored a hundred holes,
and left a thousand, and they bored a thousand holes, and they left a
thousand tens, who bored ten thousand holes, and left ten thousand tens,
and they bored one hundred thousand holes, and left one hundred thousand
tens, and they bored a million holes; and when a great number of people
met in the room to hear a man speak, down the beam fell crash, and they
were all dreadfully injured.
"Now, therefore, Bevis, my dear little Sir Bevis, do you take great care
and never think any more that a thing cannot hurt you, because it has
not got any legs, and cannot run after you, or because it has no hands,
and cannot catch you, or because it is very tiny, and you cannot see it,
but could kill a thousand with the heel of your boot. For as I told you
about the malice-minded elm, all these things are so terribly dangerous,
because they can wait so long, and because they never forget.
"Therefore, if you climb up a tree, be sure and remember to hold tight,
and not forget, for the earth will not forget, but will pull you down to
it thump, and hurt you very much. And remember if you walk by the water
that it is water, and do not forget, for the water will not forget, and
if you should fall in, will let you sink and drown you. And if you take
a candle be careful what you are doing, and do not forget that fire will
burn, for the fire will not forget, but will always be on the look-out
and ready, and will burn you without mercy. And be sure to see that no
little unseen creeping thing is at work, for they are everywhere boring
holes into the beam of life till it cracks unexpectedly; but you must
stay till you are older, and have eaten the peck of salt your papa tells
you about, before you can understand all that. Now----"
"But," said Bevis, who had been listening to the story very carefully,
"you have not told me about the wind. You have told me about the earth,
and the water, and the fire, but you have not said anything about the
wind."
"No more I have," said the squirrel. "You see I forget, though the earth
does not, neither does the water, nor the fire. Well, the wind is the
nicest of all of them, and you need never be afraid of the wind, for he
blows so sweetly, and brings the odour of flowers, and fills you with
life, and joy, and happiness. And oh, Bevis dear, you should listen to
the delicious songs he sings, and the stories he tells as he goes
through the fir-tree and the oak. Of course if you are on the ground, so
far below, you can only hear a sound of whispering, unless your ears are
very sharp; but if you were up in the boughs with me, you would be
enchanted with the beauty of his voice.
"No, dear, never be afraid of the wind, but put your doors open and let
him come in, and throw your window open and let him wander round the
room, and take your cap off sometimes, and let him stroke your hair. The
wind is a darling--I love the wind, and so do you, dear, for I have seen
you racing about when the wind was rough, chasing the leaves and
shouting with delight. Now with the wind it is just the reverse to what
it is with all the others. If you fall on the earth it thumps you; into
the water, it drowns you; into the fire, it burns you; but you cannot do
without wind.
"Always remember that you must have wind, dear, and do not get into a
drawer, as I have heard of boys doing, from the mouse, who goes about a
good deal indoors, and being suffocated for want of wind; or into a
box, or a hole, or anywhere where there is no wind. It is true he
sometimes comes along with a most tremendous push, and the trees go
cracking over. That is only because they are malice-minded, and are
rotten at the heart; and the boughs break off, that is only because they
have invited the fungus to grow on them; and the thatch on your papa's
ricks is lifted up at the corner just as if the wind had chucked them
under the chin.
"But that is nothing. Everybody loses his temper now and then, and why
not the wind? You should see the nuts he knocks down for me where I
could not very well reach them, and the showers of acorns, and the
apples! I take an apple out of your orchard, dear, sometimes, but I do
not mean any harm--it is only one or two. I love the wind! But do not go
near an elm, dear, when the wind blows, for the elm, as I told you, is a
malicious tree, and will seize any pretence, or a mere puff, to do
mischief."
"I love the wind too!" said Bevis. "He sings to me down the chimney, and
hums to me through the door, and whistles up in the attic, and shouts at
me from the trees. Oh, yes, I will do as you say; I will always have
plenty of the wind. You are a very nice squirrel. I like you very much;
and you have a lovely silky tail. But you have not told me yet who it is
Kapchack is in love with."
"I have been telling you all the time," said the squirrel; "but you are
in such a hurry; and, as I was saying, if it was only a young magpie,
now--only an ordinary affair--very likely the queen would be jealous,
indeed, and there would be a fight in the palace, which would be nothing
at all new, but this is much more serious, a very serious matter, and
none can tell how it will end. As Kauc, the crow, was saying to Cloctaw,
the jackdaw, this morning----"
"But who is it?" asked Bevis, jumping up again in a rage.
"Why, everybody knows who it is," said the squirrel; "from the ladybird
to the heron; from the horse to the mouse; and everybody is talking of
it, and as since the raven went away, there is no judge to settle any
dispute----"
"I hate you!" said Bevis, "you do talk so much; but you do not tell me
what I want to know. You are a regular donkey, and I will pull your
tail."
He snatched at the squirrel's tail, but the squirrel was too quick; he
jumped up the boughs and showed his white teeth, and ran away in a
temper.
Bevis looked all round, but could not see him, and as he was looking a
dragon-fly came and said that the squirrel had sent him to say that he
was very much hurt, and thought Bevis was extremely rude to him, but he
had told the dragon-fly to show him the way to the piece of timber, and
if he would come back to-morrow, and not be so rude, he should hear all
about it. So the dragon-fly led Bevis to the piece of timber, where the
hare was waiting, and the hare led him to the wheat-field, and showed
him the top of the great oak-tree, and from there he easily found his
way home to tea.