the tip. There was one for cheerfulness, and one for faith, and one
for persistence in making the best of a bad matter and staying at
home. And ever since that long-ago day when the world was young, the
Coons have been very proud of their beautiful tails and have kept up
the good habits of old Mr. Coon. Now you know, Peter Rabbit, why
Bobby Coon wears rings on his tail," concluded Grandfather Frog.
Peter gave a long sigh. "I think it's perfectly beautiful," he said.
"I wish I had rings on my tail."
And then he wondered why everybody laughed.
XII
WHY THERE IS A BLACK HEAD IN THE BUZZARD FAMILY
Ol' Mistah Buzzard had just told the story of why he has a bald head
and is proud of it. You know he hasn't a feather on it, and it is
very, very red. It was a very interesting story, and it had been
listened to with the closest attention by a lot of the little meadow
and forest people. Unc' Billy Possum, who is Ol' Mistah Buzzard's
particular friend, both having come from "way down souf," happened
along just in time to hear the end of it.
"May Ah ask yo' a question, Brer Buzzard?" said he.
"Cert'nly, Brer Possum. Cert'nly," replied Ol' Mistah Buzzard.
"Is Buzzard really your fam'ly name?" asked Unc' Billy.
"No, Brer Possum, it isn't," replied Ol' Mistah Buzzard. Everybody
looked surprised. You see, no one ever had heard him called anything
but Buzzard. But no one said anything, and after a minute or two Ol'
Mistah Buzzard explained.
"Mah fam'ly name is Vulture," said he. "Yes, Sah, mah fam'ly name is
Vulture, but we-uns done been called Buzzards so long, that Ah don'
know as Ah would know Ah was being spoken to, if Ah was called Mistah
Vulture."
"An' do Ah understand that all of your fam'ly have red haids?"
inquired Unc' Billy.
Ol' Mistah Buzzard looked down at Unc' Billy, and he saw a twinkle in
Unc' Billy's shrewd little eyes. Ol' Mistah Buzzard grinned.
"Ah knows jes' what yo' done got in your mind, Brer Possum," said he.
"It's that trifling, no 'count cousin of mine. He's a Buzzard, or a
Vulture, if yo' like that better, jes' like Ah am, but he belongs to
another branch of the fam'ly. He has a bald haid, jes' like Ah have,
but his haid is black instead of red. That's because his grandpap was
trifling an' po' trash, jes' like he is."
Peter Rabbit pricked up his ears. This sounded like another story. He
was curious about that black-headed cousin of Ol' Mistah Buzzard, very
curious indeed. He wondered if Ol' Mistah Buzzard would have to be
teased for a story, like Grandfather Frog. Anyway, he would find out.
There would be no harm in trying.
"If you please, how does your cousin happen to have a black head?"
asked Peter as politely as he knew how.
"Because his grandpap asked too many questions," replied Ol' Mistah
Buzzard, slyly winking at the others.
Everybody laughed, for everybody knows that no one asks more questions
than Peter Rabbit. Peter laughed with the rest, although he looked a
wee bit foolish. But he didn't mean to give up just because he was
laughed at. Oh, my, no!
"Please, Mr. Buzzard, please tell us the story," he begged.
Now Ol' Mistah Buzzard is naturally good-natured and accommodating,
and when Peter begged so hard, he just couldn't find it in his heart
to refuse. Besides, he rather enjoys telling stories. So he shook his
feathers out, half spread his wings to let the air blow under them,
looked down at all the little meadow and forest people gathered about
the foot of the tall, dead tree where he delights to roost, grinned
at them in the funniest way, and then began this story:
"Way back in the days when Grandpap Buzzard had his lil falling out
with ol' King Eagle and done fly so high he sco'tch the feathers offen
his haid, he had a cousin, did Grandpap Buzzard, and this cousin was
jes' naturally lazy and no 'count. Like most no 'count people, he used
to make a regular nuisance of hisself, poking his nose into ev'ybody's
business and never 'tending to his own. Wasn't anything going on that
this trifling member of the Buzzard fam'ly didn't find out about and
meddle in. He could ask mo' questions than Peter Rabbit can, an'
anybody that can do that has got to ask a lot."
Everybody looked at Peter and laughed. Peter made a funny face and
laughed too.
"Seemed like he jes' went 'round from mo'ning to night asking
questions," continued Ol' Mistah Buzzard, "Got so that eve'ybody
dreaded to see that no 'count Buzzard coming, because he bound to
pester with questions about things what don't concern him no ways.
"Now yo' know that way down in Ol' Virginny where Ah done come from,
mah fam'ly done got the habit of sitting on the tops of chimneys in
the wintertime to warm their toes."
"Why, I thought it was warm down south!" interrupted Peter Rabbit.
"So it is, Brer Rabbit! So it is!" Ol' Mistah Buzzard hastened to say.
"But yo' see, ol' Jack Frost try to come down there sometimes, an' he
cool the air off a right smart lot before he turn tail an' run back
where he belong. So we-uns sit on the chimney-tops whenever ol' Jack
Frost gets to straying down where he have no business. Yo' see, if
we-uns keep our toes warm, we-uns are warm all over.
"One day this no 'count, trifling cousin of Grandpap Buzzard get cold
in his feet. He look 'round right smart fo' a chimney fo' to warm his
toes, an' pretty soon he see one where he never been before. It was on
a lil ol' house, a lil ol' tumble-down house. Mistah Buzzard fly right
over an' sit on that chimney-top fo' to warm his toes. Of course he
right smart curious about that lil ol' tumble-down house and who live
there. He hear somebody inside talking to theirself, but he can't hear
what they say, jes' a mumbling sound that come up the chimney to him.
"He listen an' listen. Then he shift 'round to the other side of the
chimney an' listen. No matter where he sit, he can't hear what being
said down inside that lil ol' tumble-down house. Then what do yo'
think Mistah Buzzard do? Why, he jes' stretch his fool haid as far
down that chimney as he can an' listen an' listen. Yes, Sah, that is
jes' what that no 'count Buzzard do. But all he hear is jes' a
mumbling and a mumbling, an' that make him more curious than ever. It
seem to him that he must go clean outen his haid 'less he hear what
going on down inside that lil ol' house.
"Now when he stretch his haid an' neck down the chimney that way, he
get 'em all black with soot. But he don't mind that. No, Sah, he don'
mind that a bit. Fact is, he don' notice it. He so curious he don'
notice anything, an' pretty soon he plumb fo'get where he is an' that
he is listening where he have no business. He plumb fo'get all about
this, an' he holler down that chimney. Yes, Sah, he holler right down
that chimney!
"'Will yo'-alls please speak a lil louder,' he holler down the
chimney, jes' like that.
"Now the lil ol' woman what lived by herself in that lil ol'
tumble-down house hadn't seen that no 'count Buzzard light on the
chimney fo' to warm his toes, an' when she hear that voice coming
right outen the fireplace, she was some flustrated and scared, was
that lil ol' woman. Yes, Sah, she sho'ly was plumb scared. She so
scared she tip over a whole kettleful of soup right in the fire. Of
course that make a terrible mess an' a powerful lot of smoke an' hot
ashes fly up the chimney. They like to choke that no 'count Buzzard to
death. They burn the feathers offen his haid an' neck, an' the soot
make him black, all but his feet an' laigs an' the inside of his
wings, which he keep closed.
"Mistah Buzzard he give a mighty squawk an' fly away. When he get
home, he try an' try to brush that soot off, but it done get into the
skin an' it stay there. An' from that day his haid an' neck stay
black, an' he never speak lessen he spoken to, an' then he only grunt.
His chillen jes' like him, an' his chillen's chillen the same way. An'
that is the reason that mah cousin who lives down souf done have a
black haid," concluded Ol' Mistah Buzzard.
A little sigh of satisfaction went around the circle of listeners. As
usual, Peter Rabbit was the first to speak.
"That was a splendid story, Mr. Buzzard," said he, "and I'm ever and
ever so much obliged to you. It was just as good as one of Grandfather
Frog's."
Ol' Mistah Buzzard grinned and slowly winked one eye at Unc' Billy
Possum as he replied: "Thank yo', Brer Rabbit. That's quite the
nicest thing yo' could say."
"But it's true!" shouted all together, and then everybody gave three
cheers for Ol' Mistah Buzzard before starting off to attend to their
own private affairs.
XIII
WHY BUSTER BEAR APPEARS TO HAVE NO TAIL
Peter Rabbit had something new to bother his bump of curiosity. And it
did bother it a lot. He had just seen Buster Bear for the first time,
and what do you think had impressed him most? Well, it wasn't Buster's
great size, or wonderful strength, or big claws, or deep,
grumbly-rumbly voice. No, Sir, it wasn't one of these. It was the fact
that Buster Bear seemed to have no tail! Peter couldn't get over that.
He almost pitied Buster Bear. You see, Peter has a great admiration
for fine tails. He has always been rather ashamed of the funny little
one he has himself. Still, it is a real tail, and he has often
comforted himself with that thought.
So the first thing Peter did when he saw Buster Bear was to look to
see what kind of a tail he had. Just imagine how surprised he was when
he couldn't make sure that Buster had any tail at all. There was
something that might, just might, be meant for a tail, and Peter
wasn't even sure of that. If it was, it was so ridiculously small that
Peter felt that he had no reason to be ashamed of his own tail.
He was still thinking about this when he started for home. Half way
there, he paused, saw that the way to the Smiling Pool was clear, and
suddenly made up his mind to ask Grandfather Frog about Buster Bear's
tail. Off he started, lipperty-lipperty-lip.
"Oh, Grandfather Frog," he panted, as soon as he reached the edge of
the Smiling Pool, "has Buster Bear got a tail?"
Grandfather Frog regarded Peter in silence for a minute or two.
Then very slowly he asked: "What are your eyes for, Peter Rabbit?
Couldn't you see whether or not he has a tail?"
"No, Grandfather Frog. I really couldn't tell whether he has a tail or
not," replied Peter quite truthfully. "At first I thought he hadn't,
and then I thought he might have. If he has, it doesn't seem to me
that it is enough to call a really truly tail."
"Well, it is a really truly tail, even if you don't think so,"
retorted Grandfather Frog, "and he has it for a reminder."
"A reminder!" exclaimed Peter, looking very much puzzled. "A reminder
of what?"
Grandfather Frog cleared his throat two or three times. "Sit down,
Peter, and learn a lesson from the tale of the tail of Old King Bear,"
said he very seriously.
"You remember that once upon a time, long ago, when the world was
young, Old King Bear ruled in the Green Forest, and everybody brought
tribute to him."
Peter nodded and Grandfather Frog went on.
"Now Old King Bear was the great-great-ever-so-great grandfather of
Buster Bear, and he looked very much as Buster does, except that he
didn't have any tail at all, not the least sign of a tail. At first,
before he was made king of the Green Forest, he didn't mind this at
all. In fact, he was rather pleased that he didn't have a tail. You
see, he couldn't think of any earthly use he would have for a tail,
and so he was glad that he hadn't got one to bother with.
"This was just Old Mother Nature's view of the matter. She had done
her very best to give everybody everything that they really needed,
and not to give them things which they didn't need. She couldn't see
that Mr. Bear had the least need of a tail, and so she hadn't given
him one. Mr. Bear was perfectly happy without one, and was so busy
getting enough to eat that he didn't have time for silly thoughts or
vain wishes.
"Then he was made king over all the people of the Green Forest, and
his word was law. It was a very great honor, and for a while he felt
it so and did his best to rule wisely. He went about just as before,
hunting for his living, and had no more time than before for foolish
thoughts or vain wishes. But after a little, the little people over
whom he ruled began to bring him tribute, so that he no longer had to
hunt for enough to eat. Indeed, he had so much brought to him, that he
couldn't begin to eat all of it, and he grew very dainty and fussy
about what he did eat. Having nothing to do but eat and sleep, he grew
very fat and lazy, as is the case with most people who have nothing to
do. He grew so fat that when he walked, he puffed and wheezed. He grew
so lazy that he wanted to be waited on all the time.
"It happened about this time that he overheard Mr. Fox talking to Mr.
Wolf when they both thought him asleep. 'A pretty kind of a king, he
is!' sneered Mr. Fox. 'The idea of a king without a tail!'
"'That's so,' assented Mr. Wolf. 'Why, even that little upstart, Mr.
Rabbit, has got a make-believe tail.'"
Grandfather Frog's eyes twinkled as he said this, and Peter looked
very much embarrassed. But he didn't say anything, so Grandfather Frog
went on.
"Old King Bear pretended to wake up just then, and right away Mr. Fox
and Mr. Wolf were as polite and smiling as you please and began to
flatter him. They told him how proud they were of their king, and how
handsome he was, and a lot of other nice things, all of which he had
heard often before and had believed. He pretended to believe them now,
but after they were through paying their respects and had gone away,
he kept turning over and over in his mind what he had overheard them
say when they thought he was asleep.
"After that he couldn't think of anything but the fact that he hadn't
any tail. He took particular notice of all who came to pay him
tribute, and he saw that every one of them had a tail. Some had long
tails; some had short tails; some had handsome tails and some had
homely tails; but everybody had a tail of some kind. The more he tried
not to think of these tails, the more he did think of them. The more
he thought of them, the more discontented he grew because he had none.
He didn't stop to think that probably all of them had use for their
tails. No, Sir, he didn't think of that. Everybody else had a tail,
and he hadn't. He felt that it was a disgrace that he, the king,
should have no tail. He brooded over it so much that he lost his
appetite and grew cross and peevish.
"Then along came Old Mother Nature to see how things were going in the
Green Forest. Of course she saw right away that something was wrong
with Old King Bear. When she asked him what the matter was, he was
ashamed to tell her at first. But after a little he told her that he
wanted a tail; that he could never again be happy unless he had a
tail. She told him that he hadn't the least use in the world for a
tail, and that he wouldn't be any happier if he had one. Nothing that
she could say made any difference--he wanted a tail. Finally she gave
him one.
"For a few days Old King Bear was perfectly happy. He spent all his
spare time admiring his new tail. He called the attention of all his
subjects to it, and they all told him that it was a very wonderful
tail and was very becoming to him. But it wasn't long before he found
that his new tail was very much in the way. It bothered him when he
walked. It was in the way when he sat down. It was a nuisance when he
climbed a tree. He didn't have a single use for it, and yet he had to
carry it with him wherever he went. Worse still, he overheard little
Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Possum making fun of it. And then he discovered
that the very ones who admired his tail so to his face were laughing
at him and poking fun at him behind his back.
"And then Old King Bear wished that he _hadn't_ a tail more than ever
he wished that he _did_ have a tail. Again he lost his appetite and
grew cross and peevish, so that no one dared come near him. So matters
went from bad to worse, until once more Old Mother Nature visited the
Green Forest to see how things were. Very humbly Old King Bear went
down on his knees and begged her to take away his tail. At first Old
Mother Nature refused, but he begged so hard and promised so
faithfully never again to be discontented, that finally she relented
and took away his tail, all but just a wee little bit. That she left
as a reminder lest he should forget the lesson he had learned and
should again grow envious.
[Illustration: "Then Old King Bear wished that he hadn't a tail."]
"And every bear since that long-ago day has carried about with him a
reminder--you can hardly call it a real tail--of the silly, foolish
discontent of Old King Bear," concluded Grandfather Frog.
Peter Rabbit scratched one long ear thoughtfully as he replied: "Thank
you, Grandfather Frog. I think that hereafter I will be quite content
with what I've got and never want things it is not meant that I should
have."
XIV
WHY FLITTER THE BAT FLIES AT NIGHT
[Illustration: "It must be fine to fly," thought Peter. "I wish I could
fly."]
Flitter the Bat made Peter Rabbit's head dizzy. Peter couldn't help
watching him. He just had to. It seemed so wonderful that Flitter
could really fly, that whenever he saw him, Peter had to stop and
watch. And then, as he saw Flitter twist and turn, fly high, fly low,
and go round and round, Peter's head would begin to swim and grow
dizzy, and he wondered and wondered how it was that Flitter himself
didn't grow dizzy.
"It must be fine to fly," thought Peter. "I wish I could fly. If I
could, I wouldn't spend all my time flying around the way Flitter
does. I'd go on long journeys and see the Great World. I'd fly way,
way up in the blue, blue sky, the way Ol' Mistah Buzzard does, where I
could look down and see all that is going on in the Green Forest and
on the Green Meadows. And I'd fly in the daytime, because there is
more going on then. I wonder, now, why it is that Flitter never comes
out until after jolly, round, red Mr. Sun has gone to bed behind the
Purple Hills. I never see him in the daytime, and I don't even know
where he keeps himself. I never thought of it before, but I wonder why
it is that he flies only at night. I believe I'll ask Grandfather Frog
the very next time I see him."
Now you know that once Peter Rabbit's curiosity is aroused, it just
has to be satisfied. No sooner did he begin to wonder about Flitter
the Bat than he could think of nothing else. So he watched until the
way was clear, and then he started for the Smiling Pool as fast as he
could go, lipperty-lipperty-lip. He hoped he would find Grandfather
Frog sitting as usual on his big green lily-pad, and that he would be
good-natured. If he wasn't feeling good-natured, it would be of no use
to ask him for a story.
When Peter reached the Smiling Pool he was disappointed, terribly
disappointed. The big green lily-pad was there, but there was no one
sitting on it. Somehow the Smiling Pool didn't seem quite like itself
without Grandfather Frog sitting there watching for foolish green
flies. Peter's face showed just how disappointed he felt. He was just
going to turn away when a great, deep voice said:
"Chug-a-rum! Where are your manners, Peter Rabbit, that you forget to
speak to your elders?"
Peter stared eagerly into the Smiling Pool, and presently he saw two
great, goggly eyes and the top of a green head, way out almost in the
middle of the Smiling Pool. It was Grandfather Frog himself, having
his morning swim.
"Oh, Grandfather Frog, I didn't see you at all!" cried Peter, "If I
had, of course I would have spoken. The fact is, I--I--"
"You want a story," finished Grandfather Frog for him. "You can't fool
me, Peter Rabbit. You came over here just to ask me for a story. I
know you, Peter! I know you! Well, what is it this time?"
"If you please," replied Peter politely and happily, for he saw that
Grandfather Frog was feeling good-natured, "why is it that Flitter
the Bat flies only at night?"
Grandfather Frog climbed out on his big green lily-pad and made
himself comfortable. Peter sat still and tried not to show how
impatient he felt. Grandfather Frog took his time. It tickled him to
see how hard impatient Peter was trying to be patient, and his big,
goggly eyes twinkled.
"Chug-a-rum!" said he at last, with a suddenness that made Peter jump.
"That's very good, Peter, very good indeed! Now I'll tell you the
story."
Of course he meant that Peter's effort to keep still was very good,
but Peter didn't know this, and he couldn't imagine what Grandfather
Frog meant. However, what he cared most about was the story, so he
settled himself to listen, his long ears standing straight up, and his
eyes stretched wide open as he watched Grandfather Frog. The latter
cleared his throat two or three times, each time as if he intended to
begin right then. It was one of Grandfather Frog's little jokes. He
did it just to tease Peter. At last he really did begin, and the very
first thing he did was to ask Peter a question.
"What is the reason that you stay in the dear Old Briar-patch when
Reddy Fox is around?"
"So that he won't catch me, of course," replied Peter.
"Very good," said Grandfather Frog. "Now, why do you go over to the
sweet-clover patch every day?"
"Why, because there is plenty to eat there," replied Peter, looking
very, very much puzzled.
"Well, now you've answered your own question," grunted Grandfather
Frog. "Flitter flies at night because he is safest then, and because
he can find plenty to eat."
"Oh," said Peter, and his voice sounded dreadfully disappointed. He
had found out what he had wanted to know, but he hadn't had a story.
He fidgeted about and looked very hard at Grandfather Frog, but the
latter seemed to think that he had told Peter what he wanted to know,
and that was all there was to it. Finally Peter sighed, and it was
such a heavy sigh! Then very slowly he turned his back on the Smiling
Pool and started to hop away.
"Chug-a-rum!" said Grandfather Frog in his deepest, story-telling
voice. "A long time ago when the world was young, the
great-great-ever-so-great grandfather of Flitter the Bat first learned
to fly."
"I know!" cried Peter eagerly. "You told me about that, and it was a
splendid story."
"But when he learned to fly, he found that Old Mother Nature never
gives all her blessings to any single one of her little people,"
continued Grandfather Frog, without paying the least attention to
Peter's interruption. "Old Mr. Bat had wings; something no other
animal had, but he found that he could no longer run and jump. He
could just flop about on the ground, and was almost helpless. Of
course that meant that he could very easily be caught, and so the
ground was no longer a safe place for him. But he soon found that he
was not safe in the air in daytime. Old Mr. Hawk could fly even faster
than he, and Mr. Hawk was always watching for him. At first, Mr. Bat
didn't know what to do. He didn't like to go to Old Mother Nature and
complain that his new wings were not all that he had thought they
would be. That would look as if he were ungrateful for her kindness
in giving him the wings.
"'I've got to think of some way out of my troubles myself,' thought
old Mr. Bat. 'When I'm sure that I can't, it will be time enough to go
to Old Mother Nature.'
"Now of course it is very hard to think when you are twisting and
dodging and turning in the air."
"Of course!" said Peter Rabbit, just as if he knew all about it.
"So Mr. Bat went looking for a place where he could be quiet all by
himself and think without danger of being gobbled up for some one's
dinner," continued Grandfather Frog. "He flew and he flew and had
almost given up hope of finding any such place when he saw a cave. It
looked very black inside, but it was big enough for Mr. Bat to fly
into, and in he went. He knew that Mr. Hawk would never come in
there, and when he found a little shelf up near the roof, he knew that
he was safe from any four-footed enemies who might follow him there.
It was just the place to rest and think. So he rested, and while he
rested, he thought and thought.