The Skunks did not go into society at all. They were very unpopular, and
so many people feared or disliked them that nobody would invite them to
a party. Indeed, if they had been invited to a party and had gone, the
other guests would have left at once. The small people of the forest
feared them because they were meat-eaters, and the larger ones disliked
them because of their disagreeable habits. The Skunks were handsome and
quiet, but they were quick-tempered, and as soon as one of them became
angry he threw a horrible smelling liquid on the people who displeased
him. It was not only horrible smelling, but it made those who had to
smell it steadily quite sick, and would, indeed, have killed them if
they had not kept in the fresh air. If a drop of this liquid got on to a
person, even his wife and children had to keep away from him for a long
time.
And the Skunks were so unreasonable. They would not stop to see what was
the real trouble, but if anybody ran into them by mistake in the
darkness, they would just as likely as not throw the liquid at once.
Among themselves they seemed to be quite happy. There were from six to
ten children born at a time in each family. These children lived in the
burrow with their father and mother until the next spring, sleeping
steadily through the coldest weather of winter, and only awakening when
it was warm enough for them to enjoy life. When spring came, the
children found themselves grown-up and went off to live their own lives
in new holes, while their mothers took care of the six or seven or
eight or nine or ten new babies.
There was one very interesting Skunk family in the forest, with the
father, mother, and eight children living in one hole. No two of them
were marked in exactly the same way, although all were stoutly built,
had small heads, little round ears, and beautiful long tails covered
with soft, drooping hair. Their fur was rather long and handsome and
they were dark brown or black nearly all over. Most of them had a streak
of white on the forehead, a spot of it on the neck, some on the tail,
and a couple of stripes of it on their backs. One could see them quite
easily by starlight on account of the white fur.
The Skunks were really very proud of their white stripes and spots. "It
is not so much having the white fur," Mrs. Skunk had been heard to say,
"as it is having it where all can see it. Most animals wear the dark fur
on their backs and the light on their bellies, and that is to make them
safer from enemies. But we dare to wear ours in plain sight. _We_ are
never afraid."
And what she said was true, although it hardly seemed modest for her to
talk about it in that way. It would have been more polite to let other
people tell how brave her family were. Perhaps, however, if somebody
else had been telling it, he would have said that part of their courage
was rudeness.
Father Skunk always talked to his children as his father had talked to
him, and probably as his grandfather had also talked when he was raising
a family. "Never turn out of your way for anybody," said he. "Let the
other fellow step aside. Remember that, no matter whom you meet and no
matter how large the other people may be. If they see you, they will get
out of your path, and if they can't it is not your fault. Don't speak
to them and don't hurry. Always take your time."
Father Skunk was slow and stately. It was a sight worth seeing when he
started off for a night's ramble, walking with a slow and measured gait
and carrying his fine tail high over his back. He always went by
himself. "One is company, two is a crowd," he would say as he walked
away. When they were old enough, the young Skunks began to walk off
alone as soon as it was dark. Mother Skunk also went alone, and perhaps
she had the best time of all, for it was a great rest not to have eight
babies tumbling over her back and getting under her feet and hanging on
to her with their thirty-two paws, and sometimes even scratching her
with their one hundred and sixty claws. They still slept through the
days in the old hole, so they were together much of the time, but they
did not hunt in parties, as Raccoons and Weasels do.
[Illustration: HE STARTED OFF FOR A NIGHT'S RAMBLE. _Page 72_]
One of the brothers had no white whatever on his tail, so they called
him the Black-tailed Skunk. He had heard in some way that there was an
Ovenbird's nest on the ground by the fern bank, and he made up his mind
to find it the very next night and eat the eggs which were inside.
Another brother was called the Spotted Skunk, because the spot on his
neck was so large. He had found the Ovenbird's nest himself, while on
his way home in the early morning. He would have liked to rob it then,
but he had eaten so much that night that he thought it better to wait.
So it happened that when the family awakened the next night two of the
children had important plans of their own. Neither of them would have
told for anything, but they couldn't quite keep from hinting about it as
they made themselves ready to go out.
"Aha!" said the Black-tailed Skunk. "I know something you don't know."
"Oh, tell us!" cried four or five of the other children, while the
Spotted Skunk twisted his head and said, "You don't either!"
"I do too!" replied the Black-tailed Skunk.
"Children! Children!" exclaimed Mrs. Skunk, while their father said that
he couldn't see where his children got their quarrelsome disposition,
for none of his people had ever contradicted or disputed. His wife told
him that she really thought them very good, and that she was sure they
behaved much better than most Skunks of their age. Then their father
walked off in his most stately manner, putting his feet down almost
flat, and carrying his tail a little higher than usual.
"I do know something that you don't," repeated the Black-tailed Skunk,
"and it's something nice, too."
"Aw!" said the Spotted Skunk. "I don't believe it, and I don't care
anyhow."
"I know you don't know, and I know you'd want to know if you knew what I
know," said the Black-tailed Skunk, who was now getting so excited that
he could hardly talk straight.
"Children!" exclaimed their mother. "Not another word about that. I do
wish you would wake up good-natured."
"He started it," said the Spotted Skunk, "and we're not quarrelling
anyhow. But I guess he'd give a good deal to know where I'm going."
"Children!" repeated their mother. "Go at once. I will not have you
talking in this way before your brothers and sisters. Do not stop to
talk, but go!"
So the two brothers started out for the night and each thought he would
go a roundabout way to fool the other. The Black-tailed Skunk went to
the right, and the Spotted Skunk went to the left, but each of them,
you know, really started to rob the Ovenbird's nest. It was a very dark
night. Even the stars were all hidden behind thick clouds, and one could
hardly see one's forepaws while walking. But, of course, the
night-prowlers of the forest are used to this, and four-footed people
are not so likely to stumble and fall as two-footed ones. Besides, young
Skunks have to remember where logs and stumps of trees are, just as
other people have to remember their lessons.
So it happened that, while Mrs. Ovenbird was sleeping happily with her
four eggs safe and warm under her breast, two people were coming from
different ways to rob her. Such a snug nest as it was! She had chosen a
tiny hollow in the fern bank and had cunningly woven dry grasses and
leaves into a ball-shaped nest, which fitted neatly into the hollow and
had a doorway on one side.
The Black-tailed Skunk sneaked up to the nest from one side. The Spotted
Skunk sneaked up from the other side. Once the Black-tailed Skunk
thought he heard some other creature moving toward him. At the same
minute the Spotted Skunk thought he heard somebody, so he stopped to
listen. Neither heard anything. Mrs. Ovenbird was sure that she heard a
leaf rustle outside, and it made her anxious until she remembered that a
dead twig might have dropped from the beech-tree overhead and hit the
dry leaves below.
Slowly the two brothers crept toward the nest and each other. They moved
very quietly, because each wanted to catch the mother-bird if he could.
Close to the nest hollow they crouched and sprang with jaws open and
sharp teeth ready to bite. There was a sudden crashing of leaves and
ferns. The two brothers had sprung squarely at each other, each was
bitten, growled, and ran away. And how they did run! It is not often,
you know, that Skunks go faster than a walk, but when they are really
scared they move very, very swiftly.
Mrs. Ovenbird felt her nest roof crush down upon her for a minute as two
people rolled and growled outside. Then she heard them running away in
different directions and knew that she was safe, for a time at least. In
the morning she repaired her nest and told her bird friends about it.
They advised her to take her children away as soon as possible after
they were hatched. "If the Skunks have found your nest," they said, "you
may have another call from them."
When the Black-tailed Skunk came stealing home in the first faint light
just before sunrise, he found the Spotted Skunk telling the rest of the
family how some horrible great fierce beast had pounced upon him in the
darkness and bitten him on the shoulder. "It was so dark," said he,
"that I couldn't see him at all, but I am sure it must have been a
Bear."
They turned to tell the Black-tailed Skunk about his brother's
misfortune, and saw that he limped badly. "Did the Bear catch you, too?"
they cried.
"Yes," answered he. "It must have been a Bear. It was so big and strong
and fierce. But I bit him, too. I wouldn't have run away from him, only
he was so much bigger than I."
"That was just the way with me," said the Spotted Skunk. "I wouldn't
have run if he hadn't been so big."
"You should have thrown liquid on him," said their father. "Then he
would have been the one to run."
The brothers hung their heads. "We never thought," they cried. "We think
it must have been because we were so surprised and didn't see him
coming."
"Well," said their father sternly, "I suppose one must be patient with
children, but such unskunklike behavior makes me very much ashamed of
you both." Then the two bitten brothers went to bed in disgrace,
although their mother was sorry for them and loved them, as mothers will
do, even when their children are naughty or cowardly.
One night, some time later, these two brothers happened to meet down by
the fern bank. It was bright moonlight and they stopped to visit, for
both were feeling very good-natured. The Black-tailed Skunk said: "Come
with me and I'll show you where there is an Ovenbird's nest."
"All right," answered the Spotted Skunk, "and then I'll show you one."
"I've just been waiting for a bright night," said the Black-tailed
Skunk, "because I came here once in the dark and had bad luck."
"It was near here," said the Spotted Skunk, "that I was bitten by the
Bear."
They stopped beside a tiny hollow. "There is the nest," said the
Black-tailed Skunk, pointing with one of his long forefeet.
"Why, that is the one I meant," exclaimed the Spotted Skunk.
"I found it first," said the Black-tailed Skunk, "and I'd have eaten the
eggs before if that Bear hadn't bitten me."
Just at that minute the two Skunks had a new idea. "We do believe,"
cried they, "that we bit each other!"
"We certainly did," said the Spotted Skunk.
"But we'll never tell," said the Black-tailed Skunk.
"Now," they added together, "let's eat everything."
But they didn't. In fact, they didn't eat anything, for the eggs were
hatched, and the young birds had left the nest only the day before.
[Illustration]