cease, then many of the wild things began to grow very hungry and
ventured forth. A sly old weasel started out first, and soon his lithe,
snake-like body was skimming silently through the pathless, silent
forest, leaving queer little tracks in the soft snow as he traveled.
Once in the deep pines he began to peer about for prey; in and out among
the brown underbrush he crept, being careful that no twig should snap
beneath him to betray his coming. Nothing seemed to be stirring yet;
plainly everything was still asleep. But far up above in the giant pine
above him the weasel failed to notice that a certain knot-hole was
completely filled by a great, round, snowy face lighted by glittering,
angry eyes, of pale yellow. For the great snowy owl had seen the weasel
the moment he came into the woods, and recognized him as the enemy who
had robbed her of the young owlets. On crept the weasel, feeling rather
cross, when suddenly his little red eyes lighted upon four very peculiar
tussocks of snow just beside a great log; and could he believe his
eyes?--one of the snow bundles moved. Then the weasel knew there must be
something hidden there. He stole nearer. He was in great luck; surely
there were partridges there asleep in the snow. Instantly he gathered
himself for a swift spring, but just as he was about to seize the first
partridge, a great, white shadowy form, which might have been a giant
snowflake, so silently did it fall, came swooping down upon the weasel
from above, and the next instant the strong yellow talons hidden in the
snowy feathers were buried in the weasel’s fur, and he was lifted and
borne in triumph through the air, twisting and struggling to gain his
freedom, but vainly.
Then at a signal the brave leader of the partridges rose, and the other
three went “whir, whir, whirring” off into the safe places of the
forest.
[Illustration: HOW SOLOMON OWL BECAME WISE]
XVIII
HOW SOLOMON OWL BECAME WISE
Solomon was the largest, as well as the most headstrong youngster in the
screech-owl family. There were five of them, and they all lived in the
knot-hole of a large sycamore tree down in the swamp. Just as soon as
Solomon got through his pin-feather age, he began to show off and assert
his independence. He would so bully the others, and jostle them about so
roughly, that when the old owls came home with food for them, it always
happened that the round, chuckle-head of Solomon managed to fill the
knot-hole door, and always his greedy beak would snatch the forthcoming
morsel from the others; for so furiously did he beat the little ones
back, he always managed to get the very choicest bits.
Small wonder then that Solomon grew strong and lusty long before the
others were out of their down and pin-feather age. Bold too and fearless
he soon became, and when the purple twilight shadows began to deepen in
the forest away down below him, Solomon would steal from the nest and
sit blinking his beautiful yellow eyes until their black centers would
expand from a mere dot, gradually growing larger, until all the daytime
blindness had left him, and he could see everything about him. He saw
the little brown bats, who slept all day, clinging like velvet bags to
the limb of a tree, and each night he saw them unhook their claws, just
at twilight, and dart squeaking away into the shadows after gnats. Then
down below between dark, still aisles of the pines, night life in the
forest began, and first of all a sly old lynx, with such an ugly
disposition that he snarled at everything which crossed his path, would
go skulking off by himself. Other night prowlers followed his example,
and Solomon, watching them from his lofty perch, would suddenly unfurl
his strong, young wings, with a swish as of rustling silk, and launch
himself forth into the night.
Oh, it was wonderful to be free, and best of all, alone, for no longer
did greedy Solomon have to share his food with the family. He knew
instinctively where to hunt, and haunted the brooks and waterways for
young frogs, who loved to come out of the water and sit upon the broad,
cool lily pads enjoying the fragrance of snowy lilies which floated upon
the water, as they sang their jolly choruses beneath the summer moon.
Then down among the silvery ripples of the brook swam great shoals of
little tender minnows, and into the tall sedges Solomon would dart like
a flash, to snap up some trembling little field-mouse, or sleeping bird,
who nested in the reedy marshes. Seldom did the yellow eyes or strong
beak and talons of Solomon fail him, and soon he became famous among his
wild kindred as a mighty hunter.
Now there are always certain things which young owls should know, and
Mother Owl had tried to impress upon her children that they must always
get back to the home nest before the sun rose and peeped above the top
of the mountain, for, said she:
“Should you stay away from home after sunrise, you will never find your
way back again, because you will be overtaken by the terrible sun
blindness, and then you’ll be as blind as a bat, and everybody knows how
helpless and blind a bat is in the daytime, for they have to cover up
their eyes with their wings all day long.” All the other little owls
listened respectfully to their mother’s warning words, but Solomon just
snapped his beak saucily at her, and blinked his great eyes quite
indifferently at her advice, which had simply gone into one feathery ear
and straight out of the other; secretly, he made up his mind then and
there, that he would have an astonishing adventure. He would stay out
and keep awake all day long, instead of coming back home with the others
and going to sleep.
So one night Solomon flew off, as usual, alone, upon a hunting trip; a
new, strange wildness possessed him, and he longed for adventures. He
would fly off a long distance to new hunting grounds. High and low he
soared, searching for prey, skimming low over strange, unexplored pools
far from home; but somehow that night the moon shone so brightly that
the frogs always saw him first, and down they would plunge, out of sight
beneath the thick jungles of the water weeds, throwing back to him a
defiant “kerchung.” Finally Solomon realized to his dismay that night
was almost gone, for the moon had disappeared behind a mountain, and
still he had caught nothing to eat but just a few stray gnats. So he
instantly made up his mind that it would be foolish to go back home
[Illustration: SOLOMON FAILED TO SEE THE TRAP]
hungry, and perhaps when the big yellow sun ball actually came from
behind the mountain, where it slept all night, then he would be able to
find something quite different to eat, some new delicacy, for, with
_more_ light, he would certainly be able to see very much farther,
instead of becoming blind like a stupid bat. He determined to stay awake
and test it all for himself. Accordingly, back and forth he gaily flew
over the gradually lightening marshes. And just as he was beginning to
get fiercely hungry, he suddenly spied a choice morsel of fresh meat
lying right in plain sight near the brook. Headlong, down swept Solomon,
and grabbed the coveted bait greedily, so eagerly that he failed to see
the trap beneath it, until it had nipped his leg and held him firmly, a
prisoner.
Solomon soon found out that the more he flopped and struggled about to
get free, the harder did the cruel teeth of the trap bite into his leg;
so, finally, he had to lie with outstretched, helpless wings upon the
trap. Meantime, higher and higher crept the daylight into the sky, and
finally out burst the big, hot sun in a great blaze, and the higher it
mounted into the sky the greater became poor, foolish Solomon’s
blindness. To add to his misery, the choice morsel of bait which he
coveted, lay just outside his reach, and the trap bit and bit into his
leg hotly.
In spite of his torment, Solomon began to know that unusual, daytime
things, were going on all around him. Muskrats were taking their morning
swim, splashing about in the water, and slapping their tails; birds, of
which he knew nothing, sang beautiful, unfamiliar songs over his head.
Thousands of sleeping gnats awoke and swarmed in the air, humming
shrilly, while huge, lace-winged dragon-flies whirred close to his ears,
and Solomon clicked his beak angrily at them as they swept past him.
Then, to add to his misery, a whole drove of impudent little brown birds
spied him, and began to tease and torment him. They would settle upon a
near-by twig, then dart down upon him with little hateful “cheep, cheep,
cheeps” of derision, flaunting their free wings saucily close to his
half-blind eyes. Solomon beat his wings frantically to scare them off,
but always they came back again to torment him. Next, a colony of crows
came to drink at the brook and “caw, caw, caw’d” jeeringly at him; and
all the time the hot sun beat down upon him and scorched and blinded
him, so that he had to cover his eyes with their filmy lids, and defend
himself as best he might. All day long Solomon endured the dreadful
torments of daylight; then, when he was almost ready to give up,
something happened.
“Pad, pad, pad,” came the sound of stealthy footfalls, and then right
through the tall cat-tails and sedges came slyly Red-Brush, the fox;
jauntily he made his way toward the trap, for his keen, pointed snout
had caught the fresh meat scent. Picking his way cautiously over the
brook stones he came, lightly leaping across to the trap. Red-Brush saw
Solomon and bared all his sharp, white teeth, in a grin of joy and
anticipation. But first of all he would eat the bait, then finish off
with the young owl later. With a great bound he was on the trap, and
instantly, with this the eight teeth of the trap were sprung apart, and
Solomon’s leg was free. Then, even before Red-Brush could drop the bait,
with a swift uprushing of wings Solomon was far above his head, and
quite safe.
Solomon flew swiftly to the top of a lofty pine, and there beneath a
limb, screened by dark, thick tufts of needles he sat alone and
pondered. His foot was lame and stiff, and as daylight still lingered he
blinked and winked to keep out the light. At last the hateful sun
slipped away somewhere out of sight, and Solomon’s blindness began to
leave him, and he saw with joy the moon, pale and yellow, come creeping
back to its place once more. He recognized the swift, shadowy forms of
his neighbors, the bats, flitting about again. And then poor, lonely
Solomon, unable to contain himself any longer, for sheer homesickness
sent forth a wonderful call of misery and longing, out into the night.
“Who-ooo-o-o, who-ooo-o-o,” he quavered, over and over again, and then
before the last long “who-ooo-o-o” had fairly died away, away off
somewhere over the tops of the tall pines came back an answering call,
another “who-ooo,” and Solomon heard and recognized it as it came nearer
and nearer.
So, unfurling his soft, moth-like wings Solomon flew off in the
direction of the familiar call, and was soon lost in the darkness of the
forest. Thus did Solomon return to his home and kindred in the knot-hole
of the sycamore tree, and never after that did he stay out all night, or
until daylight, and thereafter he became known to all the little wild
dwellers of the woods as a very wise owl.
[Illustration: THE KING OF BALSAM SWAMP]
XIX
THE KING OF BALSAM SWAMP
Even by day it was dark, lonely, and scary down in the Balsam Swamp,
right under the frowning shadow of the mountain, and so wild that only
an occasional cranberry picker ventured down into the marsh when the
berries were ripe and red. Most people gave the lonely place a very wide
berth, for it is easy to lose one’s way in such a wilderness. So only
the little wild creatures of the forest really knew very much about the
many interesting inhabitants who lived in the swamp.
The little black bears came scrambling and sliding down from Porcupine
Ridge occasionally to feed upon crawfish and frogs, and to wallow in the
ooze and mud of the marsh, and when the red deer were hard pressed, and
the hounds were baying close behind them, they found a safe hiding-place
among the densely growing balsams. Thousands of the pointed green spires
of the pine arose from the swamp, for the trees which grew there never
had been chopped down by lumbermen. And so, if you only knew, the swamp
was not, after all, such a lonely place, for many there were who loved
it, and found a very safe home right there in the marsh.
Just over in the great black birch lived a very old raccoon and his
interesting family; so old was this raccoon that he actually had
rheumatism, and was quite gray in the face. The old raccoon could tell
you many an exciting experience he had met with down in the swamp; how
he had been chased by dogs and men, nights, when he had gone out to
forage, how, when the hounds were baying, close upon his scent, he had
cunningly doubled upon his track, crossed a brook many times, and so
thrown them completely off the scent, leaving them to flounder and whine
in the soft mud of the marshes while he had shinned up the great black
birch in safety, and lying out flat upon a limb, actually grinned at the
foolish hounds, showing all his little sharp white teeth for joy as they
bayed and howled beneath the wrong tree.
Just beneath the great birch, in a dense clump of balsams, a young
mother doe had come with her little dappled, frightened fawn, when the
hunters were after them, and the mother’s leg had been hurt. And the
thick balsams and hemlocks hid them well, and the gray mosses and
pine-needles beneath made a soft thick bed for them, and there they
stayed until the danger was over and the doe was able to travel once
more.
Up aloft, in the tall swaying tops of the pines, whole colonies of
squirrels, red and gray, lived with the birds, for there was plenty of
good food in the swamp: small, sweet beechnuts, and wild cherries with a
puckery tang, and sweet nutty pits. Then there were bobcats, who snarled
and howled and spit at each other in the dark nights, and an old
Canadian lynx with sharp, tufted ears, and the ugliest disposition, for
he snarled at everything which crossed his tracks.
Down beneath the low-lying branches of the spruces which swept the
ground, forming regular tents, crept and grunted the stupid hedgehog
family, grubbing for nuts and fresh water clams and crawfish, and
bristling their sharp quills indignantly when any one presumed to
disturb them; even at the gentle partridge family, who loved to cuddle
in bunches beneath the green, tent-like branches, and then the brave
little cock partridge would ruffle up his feathers and rush out upon the
hedgehogs furiously with a “whir-r-r-r,” and a drumming commotion, which
often startled the lazy hedgehogs out of their wits, so that they would
roll over in sudden terror and bristle out their quills until they
looked like a round ball of sharp needles. Well the hedgehog knew that
no enemy would care to come very near him then, lest they get a snout
full of sharp quills.
If the Balsam Swamp was a creepy, dark place in the daytime, at night it
was ten times more fearsome, for then every wild dweller in the depths
of the swamp awoke, and the place was filled with strange sounds. The
first signal for all to begin stirring in the swamp was given by the
frogs who began their evening chorus, “Zoom, zoom, kerchung, kerchung,”
down in the bogs. Just as soon as the old raccoon heard the first “zoom,
zoom” of the old giant bullfrog, he hastily began to scratch and claw
himself up out of his hole in the black birch, where he had been
sleeping all day long. Next, the snarling lynx glided like a shadow from
his lair, and went, with soft, velvet-padded footsteps, skulking off
between the thick balsams after his prey; and then something else
happened. For when it was just about dark enough, from right in the very
heart of the marsh the King of the swamp sent out his lonely,
blood-curdling cry: “Who-ho-ho, who-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho.” It was the great
white owl, the very oldest inhabitant of the swamps; a regular old
hermit was this great snowy owl, and he lived all alone in a giant pine,
which had long ago been blasted by lightning. The pine towered over all
the spire-like tops of the balsams and spruces of the marsh; white and
lonely looking it stretched its blasted, crooked limbs forth like the
arms of some great forest giant.
The trunk of the old pine was hollow, and deep within the whitened
depths of this tree lived the King. Alone, despised, and forsaken by his
mate and all his kindred, because of his fierce, vindictive temper, and
shunned by all his furry neighbors also, because the sly old King had a
way of knowing just where to find young baby raccoons when their mother
was away; and he would even carry off a very young lynx cub, if he
chanced to be pressed by hunger, while nothing delighted him more than
to steal like a shadow upon a covey of sleeping partridges and scatter
then like leaves, taking his pick of the family, and when the angry
little father bravely “whirr’d and whirr’d,” the King was not at all
frightened; for nothing ever daunted him very much.
Silently, on his great, soft white wings, he swooped down upon any
tender little furry creature that chanced to come in sight of his great,
staring yellow eyes, and then with one cruel blow of his lance-like beak
he killed his prey and carried it swiftly off in his great horny talons
to the old blasted pine in the heart of the swamp.
Only once or twice had the King been caught napping. That was when he
made a great mistake and tried to rob the farmer’s muskrat trap, and the
steel teeth had caught and nipped off one of his great horny toes, so
that ever after that time he always hated the very sight of a muskrat,
and never troubled them. Another time the King had a hard fight with a
great blue heron. He had tried to take away a fish from the heron for
which it had been fishing a long, long time, and somehow the heron’s
long, sharp bill had punctured one of the King’s great, yellow eyes.
Since his encounter with the heron, the King’s sight had not been so
keen, and sometimes, when weary, or on a long flight, he flew with
sideway motion.
Far up on a lofty ledge of the mountain which overhung the swamp, two
bald eagles made their lonely, untidy nest every year, and raised their
scrawny brood of young eaglets. The old eagles were faithful creatures,
and looked out well for the wants of their young, never thinking of
themselves at any time, so that they could get food enough to fill the
wide-open, hungry mouths of their screaming little ones. It was simply
wonderful how much the young eaglets ate to satisfy their hunger; for
they managed to keep the old birds flying about for food from earliest
daylight until the frogs began their evening song down in the marsh.
Very well the old King of the swamp knew of the eagles’ nest. He also
knew just when the young eaglets were left lying alone in their nest,
for at the early hour when the old eagles were forced to leave the
ledge, the King was occasionally awake himself, especially if he himself
had come home from his night’s wanderings hungry.
Once it happened that very, very early in the morning the King came back
to the pine in a very bad humor, for he had been out all night long
hunting for food, and he had found nothing worth eating.
“Who, ho, ho, ho-ho, ho-ho,” he grumbled to himself crossly. “Not a bite
to eat all night.” Perhaps the old owl’s eyes were less keen than
formerly. Nothing left for him to prey upon but hedgehogs. “Lazy
things! Who wants to put their eyes out trying to eat a hedgehog?”
thought the King. “Who, ho, ho-ho,” he croaked.
Just then he chanced to cock up one of his great eyes toward the ledge
in time to see two dark shadowy forms hover over the edge. The old
eagles were making a very early start for food for the eaglets.
Instantly the King was wide awake and alert; he waited only until the
two dark shadows had passed out of sight over the mountain, then,
silently, on his great, soft white wings he rose and rose in the air
until level with the ledge, when he darted down and, seizing a young
eaglet in his talons, was back to the pine again before the old eagles
came back.
What a screaming and commotion took place when the old eagles returned
and found one of their brood missing; but the old King cared little for
this, for, having satisfied his pressing hunger, he was by this time
safely hidden down inside the hollow pine, fast asleep.
The very next time the King happened to return home hungry after a night
out, he instantly remembered about the young eagles. True enough, the
one he had eaten had been exceedingly tough; but then, when one is
hungry, young eagle is better than nothing at all. So, with his great
golden eyes wide open and watching eagerly, he soon had the satisfaction
of seeing the old eagles leave the nest and start forth in the early
dawn; first one eagle arose from the ledge, flying straight over the
mountain, then the mate soon followed after, and before she was fairly
out of sight, unable to wait longer, for he was very hungry, swiftly the
old King rose in the air to the eagles’ ledge.
“Screech, screech,” shrilled the young eaglets, and just then the old
King’s maimed talon lost its grip of the young bird which he had
selected, for young eaglets are strong, which made the youngsters
screech still louder. Again the King’s horny talon gripped the eaglet,
and so very much taken up was he, and so very hungry, that he utterly
failed to see the shadow of a pair of wide wings gradually hovering,
hovering, drawing closer to the ledge with every movement, until, with a
sudden sound as of rustling silk, the wings wavered and dropped straight
down from above, and the great lance-like talons of the enraged mother
eagle were buried in the snowy back of the King, even before he had a
chance to turn about and face her.
Then a mighty battle began between the mother eagle and the old King of
the swamp. They finally cleared the ledge together, and went swirling
out into space. Feathers of white and brown fell in showers, and floated
down into the marsh, as they fought on and on, with great beaks snapping
sharply, the eagle screaming weirdly, occasionally, as they battled in
the air.
But the old King of the swamp had met his match at last, for the mother
eagle well knew that she was fighting to the death the one who had
robbed her nest before. In vain did the King seek to gain his home nest
in the blasted pine. The eagle stuck to him, tearing at him cruelly with
beak and talons until, finally, fluttering weakly, utterly exhausted,
his spirit broken, blind and dying, the King began to fall. Fluttering
weakly he began to settle down, down into a dark, hidden spot beneath
the thick balsams. He had become just a mere bundle of snowy feathers
now; all fierceness had departed, and there was nothing left of the King
for the little wild things of the forest to longer fear and hate.
And that night when the frogs started off with their usual signal,
calling all to awaken in the marshes, the “Who, ho, ho-ho, ho-ho, o-o”
of the old King of the swamp was silent.
[Illustration: THE GIANT OF THE CORNFIELD]
XX
THE GIANT OF THE CORN-FIELD
Dame Woodchuck, old and decrepit, came to the entrance of her burrow and
peered anxiously forth, for she always poked the very tip of her brown
nose out first, and then, if she happened to find the coast quite clear,
she would venture to waddle entirely out.
Poor old thing, so old and covered with fat that she could not travel
far; besides, one hind leg had once been caught in a steel trap and
lamed, so that now she was almost doubly helpless. Her thick fur coat
was of a dull reddish brown, and very much faded by sun and rain, and so
badly worn off in certain places it looked really moth-eaten, while her
black snout and stiff whiskers were quite gray with age.
Dame Woodchuck had very wisely selected her home, for you might stroll
right past the great clump of rank nettles where it was, a hundred times
without even suspecting that it concealed the door to a woodchuck’s
burrow, because, you see, the vines of a wild woodbine trailed over the
nettles, and formed such a fine curtain that it quite concealed the
entrance to her home.
Of course all the little wild dwellers of the woods and her neighbors,
who always know about such secret dwellings, might have told you where
old Dame Woodchuck actually lived, but then, you see, they never did.