door of her home, for the pleasant sun felt very grateful as it shone
warmly down upon her aching old back. Besides, it was pleasant to chat
with the neighbors who occasionally passed that way. After ascertaining,
beyond a doubt, that her most dreaded enemy, the farmer’s yellow dog,
whom she detested greatly because he delighted to pounce out upon her
suddenly and worry and torment her, was nowhere in sight, with much
wheezing and little chattering complaints, Dame Woodchuck managed to
flop out of her burrow and sitting bolt upright upon her haunches, just
in the brown, upturned earth in front of the nettle patch, she watched
and waited for the return of her dilatory son, Ichabod. To tell the
truth, the Dame was really beginning to feel a bit angry and out of
patience with him, and well she might, for she was very, very hungry,
and as she was now too old and lame to go off any distance to forage for
herself she had to depend almost entirely upon Ichabod for food. Long
had she been anticipating his return with the juicy, yellow turnips
which he had been sent to bring from the farmer’s garden, where each
year they grew so plentifully. What could have become of Ichabod? How
tiresome to have to wait such a long, long while. Ichabod had been gone
long enough to go to the garden and back twice over.
As Dame Woodchuck sat waiting for the turnips, pleasant recollections of
bygone days suddenly came into her mind, days when the woodchuck family
had been a large and happy one. Well she remembered the time when she
and her mate had dug their burrow close to the beautiful field of pink
clover, where every morning all the little woodchucks used to spend
hours rolling and tumbling about in the fragrant, dew-laden blossoms.
What wonderful happiness had been theirs. But alas! to her sorrow, the
farmer had found their burrow and broken up the happy family. One by one
all the children had been caught in traps, until now but Ichabod
remained of her five little ones. And then, worst blow of all, her mate,
evidently faithless, had gone off and left them. Shortly after that the
beautiful clover field had all been plowed up, and now it lay in ugly
brown furrows, bare, unlovely, and as Dame Woodchuck looked back into
the pleasant past a tear of grief and regret stole into her bleary eyes
and trickled down her gray, furry cheeks.
Suddenly the Dame heard a scuffling, scuttling sound among the ferns,
and then she speedily forgot all her sad thoughts, and was instantly
alert, and listening with her small round ears. It was Ichabod. With a
grunt of welcome and satisfaction she accepted eagerly, and fell to
munching hungrily, the hard, unripe apple which he had brought to her.
However, she felt far from satisfied with the apple, for she had all
this time been anticipating the turnip, and the apple was so sour she
did not relish it very keenly. Still, it was perhaps better than nothing
at all. Ichabod had a strange story to tell, and the Dame listened with
dismay as he told her that the farmer had planted no turnips in his
garden this season. Evidently Ichabod had brought to his mother the very
best he could find. But Ichabod brought also strange news.
A friendly raccoon, whom he had met during his absence, had told him
quite a wonderful tale: that across the cranberry bogs, far over on the
other side of the great hill covered with the pointed balsam firs, which
lay in plain sight of the burrow, might be found a pleasant valley, and
best of all in the valley was a great field of young corn. Already the
plumy blades were beginning to bend down, heavy with their weight of
milky sweet corn, upon whose juicy kernels one might live in luxury
until the frost came, for not until then would the corn be harvested by
the farmer.
Moreover, between the sentinel-like corn-stalks great golden pumpkins
were fast ripening. Oh, what a land of plenty! If one were only there
upon the enchanted ground. Dame Woodchuck gazed disconsolately and
impatiently forth at the dreary prospect which lay spread out before her
nettle-draped door and pondered over her situation. She knew that a time
of action had arrived in the woodchuck family, and that she and Ichabod
must surely go forth and seek a new home at last.
So that very night, when the great yellow moon rose over the dark hills,
the Dame left her old burrow and waddled forth, with Ichabod following
closely behind, to find a new home where food should be plentiful.
Across the perilous deep morasses of the cranberry bogs she dragged her
unwieldy old body. Necessarily they traveled quite slowly, for the way
seemed long and difficult, and the poor old thing was weak from lack of
proper food. Often they paused in their night journey to rest and enjoy
their new surroundings, for the Dame had never traveled very far from
her old burrow before. Down in the thickets of the cranberry bog the
whippoorwills sang plaintively their tremulous song; the Dame and
Ichabod listened, and heard also, occasionally, the sleepy call of a
nesting hermit thrush down in the meadows. Sometimes a hoot owl would
brush past them, and call at them jeeringly. On the edge of the marshes
they came into a great bed of dewy clover, sweet and cool. Here they
paused to rest and feed.
Finally they reached the open country, and in the distance, in the
moonlight, they plainly distinguished the tall wavy shadows of the corn
of which the kind raccoon had told them. They had reached the promised
land of plenty at last.
Very fortunately for the Dame and Ichabod they chanced to come across a
deserted rabbit hole, which by a little judicious digging they very
soon converted into quite a comfortable home; so that before any of the
other little wild creatures in that neighborhood were awake the next
morning the Dame and Ichabod had taken possession of their new burrow
and were soon fast asleep in an upper chamber.
As Dame Woodchuck was so very weary and lame from her long journey she
could not travel far from her home, but had to content herself at first
with simply dragging herself to the door of the burrow, where she would
gaze forth long and hopefully at the new and pleasant prospect spread
out before her tired old eyes.
There, sure enough, not many fields away, lay the beautiful corn-field,
where already choice ears filled with tender grains, just suited to her
worn old teeth, were waiting, to be had for the taking, and she knew
that already Ichabod was in the field, scurrying about beneath the wavy
green plumes.
Great was the alarm and dismay of the Dame when Ichabod finally returned
to her with no food and a strange fearsome tale of what had happened to
him upon his first visit to the corn. It was all true enough about the
fine, juicy corn; it was there, and plenty of it for everybody, just as
the kind raccoon had told them. But, unfortunately, the whole field was
ruled over, watched and guarded by a frightful monster, who occupied a
commanding position right in the very center of the corn-field, where he
guarded well the corn both by night and day; with angry, menacing mien
he stood there, and no one dare intrude. Moreover, Solomon Crow and his
family, who sat upon a rail fence near the corn-field, had told a
terrible tale of certain unseen snares placed for the unwary, which the
terrible creature had spread out all about him. Many of the crows had
been caught in the innocent appearing threads, had given a few futile
flops and strident caws, and that had been the last of them.
Oh, the giant who guarded the corn was indeed a fearful monster. Built
upon similar lines to the farmer himself, whom they had all often seen,
but far, far more horrible to look upon was this creature of the
corn-field, who towered far above the tallest corn-stalks and held
leveled at intruders an unknown weapon, from which fluttered yards and
yards of fearsome streaming objects, and when the wind blew across the
field the creature who guarded the corn shook with rage from top to toe.
The giant’s hair was ragged and unkempt, and bristled forth fiercely
from beneath his tattered old hat. Ichabod, somewhat bolder than
others, wishing to get a full view, had crept as closely as he dared,
and rising upon his hind legs, by the aid of a stone, he had stolen one
fleeting glance full at the giant of the corn-field. One look had been
quite sufficient for Ichabod and had sent him, panic-stricken with fear,
hustling away; so hastily did he travel that he left a large tuft of his
fur in a barb-wire fence beneath which he slid, and ran scuttling back
home to his mother with chattering teeth.
Now Dame Woodchuck was very old and wise in experience, and she had in
her long lifetime heard of such giants as Ichabod told her he had seen
in the corn-field. And never in all her life had she ever heard of one
of the creatures harming a woodchuck, in spite of gossip. After all, the
crows were mostly gossips. It was certainly high time that Ichabod began
to learn a few lessons from life, and have more courage and
responsibility. Besides, the more the Dame thought of the luscious sweet
corn so close at hand, the more hungry did she become.
So finally, quite unable to endure the trying situation longer, Dame
Woodchuck herself started forth to investigate the matter. And Ichabod,
not wishing to tarry home alone, ran along beside his old mother. They
often stopped to rest and chat by the roadside, and all the terrifying
stories which they heard of the giant filled them with secret dismay.
But Dame Woodchuck was very brave at heart and did not lose her courage
easily. So skirting the edge of the corn-field they soon gained a little
hillock, where they had a full view of the monster. It was only too
true; there he stood, undaunted and firm, waving aloft his fluttering,
terrifying warning. Dame Woodchuck and Ichabod sat bolt upright upon
their haunches and stared at the creature with bulging eyes.
Just at that very moment a deafening bang sounded, and a great cloud of
smoke arose from the vicinity of the giant, and the next moment Peter
Rabbit, with a wild cry of warning, dashed past them in mad haste,
running for his very life. In an instant Dame Woodchuck and Ichabod had
dropped down flat upon their stomachs and there they lay trembling
together beneath a great bunch of burdock leaves. Perhaps even now the
giant was searching about among the corn for them. They waited until
their courage returned and finally crept back home again, quite sadly
disappointed, for they had not even been able to taste a kernel of
corn.
The situation in the woodchuck home was, after this, rather a desperate
one, for food was again becoming scarce. How aggravating, too, when the
luscious corn was ripening almost within sight of their door.
Dame Woodchuck’s sides soon became quite flabby, so that her fur coat
actually hung in plaits and ridges upon her back, so loose did it
become, while her eyes fairly bulged with anxiety and discouragement.
“‘Tis always darkest before dawn,” as the saying goes, and already
brighter days were in store for the Dame and Ichabod.
One dark night, when they were fast asleep in their snug burrow, they
were suddenly awakened in the middle of the night by a terrific rumbling
and crashing above their heads. This frightful commotion and din went on
all night long, and cowardly Ichabod squeaked and shook with fear, and
crept close to his mother’s side.
“Lie still, O timorous one,” said his mother, trying to quiet him. “Do
not be afraid; ’tis but the great Storm Spirit. He is passing this way.”
By morning the commotion had ceased, and then Ichabod and his mother
ventured to peer forth from their door. And what a sight was that which
greeted their eyes. Great trees of the forest now lay prone upon the
ground, which the mighty Storm Spirit in his strength had laid low
everywhere in passing, for he had left ruin in his wake.
And then Peter Rabbit scurried past their door, and paused long enough
to tell them some great and glorious good news, which was, that the
mighty Storm Spirit had actually destroyed their great enemy, the
terrible giant of the corn-field. At last the terrible creature had been
conquered, and now lay prone and helpless upon the ground, a terror no
longer to the little timid wild creatures who wore fur and feathers.
Already the crows were cawing the news triumphantly over his remains and
feasting meantime greedily upon the unguarded corn, and then, very soon
the Dame and Ichabod had joined them, and were burying their sharp teeth
hungrily in the milky sweet kernels of corn. For the reign of the corn
giant was now at an end, and soon Dame Woodchuck and her son became
very, very plump and sleek, and fine and strong. And when the autumn
winds began to blow chill and keen, and Jack Frost came and froze over
all the little brooks and waterways, then they withdrew into their snug
burrow for the winter, as they always do, and after stuffing up the
entrance of their door securely with leaves and earth, that the snow
might not drift and filter inside, there they slumbered together,
comfortable and warm, until it was time to come out in the spring to see
if they could find their shadows; for the woodchucks know best of any of
the little forest creatures when spring is actually come.
[Illustration: THE BRAVERY OF EBENEZER COON]
XXI
THE BRAVERY OF EBENEZER COON
“De raccoon tail am ringed all ’roun.”
Once, a long time ago, there lived in an old oak tree in the middle of a
deep forest, a large family of raccoons. In due course of time all the
little ones grew up, and choosing mates, as is their custom, one after
the other they deserted the old home tree until finally the only
remaining one was Ebenezer. Ebenezer so loved the deep, comfortable
nest, hollowed out far down in the trunk of the oak tree, that he
preferred to stay right there instead of going out into the world with
his brothers and sisters and finding a new home.
So there he lived all alone and in time he became known as a sort of a
hermit. Ebenezer was really a fine, handsome fellow, with a black,
pointed snout and stiffly bristling whiskers, deep, yellowish-brown fur,
expressive, meditative green eyes, and small, alert, round ears, and
when he moved about, or the wind blew across his fat back, his fur was
so long and fine that it actually waved. But most remarkable of all
Ebenezer’s many attractions was, perhaps, his fine, plume-like tail, of
which he was inordinately vain.
Now Ebenezer Coon took what might be called “solid comfort.” The baying
hounds never molested him, for just beneath and all around his home tree
grew a perfect battlement of thorn bush, and often Ebenezer, from a safe
retreat in some abandoned squirrel’s nest, would peek cautiously over
its edge and with little rumbling grunts of satisfaction and fun he
would watch the baffled hounds who had scented his retreat, while they
gave up the chase in disgust, backing out with torn, bleeding ears and
cruel spikes from the thorn bush piercing their inquisitive snouts.
One night, just as the big, yellow moon arose from behind the dark
mountains, and its rays began to penetrate and filter through the thick
dark pines, Ebenezer awoke from his customary, all-day sleep and began
to pull himself up out of his nest. He dearly loved to go abroad on a
moonlight night, enjoying the scenery while he leisurely foraged about
for food. Having clawed his way up out of his hole he took up his
position on a flat limb of the pine, gazing forth over the prospect
with approval, and turning over in his mind just what he should do that
night.
The owls were already out, hooting and calling soft answers back and
forth to each other, and hermit thrushes were still singing their
plaintive lullabies drowsily, in the thorn thickets, while down in the
marshes the frogs and peepers had already begun their nightly serenade.
Occasionally, from far off over the mountain, a whippoorwill called
lonesomely. Even the bats were out foraging, for the soft night moths
which they loved to hunt on the wing, and flapped, squeaking shrilly,
close to Ebenezer’s head.
Ebenezer felt lazy, and began to stretch out first one black,
claw-tipped foot, then the other, yawning and showing all his little
sharp white teeth. At last he was quite awake and instantly began to
realize that he was frightfully hungry. His pressing needs soon set his
sluggish wits to work and he began to think longingly of a far-away
field of ripening corn. True, the corn was a long distance from home,
but Ebenezer never bothered about distances when he went hunting for
sweet corn. It was the one dainty in all the world for which he cared
most.
Now the more he thought about the milk-white, ripening kernels of corn,
encased in their pale green, silken husks, the hungrier did Ebenezer
become, until, unable to endure the situation longer, with sudden,
desperate haste he began to slide and claw his way down the trunk of the
oak tree. Ebenezer was now in fine spirits, for the night was simply
perfect, and just suited his plans, so he frolicked along the forest
path, often giving little ridiculous skips and bounds into the air for
sheer joy. He skirted a deep ravine, then crossed the brook where he
paused to dip his black snout into the bubbles, scattering a shoal of
silvery minnows leaping and playing in the water.
Just before Ebenezer reached the corn-field he came across a queer,
round bundle, or ball, lying directly in his path. Ebenezer never turned
out for anything which happened to be in his road. He was far too
indolent to do that--he always waited for others to make way for him. So
he kept right on, and when he came close to the queer ball he playfully
decided to see if it was alive, and have some fun with it. He reached
forth, rather gingerly at first, and touched the thing with the tip of
his paw. It did not move, so then he commenced to jostle it rudely
about with his black snout. Just as he was beginning to rather enjoy the
game, all of a sudden the supposed ball suddenly unrolled itself, stood
upright and charged savagely at him. And then before Ebenezer knew it,
he had been bowled over on his fat back, with his nose and cheeks stuck
full of cruel sharp quills. The supposed ball had simply been a stray
porcupine who had rolled himself up into a neat ball and gone to sleep.
Without stopping to even glance at poor Ebenezer, the porcupine, having
revenged himself for being disturbed, turned and waddled back into the
forest, grunting indignantly to himself as he traveled.
“Gar-r-r-r, gar-r-r-r,” snarled Ebenezer in a perfect frenzy of agony
and rage, lifting his fore paws to his smarting cheeks and trying vainly
to pull out the sharp, barbed quills which were penetrating his flesh.
But he soon found out that the more he rubbed and scratched, the worse
the cruel quills hurt him.
“Gar-r-r-r, gar-r-r-r,” howled Ebenezer again, more loudly and
impatiently than before. Just then a white cottontail rabbit chanced to
be passing that way, and heard the agonized cries of the poor raccoon
and instantly saw what had happened, for once one of her own family had
encountered a porcupine.
“Friend Raccoon, you seem to be in trouble,” said the kind rabbit, in
the language in which the little wild creatures of the forest converse
together. “Pray, let me help you, for I understand just exactly what to
do.”
So saying, the white rabbit, with her soft little paws, deftly removed
the cruel needles from the raccoon’s face, and then bidding him seek for
a mullein leaf covered with night dew, and apply it to his smarting
wounds, she left him.
Of course Ebenezer was most grateful to the kind rabbit for her timely
aid, and he then and there made up his mind that if ever it lay in his
power to repay the rabbit’s kindness he would go out of his way to do
so. Then Ebenezer, after satisfying his hunger with corn, went back to
his home, and rolling himself into a fur ball, went to sleep.
In spite of the fact that Ebenezer was indolent and lazy by nature, he
possessed one very commendable trait of character. He was extremely neat
and dainty in all his habits, and never dreamed of tasting a morsel of
food which he might chance to find until he had first given it a
thorough washing, whatever the food might be, if a turnip, an ear of
corn or a land crab. Just as soon as Ebenezer found it he would always
hurry away to the nearest pool and thoroughly rinse it before he ate it.
Some time after his adventure with the porcupine, he happened to be out
hunting for food. Now there had been a great freshet in the land at that
time, so food was very scarce and many of the little wild things had
lost their lives, or been driven from their homes along the banks of the
brook by the mighty, rushing waters. Of course the raccoon was quite
safe, for his home nest was high above the freshet. Ebenezer chanced
upon a floating corn-stalk that day, on which he was delighted to find
an ear of corn. It was a lucky find for the hungry raccoon, and, very
happy about it, he hastily stripped off the husk and leaning over the
stream began to rinse the ear of corn in the water. Just as he had
decided that it was properly rinsed, and that he might as well eat it,
he suddenly heard a cry of fear and agony, and looking up-stream, he saw
a strange sight.
Borne upon the rushing, muddy waters of the freshet he saw a log, and
upon it were three little white rabbits. They were clinging frantically
to the log, which came whirling swiftly on down-stream. Just below
thundered and roared the falls, and should they plunge over them they
must surely perish. Ebenezer saw their danger. At the same instant he
also realized that now had come the opportunity to show forth his
gratitude for the rabbit’s kindness to him.
That very instant the log swerved and was caught and held fast by the
branch of a tree. Oh, would the branch hold it? With quick, bold strokes
Ebenezer plunged straight into the roaring, rushing waters, and swam
quickly out to the log. He realized, however, that he could never reach
the shore again if the rabbits clung to his wet body and hampered his
movements in the water, so instantly he told them just what to do.
“Quick, seize hold of my tail and hang on for dear life,” called
Ebenezer to the first little rabbit. And then with the little,
frightened thing clinging desperately to his plumy tail, Ebenezer swam
quickly to the shore and left it and returning twice again, he succeeded
in saving the last little helpless rabbit just as the log with a lunge
went swirling down-stream.
Ebenezer Coon was very tired indeed after the rescue, and the last time
he swam back to shore his fur was so heavy with water and the
additional weight of the last little rabbit that it was all he could do
to manage to reach the bank. So, faint and weary, for a while Ebenezer
lay exhausted upon the bank, while the three little rabbits, after
drying their fur in the sunshine, bade Ebenezer farewell and scurried
back home to their mother.
After Ebenezer felt rested, he found his ear of corn again, nibbled a
bit at it to stay his hunger, then dragged his tired body home, and
clawing his way heavily up into the home tree, rolled himself up
comfortably and slept.
Now all unbeknown to Ebenezer, while he slumbered, much excitement and
gossip was taking place among all the little wild folk of the forest,
for everybody was commenting upon the brave act of Ebenezer Coon in
saving the three little white rabbits. And then the kind fairy of the
woods, who watches and rewards all such little creatures for their good
deeds and acts of bravery, especially, and knows everything which takes
place in the animal kingdom, of course soon knew all about Ebenezer’s
bravery, therefore planned out a little surprise which should be his
reward.
So when Ebenezer finally awoke from his long nap, and came out as usual
to sit and sun himself upon his favorite limb in the oak tree, then all
the little wild things saw at once when they looked upon Ebenezer Coon
that he had indeed been rewarded for his bravery, because the raccoon’s
tail, which had always been just plain gray in color, like the rest of
his coat, was now ringed about with five beautifully shaded jet-black
rings--the decoration, the wonderful badge of distinction conferred on
Ebenezer Coon for his bravery. And so ever since that time the
beautiful, plumy tail of every raccoon in the kingdom has been marked
with five jet-black rings.