Granny And Reddy Talk Things Over.
You’ll find as on through life you go
The thing you want may prove to be
The very thing you shouldn’t have.
Then seeming loss is gain, you see.
—_Old Granny Fox_.
If ever two folks were mad away through, those two were Granny and
Reddy Fox as they watched Old Man Coyote gobble up the dinner they had
so cleverly stolen from Bowser the Hound. It was bad enough to lose the
dinner, but it was worse to see some one else eat it after they had
worked so hard to get it. “Robber!” snarled Granny. Old Man Coyote
stopped eating long enough to grin.
“Thief! Sneak! Coward!” snarled Reddy. Once more Old Man Coyote
grinned. When that dinner had disappeared down his throat to the last
and smallest crumb, he licked his chops and turned to Granny and Reddy.
“I’m very much obliged for that dinner,” said he pleasantly, his eyes
twinkling with mischief. “It was the best dinner I have had for a long
time. Allow me to say that that trick of yours was as smart a trick as
ever I have seen. It was quite worthy of a Coyote. You are a very
clever old lady, Granny Fox. Now I hear some one coming, and I would
suggest that it will be better for all concerned if we are not seen
about here.”
He darted off behind the barn like a gray streak, and Granny and Reddy
followed, for it was true that some one was coming. You see Bowser the
Hound had discovered that something was going on around the corner of
the shed, and he made such a racket that Mrs. Brown had come out of the
house to see what it was all about. By the time she got around there,
all she saw was the empty pan which had held Bowser’s dinner. She was
puzzled. How that pan could be where it was she couldn’t understand,
and Bowser couldn’t tell her, although he tried his very best. She had
been puzzled about that pan two or three times before.
Old Man Coyote lost no time in getting back home, for he never felt
easy near the home of man in broad daylight. Granny and Reddy Fox went
home too, and there was hate in their hearts,—hate for Old Man Coyote.
But once they reached home, Old Granny Fox stopped growling, and
presently she began to chuckle.
“What are you laughing at?” demanded Reddy.
“At the way Old Man Coyote stole that dinner from us,” replied Granny.
“I hate him! He’s a sneaking robber!” snapped Reddy.
“Tut, tut, Reddy! Tut, tut!” retorted Granny. “Be fair-minded. We stole
that dinner from Bowser the Hound, and Old Man Coyote stole it from us.
I guess he is no worse than we are, when you come to think it over. Now
is he?”
“I—I—well, I don’t suppose he is, when you put it that way,” Reddy
admitted grudgingly.
“And he was smart, very smart, to outwit two such clever people as we
are,” continued Granny. “You will have to agree to that.”
“Y-e-s,” said Reddy slowly. “He was smart enough, but—”
“There isn’t any but, Reddy,” interrupted Granny. “You know the law of
the Green Meadows and the Green Forest. It is everybody for himself,
and anything belongs to one who has the wit or the strength to take it.
We had the wit to take that dinner from Bowser the Hound, and Old Man
Coyote had the wit to take it from us and the strength to keep it. It
was all fair enough, and you know there isn’t the least use in crying
over spilled milk, as the saying is. We simply have got to be smart
enough not to let him fool us again. I guess we won’t get any more of
Bowser’s dinners for a while. We’ve got to think of some other way of
filling our stomachs when the hunting is poor. I think if I could have
just one of those fat hens of Farmer Brown’s, it would put new strength
into my old bones. All summer I warned you to keep away from that
henyard, but the time has come now when I think we might try for a
couple of those hens.”
Reddy pricked up his ears at the mention of fat hens. “I think so too,”
said he. “When shall we try for one?”
“To-morrow morning,” replied Granny. “Now don’t bother me while I think
out a plan.”