THE rain continued for several days; and
though Toto, mindful of the sad story of
Chimborazo, tried hard not to say “Oh, dear!”
still he found the time hang very heavy on his
hands. On the fourth day, however, the clouds
broke away, and the sun came out bright and
beautiful. Toto snatched up his cap, kissed his
grandmother, and flew off to the forest. Oh, how
glad he was to be out of doors again, and how
glad everything seemed to be to see him! All
the trees shook down pearls and diamonds on
him (very wet ones they were, but he did not
mind that), the birds sang to him, the flowers
nodded to him, the sunbeams twinkled at him;
everything seemed to say, “How are you, Toto?
Hasn’t it been a lovely rain, and aren’t you glad
it is over?”
He went straight to the forest pool, hoping to
find some of his companions there. Sure enough,
there was the raccoon, sitting by the edge of the
pool, making his toilet, and stopping every now
and then to gaze admiringly at himself in the
clear mirror.
“Good-morning, Coon!” said Toto; “admiring
your beauty as usual, eh?”
“Well, Toto,” replied the raccoon complacently,
“my view of the matter is this: what is the use
of having beauty if you don’t admire it? That is
what it’s for, I suppose.”
“I suppose so,” assented Toto.
“And you can’t expect other people to admire
you if you don’t admire yourself!” added the raccoon
impressively. “Remember that! How’s
your grandmother?”
“She’s very well,” replied Toto, “and she
hopes to see you all this afternoon. She has
made a new kind of gingerbread, and she wants
you to try it. I have tried it, and it is very good
indeed.”
“Your grandmother,” said the raccoon, “is in
many respects the most delightful person I have
ever met. I, for one, will come with pleasure. I
can’t tell about the rest; haven’t seen them for
a day or two. Suppose we go and hunt them
up.”
“With all my heart!” said Toto.
They had not gone far before they met the
wood-pigeon flying along with a bunch of berries
in her bill.
“Where are you going, Pigeon Pretty?” inquired
Toto; “and who is to have those nice berries?
I am sure they are not for yourself; I
believe you never get anything for yourself, you
are so busy helping others.”
“These berries are for poor Chucky,” replied
the wood-pigeon. “Ah, Coon,” she added reproachfully,
“how could you hurt the poor fellow
so? He is really ill this morning in consequence.”
“What have you been doing to Chucky, you
naughty Coon?” asked Toto. “Biting his nose
off?”
“Oh, no!” said the raccoon, looking rather
guilty, in spite of his assurance. “Dear me, no!
I didn’t bite it _off_. Certainly not! I—I just bit
it a little, don’t you know! it was raining, and I
hadn’t anything else to do; and he was _so_ sound
asleep, it was a great temptation. But I won’t do
it again, Pigeon Pretty,” he added cheerfully, “I
won’t really. Take him the berries, with my love,
and say I hope they will do him good!” and
with a crafty wink, Master Coon trotted on with
Toto, while Pigeon Pretty flew off in the opposite
direction.
They soon arrived at the mouth of the bear’s
cave, and looking in, saw the worthy Bruin
quietly playing backgammon with his devoted
friend Cracker. The latter was chattering as
usual. “And so _I_ said to him,” he was saying
as Toto and Coon approached, “‘_I_ think it is a
mean trick, and I’ll have nothing to do with it.
And what is more, I’ll put a stop to it if I can!’
So he said he’d like to see me do it, and flounced
off into the water.”
“Humph!” said Bruin, “I never did think
much of that muskrat.”
“What’s all this?” asked the raccoon, walking
in. “Anything the matter, Cracker?”
“Bruin playing backgammon with his friend Cracker.”
“Good-morning, Coon!” said Bruin. “Morning,
Toto! Sit down, both of you. Cracker was
just telling me—”
“It is that muskrat that lives in the pool, you
know, Coon!” broke in the squirrel excitedly.
“He wants to marry the Widow Bullfrog’s
daughter, and she won’t have him, because she’s
engaged to young Mud Turtle. So now the
muskrat has contrived a plan for carrying her off
to-night whether she will or no; and if you will
believe it, he came to _me_ and asked me to help
him,—me, the head squirrel of the whole forest!”
and little Cracker whisked his tail about fiercely,
and looked as if he could devour a whole army of
muskrats.
“Don’t frighten us, Cracker!” said the raccoon,
with a look of mock terror. “I shall faint
if you look so ferocious. I shall, indeed! Hold
me, Toto!”
“Now, Coon, you know I won’t have Cracker
teased!” growled the bear. “He’s a good little
fellow, and if he wants to help the Widow Bullfrog
out of this scrape, he shall. I believe she
is a very respectable person. Now, I don’t know
whether I can do anything about it myself. I’m
rather large, you see, and it won’t do for me to
go paddling about in the pool and getting the
water all muddy.”
“Certainly not!” said the squirrel, “you dear
old monster. I should as soon think of asking
the mountain to come and hunt mosquitoes. But
Coon, now—”
“Oh, I’m ready!” exclaimed the raccoon.
“Delighted, I’m sure, to do anything I can.
What shall I do to the muskrat? Eat him?”
“I suppose that would be the easiest thing to
do,” said the bear. “What do you say,
Cracker?”
“He is very hard to catch,” replied the squirrel.
“In fact, you _cannot_ catch a muskrat unless you
put tar on his nose.”
“That is true,” said the raccoon. “I had
forgotten that, and I haven’t any tar just
now. Would pitch or turpentine do as well,
do you think? They all begin with ‘A’, you
know.”
“I’m afraid not!” said the squirrel. “‘Tar
to catch a Tartar,’ as the old saying goes; and
the muskrat is certainly a Tartar.”
“Look here!” said Toto, “I think we have
some tar at home, in the shed. I am quite sure
there is some.”
“Really?” said the squirrel, brightening up.
“Good boy, Toto! Tell me where I can find it,
and I’ll go and get it.”
“No!” said Toto. “It’s in a bucket, and you
couldn’t carry it, Cracker! I’ll go and fetch it,
while you and Coon are arranging your plan of
action.”
So away ran Toto, and the squirrel and the
raccoon sat down to consult.
“The first thing to do,” said Coon, “is to get
the muskrat out of his hole. Now, my advice is
this: do you go to Mrs. Bullfrog, and borrow an
old overcoat of her husband’s.”
“Husband’s dead,” said the bear.
“That’s no reason why his overcoat should be
dead, stupid!” replied the raccoon. “It isn’t
likely that he was buried in his overcoat, and it
isn’t likely that she has cut it up for a riding-habit.
Borrow the overcoat,” he continued, turning
to the squirrel again, “and put it on. Old
Bullfrog was a very big fellow, and I think you
can get it on. Then you can sit on a stone and
whistle like a frog.”
“I can’t sit down in a frog’s overcoat!” objected
the squirrel. “I know I can’t. It’s not
the right shape, and I don’t sit down in that way.
And I can’t whistle like a frog either.”
“Dear me!” said the raccoon peevishly. “What
_can_ you do? I am sure _I_ could sit down in any
coat I could wear at all. Well, then,” he added
after a pause, “you can _stand_ on a stone, and _look_
like a frog. I suppose you can do that?”
“I suppose so,” said Cracker, dubiously.
“And Toto,” continued the raccoon, “can hide
himself in the reeds on one side of you, and I on
the other. Toto whistles beautifully, and he can
imitate Miss Bullfrog’s voice to perfection. The
muskrat will be sure to come up when he hears
it, and the moment he pops his head out of the
water, you can drop some tar on his nose, and
_then_—”
“Then what?” asked the squirrel anxiously.
“I will attend to the rest of it,” said Coon, with
a wink. “See that I have cards to the Mud Turtle’s
wedding, will you? Here comes Toto,” he
added, “with tar enough to catch fifty muskrats.
Off with you, Cracker, and ask the Widow Frog
for the overcoat.”
The squirrel disappeared among the bushes, and
at the same time Toto came running up with the
tar-bucket.
“Well,” he said breathlessly, “is it all arranged?
Oh! I ran all the way, and I am _so_ tired!” and
he dropped down on a mossy seat, and fanned
himself with his cap.
Bruin brought a piece of honeycomb to refresh
him, and Coon told him the proposed plan, which
delighted the boy greatly.
“And I am to do the whistling?” he exclaimed.
“I must practise a bit, for I have not
done any frog-whistling for some time.” And
with that he began to whistle in such a wonderfully
frog-like way, that Bruin almost thought he
must have swallowed a frog.
“How do you do that, Toto?” he asked. “I
wish I could learn. You just purse your mouth up
so, eh? Ugh! wah! woonk!” And the bear gave
a series of most surprising grunts and growls, accompanied
with such singular grimaces that both
Toto and the raccoon rolled over on the ground in
convulsions of laughter.
“My dear Bruin,” cried Toto, as soon as he
could regain a little composure, “I don’t think—ha!
ha! ha!—I really do _not_ think you will ever
be mistaken for a frog.”
“Ho! ho! ho!” cried the raccoon, bursting into
another fit of laughter as he looked towards the
mouth of the cave. “Look at Cracker. Oh, my
eye! _will_ you look at Cracker? Oh, dear me! I
shall certainly die if I laugh any more. Ho! ho!”
Bruin and Toto turned, and saw the squirrel
hobbling in, dressed in a green frog-skin, and looking—well,
did you ever see a squirrel in a frog-skin?
No? Then you never saw the funniest
thing in the world.
Poor Cracker, however, seemed to see no fun in
it at all. “It’s all very well for you fellows to
laugh,” he said ruefully. “I wonder how you
would like to be pinched up in an abominable, ill-fitting
thing like this? Ugh! I wouldn’t be a
frog for all the beechnuts in the world. Come
on!” he added sharply. “Let us get the matter
over, and have done with it. I can’t stand this
long.”
Accordingly the three started off, leaving Bruin
shaking his head and chuckling at the mouth of
the cave.
Arrived at the pool, they stationed themselves
as had been previously arranged: the squirrel on
a large stone at the very edge of the pool, with
the tar-bucket beside him; the raccoon crouching
among the tall reeds on one side of the stone,
while Toto lay closely hidden on the other, behind
a clump of tall ferns.
When all was ready, Toto began to whistle.
At first he whistled very softly, but gradually the
notes swelled, growing clearer and shriller, till
they seemed to fill the air.
Presently a ripple was seen in the clear water,
and the sharp black nose of a muskrat appeared
above the surface. “Lovely creature!” exclaimed
the muskrat. “Adored Miss Bullfrog, is it possible
that you have
changed your mind, and
decided to listen to
my suit?”
“‘Oh, rapture!’ cried the muskrat.”
“I have,” said the squirrel softly.
“Oh, rapture!” cried the muskrat. “Come,
then, at once with me! Let us fly, or rather
swim, before your tyrannical parent discovers us!
Leap down, my lovely one, with your accustomed
grace and agility, into the arms of your
faithful, your adoring muskrat! Come!”
“You must come a little nearer,” whispered
the squirrel coyly. “I want to be sure that it is
_really_ you; such a sudden step, you know! Please
put your whole head out, my love, that I may be
_quite_ sure of you!”
The eager muskrat thrust his head out of
the water; and plump! the squirrel dropped the
tar on the end of his nose.
The muskrat gave a wild shriek, and plunging
his nose among the rushes on the bank, tried to rub
off the tar. But, alas! the tar stuck to the rushes,
and his nose stuck to the tar, and there he was!
At that instant the raccoon leaped from his
hiding-place.
Toto, still concealed behind the clump of ferns,
heard the noise of a violent struggle; then came
several short squeaks; then a crunching noise; and
then silence. Coming out from his hiding-place,
he saw the raccoon sitting quietly on a stone, licking
his chops, and smoothing his ruffled fur.
He smiled sweetly at Toto, and said, “It’s
all right, my boy! you whistled beautifully;
couldn’t have done it better myself!” (N. B.
Coon’s whistling powers were nearly equal to
those of the bear.)
“But where is the muskrat?” asked Toto, bewildered.
“What have you done with him?”
“Eaten him, my dear!” replied Coon, benignly.
“It is always the best plan in any case of this sort;
saves trouble, you see, and prevents any further
inquiry in the matter; besides, I was always
taught in my youth never to waste anything.
The flavor was not all I could have wished,” he
added, “and there was more or less stringiness;
but what will not one do in the cause of friendship!
Don’t mention it, Cracker, my boy! I
am sure you would have done as much for me.
And now let us help you off with the overcoat of
the late lamented Bullfrog; for to speak in perfect
frankness, Cracker, it is _not_ what one would call
becoming to your style of beauty.”