“OH! what a delightful story, Pigeon Pretty!”
cried Toto. “Did you hear any more like
it? I wish I had that red book! Did the boy
look as nice as his sister? What was his name?”
“His name,” said the pigeon, “was Jim, I
think. And he did not—no, Toto, he certainly
did _not_ look as nice as his sister. In fact, although
I pitied him because he was ill, I thought
he looked like a disagreeable sort of boy.”
“Red hair?” interposed the squirrel, looking
at the raccoon.
“Freckled face?” asked the raccoon, looking at
the squirrel.
“Why, yes!” said the pigeon, in surprise. “He
_had_ red hair and a freckled face; but how should
you two know anything about him?”
The squirrel and the raccoon nodded at each
other.
“Same boy, I should say!” said Cracker.
“Same boy, _I_ should say!” answered Coon.
“What is it?” asked Toto, curious as usual.
“Tell us about it, one of you! It is early yet,
and we have plenty of time.”
“Well, I will tell you,” said the squirrel. “I
meant to keep it and tell it next time, for I cannot
make up stories as easily as some of you, and
this is something that really happened; but I
might just as well tell it now, especially as Pigeon
Pretty has told you about the boy.
“You need not be at all sorry for that boy,”
he continued. “He is a bad boy, and he deserves
all he got, and more too.”
“Dear, dear!” said the grandmother. “I am
sorry to hear that. What did he do, Mr. Cracker?”
“He tried to rob my Uncle Munkle of his winter
store!” replied the squirrel. “And he got
the worst of it, that’s all.”
“Who is your Uncle Munkle?” asked Toto.
“I don’t know him, do I?”
“No,” said Cracker. “He lives quite at the
other end of the wood, where people sometimes
go for fagots and nuts and such things. Nobody
ever comes near our end of the wood, because
they are afraid of Bruin.
“My uncle is a Munk,” he continued, “and a
most excellent person.”
“A monk?” interrupted the grandmother in
amazement.
“Yes, a Chipmunk!” said the squirrel. “It’s
the same thing, I believe, only we spell it with a
_u_. Third cousin to a monkey, you know.”
Toto and his grandmother both looked quite bewildered
at this; but the raccoon smiled sweetly,
and said,—
“Go on, Cracker, my boy! never try to explain
things _too_ fully; it’s apt to be a little tedious,
and it is always better to leave something to the
imagination.”
“I am going on,” said Cracker. “As I said
before, people sometimes go into that part of the
wood; there are one or two hives not far from
it.”
“One or two hives?” interrupted Toto. “What
_do_ you mean, Cracker?”
“Why, a lot of houses together,” said the
squirrel. “Don’t you call them hives? The
only other creatures I know that live in that
kind of way (and a very poor way it is, to my
thinking) are the bees, and their places are called
hives.”
“A collection of houses, Mr. Cracker,” said the
grandmother gently, “is called a village or a
town, according to its size; a village being a small
collection.”
“Oh!” said the squirrel. “Thank you, ma’am!
I will try to remember that. Well, this boy Jim
lives in the nearest village, and sometimes goes
into the forest. Now, the autumn is slipping
away fast, as we all know; and last week my
Uncle Munkle, who is always fore-handed and
thrifty, thought it was high time to be getting in
his winter store of nuts and acorns. So he sent
for his nephews to come and help him (he has no
children of his own). We all went, of course, and
Coon went with us, for my uncle always gives us
a feast after the nuts are in, and Coon always
goes wherever there is anything to—”
“What?” said the raccoon, looking up sharply.
“Wherever there is anything to be _done_!” said
the squirrel hastily.
“The second day, as we were all hard at work
shelling the beechnuts, I heard a noise among the
bushes,—a crackling noise that did not sound like
any animal I knew. I looked, and saw two eyes
peering out from the leaves of a young beech-tree.
‘That is a boy,’ said I to myself, ‘and he
means mischief!’ So I skipped off without saying
anything to the others, and crept softly round
behind the bushes, making no more noise than an
eel in the mud. There I found, not one boy, but
two, crouching among the bushes, and watching
the nut-shelling. They were whispering to each
other; and I crept nearer and nearer till I could
hear all they said.
“‘When shall we come?’ said one.
“‘To-night,’ said the other, who had red hair
and a freckled face, ‘when the moon is up, and
the little beggars are all asleep. Then we can
easily knock them on the head, and get the nuts
without being bitten. They bite like wild-cats
when they are roused, these little fellows.’
“‘All right!’ said the other, whose face I could
not see. ‘I’ll bring a bag and be here at eight
o’clock.’
“‘_Will_ you?’ thought I, and I crept away again,
having heard all I wanted to know. I went back
to the others, and presently a snapping and crackling
told me that the boys were gone. Then I
went to Uncle Munkle and told him what I had
heard. He was very angry, and whisked his tail
about till he nearly whisked it off. ‘Call your
large friend,’ he said, ‘and we will hold a council.’
So I waked Coon—”
“Waked Coon?” exclaimed the woodchuck
slyly. “What! do you mean to say he was not
working twice as hard as any of the others?”
“I had been, my good fellow!” said the raccoon
loftily. “I had been; and exhausted with
my labors. I was snatching a moment’s hard-earned
repose. Go on, Cracker.”
“Well,” continued the squirrel, “we held a
council, and settled everything beautifully. Uncle
Munkle, who has very particularly sharp teeth,
was to get into the nut-closet and wait there. The
rest of us were to be ready together on the nearest
branch, and Coon was to hide himself somewhere
close by. No one was to move until Uncle
Munkle gave the signal, and then—well, you
shall hear how it happened. We all went on with
our work until sunset. Then we had supper, and
a game of scamper, and then we began to prepare
for business. We sharpened our claws on the bark
of the trees till they were as sharp as—as—”
“Razors,” suggested Toto.
“Don’t know what that means,” said the
squirrel.
“As sharp as Coon’s nose, then; that will do.”
“We filled our cheek-pouches with three-cornered
pebbles and nut-shells. Then, when the
moon rose, and all the forest was quiet, we
retired to our posts. We had waited some time,
and were becoming rather impatient, when suddenly
a distant sound was heard; the sound of
snapping and cracking twigs. It grew louder and
louder, louder and louder; and presently we saw a
freckled face looking out from among the leaves.
“Cautiously the boy advanced, and soon another
boy appeared, not so ill-looking as the first. He
carried a bag in his hand. The two came softly to
the foot of our tree, and looked up. The leaves
twinkled in the moonlight; but all was still, not a
sound to be heard. The two whispered together
a moment; then the freckled boy began slowly
and carefully to climb the tree. We saw his red
head coming nearer and nearer, nearer and nearer.
We knew he must be near Uncle Munkle’s hole.
We all held our breath and listened for the signal.
“Presently the boy stopped climbing, and we
saw him stretch out his hand. Then—oh! such a
screech! You _never_ heard such a screech, not
even from a wild-cat. Another yell, and another.
That was the signal. Now we knew what Uncle
Munkle meant by saying, ‘I may not give the signal
_myself_, but you will hear it all the same.’
“Instantly we sprang at the boy, ten strong,
healthy squirrels, teeth and claws and all. I
don’t think he enjoyed himself very much for the
next few minutes. He yelled all the time, and
at last he lost his hold on the tree, and fell heavily
to the ground. Also, Coon had been biting his
legs a little. But when he fell, Coon started after
the other boy, who was dancing about the foot of
the tree in a frenzy of terror and amazement.
When he saw Coon coming, he started on a run;
but Coon jumped on his back and got him by the
ear, and then rode him round and round the forest
till he howled as loud as the other one had.”
“A very pleasant ride I had, too,” said the raccoon
placidly. “My young friend was excitable,
very excitable, but that only made it the more
lively. Yes. I don’t know when I have enjoyed
anything more.”
“But what became of the first boy after he
fell?” asked Toto eagerly.
“His father took him away in a wheelbarrow.”
“Well, my dear, he lay still,” said the squirrel.
“He lay still. He had broken his leg, so it was
really the only thing for him to do. And when
Coon came back from riding the other boy he
jumped backwards and forwards over him till his
father came and took him away in a wheelbarrow.
Every time Coon jumped, he grinned at the boy;
and every time he grinned, the boy screamed; so
one inferred that he did not like it, you know.
“Altogether,” said the little squirrel, in conclusion,
“it was a great success; a great success;
really, worthy of our end of the wood. And
_such_ a feast as Uncle Munkle gave us the day
after!”