THE FUN OF TRAVELING
Who travels much will wiser be,
Provided he has eyes to see.
_Little Joe Otter._
Gentle Mistress Moon, peeping down though the tops of the trees of the
Green Forest, saw a queer procession going up the Laughing Brook to the
pond of Paddy the Beaver, deep in the Green Forest. They were Little Joe
Otter, Mrs. Otter, and the two nearly grown young Otters. Little Joe was
leading, the others following in single file.
When they reached the pond of Paddy the Beaver they found it covered
with smooth ice. The snow had fallen before the pond had frozen over.
Little Joe made three or four jumps and then threw himself flat on his
stomach and away he slid on the smooth ice. As soon as he stopped
sliding he scrambled to his feet and did the same thing again. The
others did just as he did. They squealed with delight. It was great fun.
And it was surprising how fast they went across the pond of Paddy the
Beaver. When they got to the other side the young Otters didn’t want to
leave that pond. They wanted to slide some more.
But they had been well brought up, and when Little Joe promised them
that they should have more sliding before they reached the end of their
journey they said nothing more. Into the woods, plowing through the
snow, Little Joe led the way. Every time there was a little slope he
would slide down to the bottom. Of course all the others did the same.
Sometimes where it was level he would make a few swift jumps and then
slide on his stomach.
The young Otters were much excited. It was the first time they had been
any distance from the Laughing Brook. Everything was strange and new and
wonderful. They wanted to stop to examine everything. They startled
Jumper the Hare, and as he bounded away the young Otters started after
him and couldn’t understand why Little Joe and Mrs. Otter called them
back. Mrs. Grouse whirred out from under a low hemlock tree and gave
them a great fright. Both jumped at the roar of those stout wings. Then,
as they saw that their father and mother hadn’t even turned their heads,
they looked a little ashamed.
Little Joe Otter chose the easiest way. If he could slip under a log
instead of climbing over it, he did so. When he couldn’t slip under it
he went around it. But though he made a trail that was very winding, he
always kept to a certain direction. It was clear that he knew exactly
where he was heading for.
Now Otters have short legs, and traveling in the soft snow was tiresome,
even though they could slide now and then. So at last the two young
Otters began to lag a little. Traveling was becoming more work than fun.
Little Joe knew just how they felt. He hadn’t forgotten his first
journey when he was a youngster. So when at last he came to a great
upturned tree, he dived into the snow and disappeared. In a moment he
poked his head out of the hole he had made.
“We’ll stop here for a rest,” said he, and once more disappeared.
Mrs. Otter and the two young Otters followed him. They found him in the
snuggest, warmest little cave under the roots of that old tree. It was
just the place to rest and sleep. In two minutes those young Otters were
curled up and sound asleep. Little Joe and Mrs. Otter talked for a few
minutes, and then they, too, curled up.