From over in the Green Forest where the silver beeches grow, came a
sound which made Tommy stop to listen. For a minute or two all was
still. Then it came again, a deep, throbbing sound that began slowly
and then grew faster and faster until it ended in a long rumble like
distant thunder. Tommy knew it couldn’t be that, for there wasn’t a
cloud in the sky; and anyway it wasn’t the season of thunder-storms.
Again he heard that deep hollow throbbing grow fast and faster until
there was no time between the beats and it became a thunderous rumble;
and for some reason which he could not have explained, Tommy felt his
pulse beat faster in unison, and a strange sense of joyous exhilaration.
_Drum--drum--drum--drum--drum, drum, drum, dr-r-r-r-r-r-um!_ The sound
beat out from beyond the hemlocks and rolled away through the woods.
“It’s an old cock-partridge drumming.” Tommy had a way of talking to
himself when he was alone. “He’s down on that old beech log at the head
of the gully. Gee, I’d like to see him! Bet it’s the same one that
was there last year. Dad says that old log is a reg’lar drumming-log
and he’s seen partridges drum there lots of times. And yet he doesn’t
really know how they make all that noise. Says some folks say they
beat the log with their wings, and, because it’s hollow, it makes that
sound. Don’t believe it, though. They’d break their wings doing that.
Besides, that old log isn’t much hollow anyway, and I never can make it
sound up much hammering it with a stick; so how could a partridge do it
with nothing but his wings?
“Some other folks say they do it by hitting their wings together over
their backs; but I don’t see any sense in that, because their wings are
mostly feathers. And some say they beat their sides to make the noise;
but if they do that, I should think they’d knock all the wind out of
themselves and be too sore to move. Bet if I could ever catch ol’
Thunderer drumming, I’d find out how he does it! I know what I’ll do!
I’ll go over to the old wishing-stone. Wonder why I didn’t think of it
before. Then I’ll find out a lot.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets and trudged up the Crooked Little
Path, out of the Green Forest, and over to the great gray stone on
the edge of the Green Meadows where once a wish had come true, or had
seemed to come true, anyway, and where he had learned so much about the
life of Danny Meadow Mouse. As he tramped, his thoughts were all of
Thunderer the Ruffed Grouse, whom he called a partridge, and some other
people call a pheasant, but who is neither.
Many times had Tommy been startled by having the handsome bird spring
into the air from almost under his feet, with a noise of wings that was
enough to scare anybody. It was because of this and the noise of his
drumming that Tommy called him Thunderer.
With a long sigh of satisfaction, for he was tired, Tommy sat down on
the wishing-stone, planted his elbows on his knees, dropped his chin in
his hands, looked over to the Green Forest through half-closed eyes,
and wished.
“I wish,” said he, slowly and earnestly, “I could be a partridge.” He
meant, of course, that he could be a grouse.
Just as had happened before when he had expressed such a wish on the
old wishing-stone, the very instant the words were out of his mouth, he
ceased to be a boy. He was a tiny little bird, like nothing so much as
a teeny, weeny chicken, a soft little ball of brown and yellow, one of
a dozen, who all looked alike as they scurried after their little brown
mother in answer to her anxious cluck.
Behind them, on the ground, cunningly hidden back of a fallen tree, was
an empty nest with only some bits of shell as a reminder that, just a
few hours before, it had contained twelve buff eggs. Now Tommy and his
brothers and sisters didn’t give the old nest so much as a thought.
They had left it as soon as they were strong enough to run. They were
starting out for their first lesson in the school of the Great World.
Perhaps Tommy thought his mother fussy and altogether a great deal too
nervous; but if he did, he didn’t say so. There was one thing that
seemed to have been born in him, something that as a boy he had to
learn, and that was the habit of instant obedience.
It was instinct, which, so naturalists say, is habit confirmed and
handed down through many generations. Tommy didn’t know why he obeyed.
He just did, that was all. It didn’t occur to him that there was
anything else to do. The idea of disobeying never entered his funny,
pretty little head. And it was just so with all the others. Mother
Grouse had only to speak and they did just exactly what she told them
to.
This habit of obedience on their part took a great load from the mind
of Mother Grouse. They hadn’t been in the Great World long enough to
know, but she knew that there were dangers on every side; and to watch
out for and protect them from these she needed all her senses, and
she couldn’t afford to dull any of them by useless worrying. So it was
a great relief to her to know that, when she had bidden them hide and
keep perfectly still until she called them, they would do exactly as
she said. This made it possible for her to leave them long enough to
lead an enemy astray, and be sure that when she returned she would find
them just where she had left them.
She had to do this twice on their very first journey into the Great
World. Tommy was hurrying along with the others as fast as his small
legs could take him when his mother gave a sharp but low call to hide.
There was a dried leaf on the ground close to Tommy. Instantly he crept
under it and flattened his small self to the ground, closed his eyes
tight, and listened with all his might.
He heard the whir of strong wings as Mother Grouse took flight. If he
had peeped out, he would have seen that she flew only a very little
way, and that, when she came to earth again, there appeared to be
something the matter with her, so that she flopped along instead of
running or flying. But he didn’t see this, because he was under that
dead leaf.
Presently, the ground vibrated under the steps of heavy feet that
all but trod on the leaf under which Tommy lay, and frightened him
terribly. But he did not move and he made no sound. Again, had he
peeped out, he would have seen Mother Grouse fluttering along the
ground just ahead of an eager boy who thought to catch her and tried
and tried until he had been led far from the place where her babies
were.
Then all was still, so still that surely there could be no danger near.
Surely it was safe to come out now. But Tommy didn’t move, nor did any
of his brothers and sisters. They had been told not to until they were
called, and it never once entered their little heads to disobey. Mother
knew best.
At last there came a gentle cluck. Instantly Tommy popped out from
under his leaf to see his brothers and sisters popping out from the
most unexpected places all about him. It seemed almost as if they had
popped out of the very ground itself. And there was Mother Grouse, very
proud and very fussy, as she made sure that all her babies were there.
Later that same day the same thing happened, only this time there was
no heavy footstep, but the lightest kind of patter as cushioned feet
eagerly hurried past, and Reddy Fox sprang forward, sure that Mother
Grouse was to make him the dinner he liked best, and thus was led away
to a safe distance, there to realize how completely he had been fooled.
It was a wonderful day, that first day. There was a great ant-hill
which Mother Grouse scratched open with her stout claws, exposing ever
and ever so many white things, which were the so-called eggs of the
big black ants, and which were delicious eating, as Tommy soon found
out. It was great fun to scramble for them, and eat and eat until not
another one could be swallowed. And when the shadow began to creep
through the Green Forest, they nestled close under Mother Grouse in one
of her favorite secret hiding-places and straightway went to sleep as
healthy children should, sure that no harm could befall them, nor once
guessed how lightly their mother slept and more than once shivered with
fear, not for herself but for them, as some prowler of the night passed
their retreat.
So the days passed and Tommy grew and learned, and it was a question
which he did the faster. The down with which he had been covered gave
way to real feathers and he grew real wings, so that he was little
over a week old when he could fly in case of need. And in that same
length of time, short as it was, he had filled his little head with
knowledge. He had learned that a big sandy dome in a sunny spot in the
woods usually meant an ants’ castle, where he could eat to his heart’s
content if only it was torn open for him.
He had learned that luscious fat worms and bugs were to be found under
rotting pieces of bark and the litter of decaying old logs and stumps.
He had learned that wild strawberries and some other berries afforded a
welcome variety to his bill of fare.
[Illustration: BUGS WERE TO BE FOUND UNDER OLD LOGS]
He had learned that a daily bath in fine dust was necessary for
cleanliness as well as being vastly comforting. He had learned that
danger lurked in the air as well as on the ground, for a swooping
hawk had caught one of his brothers who had not instantly heeded his
mother’s warning.
But most important of all, he had learned the value of that first
lesson in obedience, and to trust wholly to the wisdom of Mother Grouse
and never to question her commands.
A big handsome grouse had joined them now. It was old Thunderer, and
sometimes when he would throw back his head, spread his beautiful tail
until it was like a fan, raise the crest on his head and the glossy
ruff on his neck, and proudly strut ahead of them, Tommy thought him
the most beautiful sight in all the world and wondered if ever he would
grow to be half as handsome. While he did little work in the care of
the brood, Thunderer was of real help to Mother Grouse in guarding the
little family from ever-lurking dangers. There was no eye or ear more
keen than his, and none more skillful than he in confusing and baffling
a hungry enemy who had chanced to discover the presence of the little
family. Tommy watched him every minute he could spare from the ever
important business of filling his crop, and stored up for future need
the things he learned.
Once he ventured to ask Thunderer what was the greatest danger for
which a grouse must watch out, and he never forgot the answer.
“There is no greatest danger while you are young,” replied Thunderer,
shaking out his feathers. “Every danger is greatest while it exists.
Never forget that. Never treat any danger lightly. Skunks and foxes and
weasels and minks and coons and hawks and owls are equally dangerous
to youngsters like you, and one is as much to be feared as another. It
is only when you have become full-grown, like me, and then only in the
fall of the year, that you will know the greatest danger.”
“And what is that?” asked Tommy timidly.
“A man with a gun,” replied Thunderer.
“And what is that?” asked Tommy again, eager for knowledge.
“A great creature who walks on two legs and points a stick which spits
fire and smoke, and makes a great noise, and kills while it is yet a
long distance off.”
“Oh!” gasped Tommy. “How is one ever to learn to avoid such a dreadful
danger as that?”
“I’ll teach you when the time comes,” replied Thunderer. “Now run along
and take your dust-bath. You must first learn to avoid other dangers
before you will be fitted to meet the greatest danger.”
All that long bright summer Tommy thought of that greatest danger,
and, by learning how to meet other dangers, tried to prepare himself
for it. Sometimes he wondered if there really could be any greater
danger than those about him every day. It seemed sometimes as if all
the world sought to kill him, who was so harmless himself. Not only
were there dangers from hungry animals, and robbers of the air, but
also from the very creatures that furnished him much of his living--the
tribe of insects. An ugly-looking insect, called a tick, with wicked
blood-sucking jaws, killed one of the brood while they were yet small,
and an equally ugly worm called a bot-worm caused the death of another.
Shadow the Weasel surprised one foolish bird who insisted on sleeping
on the ground when he was big enough to know better, and Reddy Fox
dined on another whose curiosity led him to move when he had been
warned to lie perfectly still, and who paid for his disobedience with
his life. Tommy, not three feet away, saw it all and profited by the
lesson.
He was big enough now to act for himself and no longer depended wholly
for safety on the wisdom of Mother Grouse and Thunderer. But while he
trusted to his own senses and judgment, he was ever heedful of their
example and still ready to learn. Especially did he take pains to keep
near Thunderer and study him and his ways, for he was wise and cunning
with the cunning of experience and knowledge. Tommy was filled with
great admiration for him and tried to copy him in everything.
Thus it was that he learned that there were two ways of flying, one
without noise and the other with the thunder of whirring wings. Also
he learned that there was a time for each. When he knew himself to be
alone and suddenly detected the approach of an enemy, he often would
launch himself into the air on silent wings before his presence had
been discovered. But when others of his family were near, he would
burst into the air with all the noise he could make as a warning to
others. Also, it sometimes startled and confused the enemy.
Thunderer had taught him the trick one day when Reddy Fox had stolen,
unseen by Tommy, almost within jumping distance. Thunderer had seen
him, and purposely had waited until Reddy was just gathering himself
to spring on the unsuspecting Tommy. Then with a splendid roar of
his stout wings Thunderer had risen just to one side of the fox, so
startling him and distracting his attention that Tommy had had ample
time to whir up in his turn, to the discomfiture of Reddy Fox.
So, when the fall came, Tommy was big from good living, and filled with
the knowledge that makes for long life among grouse. He knew the best
scratching-grounds, the choicest feeding-places according to the month,
every bramble-tangle and every brush-pile, the place for the warmest
sun-bath, and the trees which afforded the safest and most comfortable
roosting places at night.
He knew the ways and the favorite hunting-grounds of every fox, and
weasel, and skunk, and coon of the neighborhood, and how to avoid them.
He knew when it was safest to lie low and trust to the protective
coloring of his feathers, and when it was best to roar away on
thundering wings.
The days grew crisp and shorter. The maples turned red and yellow, and
soon the woods were filled with fluttering leaves and the trees began
to grow bare. It was then that old Thunderer warned Tommy that the
season of greatest danger was at hand. Somehow, in the confidence of
his strength and the joy of the splendid tide of life surging through
him, he didn’t fear this unknown danger as he had when as a little
fellow he had first heard of it. Then one day, quite unexpectedly, he
faced it.
He and Thunderer had been resting quietly in a bramble-tangle on the
very edge of the Green Forest, when suddenly there was the rustle of
padded feet in the leaves just outside the brambles. Looking out, Tommy
saw what at first he took to be a strange and very large kind of fox,
and he prepared to fly.
“Not yet! Not yet!” warned Thunderer. “That is a dog and he will not
harm us. But to fly now might be to go straight into that greatest
danger, of which I had told you. That is the mistake young grouse
often make, flying before they know just where the danger is. Watch
until you see the two-legged creature with the fire-stick, then follow
me and do just as I do.”
The dog was very near now. In fact, he had his nose in the brambles
and was standing as still as if turned to stone, one of his fore feet
lifted and pointing straight at them. No one moved. Presently Tommy
heard heavy steps, and, looking through the brambles, saw the great
two-legged creature of whom Thunderer had told him.
“Now!” cried Thunderer. “Do as I do!” With a great roar of wings he
burst out of the tangle on the opposite side from where the hunter was,
and flying low, so as to keep the brambles between himself and the
hunter, swerved sharply to the left to put a tree between them, and
then flew like a bullet straight into the Green Forest where the trees
were thickest, skillfully dodging the great trunks, and at last at a
safe distance sailing up over the tops to take to the ground on the
other side of a hill and there run swiftly for a way.
Tommy followed closely, doing exactly as Thunderer did. Even as he
swerved behind the first tree, he heard a terrible double roar behind
him and the sharp whistle of things which cut through the leaves around
him and struck the tree behind him. One even nipped a brown feather
from his back. He was terribly frightened, but he was unhurt as he
joined Thunderer behind the hill.
“Now you know what the greatest danger is,” said Thunderer. “Never fly
until you know just where the hunter is, and then fly back of a bush or
a tree, the bigger the better, or drop over the edge of a bank if there
is one. Make as much noise as you can when you get up. It may startle
the hunter so that he cannot point his fire-stick straight. If he has
no dog, it is sometimes best to lie still until he has passed and then
fly silently. If there is no tree or other cover near enough when you
first see the dog, run swiftly until you reach a place where it will be
safe to take wing.”
For the next few weeks it seemed as if from daylight to dark the woods
were filled with dogs and hunters, and Tommy knew no hour of peace and
security until the coming of night. Many a dreadful tragedy did Tommy
see when companions, less cunning than old Thunderer, were stricken in
mid-air and fell lifeless to the ground. But he, learning quickly and
doing as Thunderer did, escaped unharmed.
At last the law, of which Tommy knew nothing, put an end to the murder
of the innocents, and for another year the greatest danger was over.
But now came a new danger. It was the month of madness. Tommy and
all his companions were seized with an irresistible desire to fly
aimlessly, blindly, sometimes in the darkness of night, they knew not
where. And in this mad flight some met death, breaking their necks
against buildings and against telegraph wires. Where he went or what he
did during this period of madness, Tommy never knew; but when it left
him as abruptly as it had come, he found himself in the street of a
village.
With swift strong wings he shot into the air and headed straight back
for the dear Green Forest, now no longer green save where the hemlocks
and pines grew. Once back there, he took up the old life and was happy,
for he felt himself a match for any foe. The days grew shorter and the
cold increased. There were still seeds and acorns and some berries, but
with the coming of the snow these became more and more scarce and Tommy
was obliged to resort to catkins and buds on the trees. Between his
toes there grew little horny projections, which were his snowshoes and
enabled him to get about on the snow without sinking in. He learned to
dive into the deep soft snow for warmth and safety. Once he was nearly
trapped there. A hard crust formed in the night and, when morning came,
Tommy had hard work to break out.
So the long winter wore away and spring came with all its gladness.
Tommy was fully as big as old Thunderer now and just as handsome, and
he began to take pride in his appearance and to strut. One day he came
to an old log, and, jumping up on it, strutted back and forth proudly
with his fan-like tail spread its fullest and his broad ruff raised.
Then he heard the long rolling thunder of another grouse drumming.
Instantly he began to beat his wings against the air, not as in flying,
but with a more downward motion, and to his great delight there rolled
from under them that same thunder. Slowly he beat at first and then
faster and faster, until he was forced to stop for breath. He was
drumming! Then he listened for a reply.
_Drum--drum--drum--drum--drum, drum, drum, dr-r-r-r-r-r-rum._ Tommy’s
eyes flew open. He was sitting on the old wishing-stone on the edge
of the Green Meadows. For a minute he blinked in confusion. Then,
from over in the Green Forest, came that sound like distant thunder,
_drum--drum--drum--drum--drum, drum, drum, dr-r-r-r-r-r-rum_.
“It’s ol’ Thunderer again on that beech log!” cried Tommy. “And now I
know how he does it. He just beats the air. I know, because I’ve done
it myself. Geewhilikens, I’m glad I’m not really a partridge! Bet I’ll
never hunt one after this, or let anybody else if I can help it. Isn’t
this old wishing-stone the dandy place to learn things, though! I guess
the only way of really knowing how birds and animals live and feel is
by being one of ’em. Somehow it makes things look all different. Just
listen to ol’ Thunderer drum! I know now just how fine he feels. I’m
going to get Father to put up a sign and stop all shooting in our part
of the Green Forest next fall, and then there won’t be any greatest
danger there.”
And Tommy, whistling merrily, started for home.