“I don’t see what Sis wants to string this stuff all over the house
for, just because it happens to be Christmas!” grumbled Tommy, as he
sat on a big stone and idly kicked at a pile of beautiful ground-pine
and fragrant balsam boughs. “It’s the best day for skating we’ve had
yet, and here I am missing a whole morning of it, and so tired that
most likely I won’t feel like going this afternoon!”
Now Tommy knew perfectly well that if his mother said that he could go,
nothing could keep him away from the pond that afternoon. He was a
little tired, perhaps, but not nearly so tired as he tried to think he
was. Gathering Christmas greens was work of course. But when you come
right down to it, there is work about almost everything, even skating.
The chief difference between work and pleasure is the difference
between “must” and “want to.” When you _must_ do a thing it becomes
work; when you _want_ to do a thing it becomes pleasure.
Right down deep inside, where his honest self lives, Tommy was glad
that there was going to be a green wreath in each of the front windows,
and that over the doors and pictures there would be sweet-smelling
balsam. Without them, why, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmasy at all! And
really it had been fun gathering those greens. He wouldn’t admit it,
but it had. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world. It was only that
it had to be done just when he wanted to do something else. And so he
tried to feel grieved and persecuted, and to forget that Christmas was
only two days off.
He sat on the big gray stone and looked across the Green Meadows,
no longer green but covered with the whitest and lightest of
snow-blankets, across the Old Pasture, not one whit less beautiful, to
the Green Forest, and he sighed. It was a deep, heavy sigh. It was the
sigh of a self-made martyr.
As if in reply, he heard the sharp voice of Chatterer the Red Squirrel.
It rang out clear and loud on the frosty air, and it was very plain
that, whatever troubles others might have, Chatterer was very well
satisfied with the world in general and himself in particular. Just
now he was racing along the fence, stopping at every post to sit up
and tell all the world that he was there and didn’t care who knew it.
Presently his sharp eyes spied Tommy.
Chatterer stopped short in the middle of a rail and looked at Tommy
very hard. Then he barked at him, jerking his tail with every syllable.
Tommy didn’t move.
Chatterer jumped down from the fence and came nearer. Every foot or
so he paused and barked, and his bark was such a funny mixture of
nervousness and excitement and curiosity and sauciness, not to say
impudence, that finally Tommy laughed right out. He just couldn’t help
it.
Back to the fence rushed Chatterer, and scampered up to the top of
a post. Once sure of the safety of this retreat, he faced Tommy and
began to scold as fast as his tongue could go. Of course Tommy couldn’t
understand what Chatterer was saying, but he could guess. He was
telling Tommy just what he thought of a boy who would sit moping on
such a beautiful day, and only two days before Christmas at that!
My, how his tongue did fly! When he had had his say to the full, he
gave a final whisk of his tail and scampered off in the direction of
the Old Orchard. And, as he went, it seemed to Tommy as if he looked
back with the sauciest kind of a twinkle in his eyes, as much as to
say, “You deserve all I’ve said, but I don’t really mean it!”
Tommy watched him, a lively little red spot against the white
background, and, as he watched, the smile gradually faded away. It
never would do at all to go home in good spirits after raising such a
fuss as he had when he started out. So, to make himself feel as badly
as he felt that he ought to feel, Tommy sighed dolefully.
“Oh, but you’re lucky!” said he, as Chatterer’s sharp voice floated
over to him from the Old Orchard. “You don’t have to do a blessed thing
unless you want to! All you have to do is to eat and sleep and have a
good time. It must be fun. I wish I were a squirrel!”
Right then something happened. It happened all in a flash, just as it
had happened to Tommy before. One minute he was a boy, a discontented
boy, sitting on a big gray stone on the edge of the Green Meadows, and
the next minute he wasn’t a boy at all! You see, when he made that
wish, he had quite forgotten that he was sitting on the wishing-stone.
Now he no longer had to guess at what Chatterer was saying. Not a bit
of it. He knew.
He talked the same language himself. In short, he was a red squirrel,
and in two minutes had forgotten that he ever had been a boy.
How good it felt to be free and know that he could do just as he
pleased! His first impulse was to race over to the Old Orchard and make
the acquaintance of Chatterer. Then he thought better of it. Something
inside him seemed to tell him that he had no business there--that the
Old Orchard was not big enough for two red squirrels, and that, as
Chatterer had gone there first, it really belonged to him in a way.
He felt quite sure of it when he had replied to Chatterer’s sharp
voice, and had been told in no uncertain tones that the best thing he
could do would be to run right back where he had come from.
Of course, he couldn’t do that, so he decided to do the next best
thing--run over to the Green Forest and see what there was to do there.
He hopped up on the rail fence and whisked along the top rail.
What fun it was! He didn’t have a care in the world. All he had to
do was to eat, drink, and have a good time. Ha! who was that coming
along behind him? Was it Chatterer? It looked something like him, yet
different somehow. Tommy sat quite still watching the stranger, and,
as he watched, a curious terror began to creep over him.
The stranger wasn’t Chatterer! No, indeed, he wasn’t even a squirrel!
He was too long and slim, and his tail was different. He was Shadow the
Weasel! Tommy didn’t have to be told that. Although he never had seen
Shadow before, he knew without being told. For a minute he couldn’t
move. Then, his heart beating with fear until it seemed as if it would
burst, he fled along the fence toward the Green Forest, and now he
didn’t stop at the posts when he came to them. His one thought was to
get away, away as far as ever he could; for in the eyes of Shadow the
Weasel he had seen death.
Up the nearest tree he raced and hid, clinging close to the trunk near
the top, staring down with eyes fairly bulging with fright. Swiftly,
yet without seeming to hurry, Shadow the Weasel came straight to the
tree in which Tommy was hiding, his nose in Tommy’s tracks in the way
that a hound follows a rabbit or a fox. At the foot of the tree he
stopped just a second and looked up. Then he began to climb.
At the first scratch of his claws on the bark Tommy raced out along a
branch and leaped across to the next tree. Then, in a great panic, he
went on from tree to tree, taking desperate chances in his long leaps.
In the whole of his little being he had room for but one feeling, and
that was fear--fear of that savage pitiless pursuer.
He had run a long way before he realized that he was no longer being
followed. The fact is, Shadow had found other game, easier to catch,
and had given up. Now, just as soon as Tommy realized that Shadow the
Weasel was no longer on his track, he straightway forgot his fear. In
fact it was just as if he never had had a fright, for that is the law
of Mother Nature with her little people of the wild. So presently Tommy
was once more as happy and care-free as before.
In a big chestnut-tree just ahead of him he could see Happy Jack the
Gray Squirrel; and Happy Jack was very busy about something. Perhaps he
had a storehouse there. The very thought made Tommy hungry. Once more
he hid, but this time not in fear. He hid so that he could watch Happy
Jack. Not a sound did he make as he peered out from his hiding-place.
Happy Jack was a long time in that hollow limb? It seemed as if he
never would come out. So Tommy started on to look for more mischief,
for he was bubbling over with good spirits and felt that he must do
something.
Presently, quite by accident, he discovered another hoard of nuts,
mostly acorns, neatly tucked away in a crotch of a big tree. Of course
he sampled them. “What fun!” thought he. “I don’t know who they belong
to, and I don’t care. From now on, they are going to belong to me.”
He started to carry them away, but a sudden harsh scream close to him
startled him so that he dropped the nut he had in his mouth. He dodged
behind the trunk of the tree just in time to escape the dash of an
angry bird in a brilliant blue suit with white and black trimmings.
[Illustration: A SUDDEN HARSH SCREAM STARTLED HIM SO THAT HE DROPPED
THE NUT]
“Thief! thief! thief! Leave my acorns alone!” screamed Sammy Jay, anger
making his voice harsher than ever.
Round and round the trunk of the tree Tommy dodged, chattering back in
reply to the sharp tongue of the angry bird. It was exciting without
being very dangerous. After a while, however, it grew tiresome, and,
watching his chance, he slipped over to another tree and into a hole
made by Drummer the Woodpecker. Sammy Jay didn’t see where he had
disappeared, and, after hunting in vain, gave up and began to carry his
acorns away to a new hiding-place. Tommy’s eyes sparkled with mischief
as he watched. By and by he would have a hunt for it! It would be fun!
When Sammy Jay had hidden the last acorn and flown away, Tommy came
out. He didn’t feel like hunting for those acorns just then, so he
scampered up in a tall hemlock-tree, and, just out of sheer good
spirits and because he could see no danger near, he called sharply that
all within hearing might know that he was about.
Almost instantly he received a reply from not far away. It was an angry
warning to keep away from that part of the Green Forest, because he
had no business there! It was the voice of Chatterer. Tommy replied
just as angrily that he would stay if he wanted to. Then they barked
and chattered at each other for a long time. Gradually Chatterer came
nearer. Finally he was in the very next tree. He stopped there long
enough to tell Tommy all that he would do to him when he caught him,
and at the end he jumped across to Tommy’s tree.
Tommy waited no longer. He wasn’t ready to fight. In the first place he
knew that Chatterer probably had lived there a long time, and so was
partly right in saying that Tommy had no business there. Then Chatterer
looked a little the bigger and stronger. So Tommy nimbly ran out on a
branch and leaped across to the next tree. In a flash Chatterer was
after him, and then began a most exciting race through the tree-tops.
Tommy found that there were regular squirrel highways through the
tree-tops, and along these he raced at top speed, Chatterer at his
heels, scolding and threatening. When he reached the edge of the Green
Forest, Tommy darted down the last tree, across the open space to the
old stone wall and along this, Chatterer following.
Suddenly the anger in Chatterer’s voice changed to a sharp cry of
warning. Tommy scrambled into a crevice between two stones without
stopping to inquire what the trouble was. When he peeped out, he saw
a great bird sailing back and forth. In a few minutes it alighted on
a near-by tree, and sat there so still that, if Tommy had not seen it
alight, he never would have known it was there.
“Mr. Goshawk nearly got you that time,” said a voice very near at
hand. Tommy turned to find Chatterer peeping out from another crevice
in the old wall. “It won’t be safe for us to show ourselves until he
leaves,” continued Chatterer. “It’s getting so that an honest squirrel
needs eyes in the back of his head to keep his skin whole, not to
mention living out his natural life. Hello! here comes a boy, and that
means more trouble. There’s one good thing about it, and that is he’ll
frighten away that hawk.”
Tommy looked, and sure enough there was a boy, and in his hands was an
air-rifle. Tommy didn’t know what it was, but Chatterer did.
“I wish that hawk would hurry up and fly so that we can run!” he
sputtered. “The thing that boy carries throws things, and they hurt.
It isn’t best to let him get too near when he has that with him. He
seems to think it’s fun to hurt us. I’d just like to bite him once and
see if he thought _that_ was fun! There goes that hawk. Come on now,
we’ve got to run for it!”
Chatterer led the way and Tommy followed. He was frightened, but there
wasn’t that terror which had possessed him when Shadow the Weasel was
after him. Something struck sharply against the wall just behind him.
It frightened him into greater speed. Something struck just in front
of him, and then something hit him so hard that just for a second he
nearly lost his balance. It hurt dreadfully.
“Hurrah!” shouted the boy, “I hit him that time!” Then the boy started
to run after them so as to get a closer shot.
“We’ll get up in the top of that big hemlock-tree and he won’t be able
to see us,” panted Chatterer. “Did he hit you? That’s too bad. It might
have been worse though. If he had had one of those things that make a
big noise and smoke we might not either of us be here now.
“Boys are hateful things. I don’t see what fun they get out of
frightening and hurting such little folks as you and me. They’re
brutes! That’s what they are! When we get across that little open
place, we can laugh at him. Come on now!”
Down from the end of the old wall Chatterer jumped and raced across to
the foot of a big hemlock-tree, Tommy at his heels. Up the tree they
ran and hid close to the trunk where the branches were thick. They
could peer down and see the boy, but he couldn’t see them. He walked
around the tree two or three times, and then shot up into the top to
try to frighten the squirrels.
“Don’t move!” whispered Chatterer. “He doesn’t see us.”
Tommy obeyed, although he felt as if he must run. His heart seemed to
jump every time a bullet spatted in among the branches. It was dreadful
to sit there and do nothing while being shot at, and not know but that
the very next minute one of those little lead shot would hit. Tommy
knew just how it would hurt if it did hit.
Presently the boy gave up and went off to torment some one else. No
sooner was his back fairly turned than Chatterer began to scold and
jeer at him. Tommy joined him. It was just as if there never had been
any danger. If that boy could have understood what they said, his ears
would have burned.
Then Chatterer showed Tommy just what part of the Green Forest he
claimed as his own, and also showed him a part that had belonged to
another squirrel to whom something had happened, and suggested that
Tommy take that for his. It wasn’t as good as Chatterer’s, but still it
would do very well. Tommy took possession at once. Each agreed not to
intrude on the other’s territory. On common ground, that didn’t belong
to either of them, they would be the best of friends, but Tommy knew
that if he went into Chatterer’s part of the Green Forest, he would
have to fight, and he made up his mind that if any other squirrel came
into _his_ part of the Green Forest, there would be a fight. Suddenly
he was very jealous of his new possession. He was hardly willing to
leave it, when Chatterer suggested a visit to a near-by corn-crib for a
feast of yellow corn.
Chatterer led the way. Tommy found that he was quite lame from the shot
which had hit him, but he was soon racing after Chatterer again.
Along the old stone wall, then along a fence, up a maple-tree, and from
there to the roof of the corn-crib, they scampered. Chatterer knew just
where to get inside, and in a few minutes they were stuffing themselves
with yellow corn. When they had eaten all that they could hold, they
stuffed their cheeks full and started back the way they had come.
Tommy went straight to his own part of the Green Forest, and there he
hid his treasure, some in a hollow stump, and some under a little pile
of leaves between the roots of a tree. All the time he watched sharply
to make sure that no one saw him. While looking for new hiding-places,
his nose told him to dig. There, buried under the leaves, he found
nuts hidden by the one who had lived there before him. There must be
many more hidden there, and it would be great fun hunting for them.
Doubtless he would find as many as if he had hidden them himself, for
he had seen that Chatterer didn’t know where he had put a tenth part of
the things _he_ had hidden. He just trusted to his nose to help him
get them again.
He found a splendid nest made of leaves and strips of inner bark in the
hollow stub of a big branch of a chestnut-tree, and he made up his mind
that there was where he would sleep. Then he ran over to see Chatterer
again. He found him scolding at a cat who watched him with yellow,
unblinking eyes. Chatterer would run down the trunk of the tree almost
to the ground, and there scold and call names as fast as his tongue
could go. Then he would run back up to the lowest branch and scold from
there. The next time he would go a little farther down. Finally he
leaped to the ground, and raced across to another tree. The cat sprang,
but was just too late. Chatterer jeered at her. Then he began the same
thing over again, and kept at it until finally the cat gave up and left
in disgust. It had been exciting, but Tommy shivered at the thought of
what might have happened.
“Ever try that with a fox?” asked Chatterer.
“No,” replied Tommy.
“I have!” boasted Chatterer. “But I’ve seen squirrels caught doing it,”
he said. “Still, I suppose one may as well be caught by a fox as by a
hawk.”
“Did you see that weasel this morning?” asked Tommy.
Chatterer actually shivered as he replied: “Yes, I saw him after you.
It’s a wonder he didn’t get you. You’re lucky! I was lucky myself
this morning, for a mink went right past where I was hiding. Life is
nothing but one jump after another these days. It seems as if, when one
has worked as hard as I did last fall to store up enough food to keep
me all winter, I ought to be allowed to enjoy it in comfort.
“Those who sleep all winter, like Johnny Chuck, have a mighty easy time
of it. They don’t know when they are well off. Still, I’d hate to miss
all the excitement and fun of life. I would rather jump for my life
twenty times a day as I have to, and know that I’m alive, than to be
alive and not know it. See that dog down there? I hate dogs! I’m going
to tell him so.”
Off raced Chatterer to bark and scold at a little black-and-white
dog which paid no attention to him at all. The shadows were creeping
through the trees, and Tommy began to think of his nest. He looked
once more at Chatterer, who was racing along the top of the old wall
scolding at the dog. Suddenly what seemed like merely a darker shadow
swept over Chatterer, and, when it had passed, he had vanished. For
once, that fatal once, he had been careless. Hooty the Owl had caught
him. Tommy shivered. He was frightened and cold. He would get to his
nest as quickly as he could. He leaped down to a great gray stone,
and--behold, he wasn’t a squirrel at all! He was just a boy sitting on
a big stone, with a heap of Christmas greens at his feet.
He shivered, for he was cold. Then he jumped up and stamped his feet
and threshed his arms. A million diamond points glittered in the white
meadows where the snow crystals splintered the sunbeams. From the Old
Orchard sounded the sharp scolding chirr and cough of Chatterer the Red
Squirrel.
Tommy listened and slowly a smile widened. “Hooty didn’t get you after
all!” he muttered. Then in a minute he added: “I’m glad of it. And you
haven’t anything more to fear from me. You won’t believe it, but you
haven’t. You may be mischievous, but I guess you have troubles enough
without me adding to them. Oh, but I’m glad I’m not a squirrel! Being
a boy’s good enough for me, ’specially ’long ’bout Christmas time.
I guess Sis will be tickled with these greens. But it’s queer what
happens when I sit down on this old rock!”
He frowned at it as if he couldn’t understand it at all. Then he
gathered up his load of greens, and, with the merriest of whistles,
trudged homeward. And to this day Chatterer the Red Squirrel cannot
understand how it came about that from that Christmas he and Tommy
became fast friends. But they did.
Perhaps the wishing-stone could tell if it would.