"It's all the same to me," said the Cockroach. "I've given up those
silly meadows long ago. Good-night, lunatics!" and he drew his whiskers
in and disappeared.
"Was that eleven?" said the House Cricket, taking no notice of his
rudeness. "We've no time to lose then. Come along!"
Winnie climbed up on his back as if it were the most natural thing in
the world, and the two Beetles climbed up behind her. The drummer Beetle
started playing at once--_one-two-three-four, pit-tip, tip-pit;
one-two-three-four, pat-tap, tap-pat_--and the whole four of them sailed
up the chimney. It was not hot (as Winnie explained), for the fire had
burnt very low and that was what had beaten the kettle, but it _was_
sooty, and she remembers quite well longing to see the clean, white snow
on the roof. The Cricket went up crab-wise--a little jump to one side
and a little jump to the other; so he took quite a long time to reach
the chimney-pot, and when he crawled on to the edge of it the snow was
all gone. ("That was the queerest thing of all, Father," said Winnie
"there were leaves and flowers and sunshine, and it was just like
summer.")
"Now hold tight," said the Cricket, "while I unpack my wings."
[Illustration]
This was quite a long business, for the Cricket had to keep moistening
his fingers, and Winnie and the Beetles had to keep crawling up and down
his back, so as not to be in the way. At last everything was ready, and
the Cricket poised himself on the edge of the chimney, spread his wings
wide apart, and slid into the air. Winnie was just a little frightened
at first, and she put her head down close to the Cricket's neck and shut
her eyes and dug her fingers into the chinks of his back; but presently
she felt that it was no good being frightened, for they were going quite
smoothly, and the Cricket's wing-covers were high up on either side of
her, so that she could hardly have fallen off if she had tried to. Soon
she felt brave enough to raise her head very carefully and look about
her. The kitchen chimney was some way behind, the great elm on her left,
and the river close in front. Just before they reached the river the
Cricket's wings buzzed like blue-bottles, and she felt they were going
upwards. Then came another long, gentle glide, and the Cricket landed on
the blackberry hedge at the bottom of the meadow.
[Illustration]
"You must all get off here," he said.
Winnie stepped off his back on to a slippery thorn, missed her footing,
and fell on the top of the Great Green Grasshopper's wife.
"I beg your pardon!" said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife.
"I think I ought to beg yours," said Winnie politely--which is where the
story began some time ago.
[Illustration: "I BEG YOUR PARDON," SAID THE GREAT
GREEN GRASSHOPPER'S WIFE]
The Great Green Grasshopper's wife was more amused than offended.
"Don't mention it," she said. "I suppose you've come to help us, and I'm
very glad to see you. It is really most unfortunate, but I couldn't
possibly let my husband come--the first Christmas Eve he has missed for
years--but, as I said to him, 'If your leg's frostbitten, you're much
better in your hole.' Don't you agree with me?"
"Oh, yes, I think so," said Winnie, who felt she must say something.
"Of course we shall miss him very much," said the Great Green
Grasshopper's wife, "but if the Field Cricket isn't too nervous, I dare
say we shall pull through. I see you have brought our drummer with you,
and here is the Mole Cricket coming up, and the Wood Cricket, and I saw
the Bush-cheeps a moment ago. Do you really mean to tell me that you
have never met any of them? Then I must introduce you. This is the Mole
Cricket. You can't ever mistake him if you have once seen his feet; and
this is the Field Cricket--you can't mistake a blackamoor like him
either; and this is the Wood Cricket with the check trowsers; and the
Bush-cheep always wears a brown tail-coat and a greeny waistcoat. Now
you all know each other and we must get to work. What do you play?"
Winnie had been getting a little uneasy all this time, for the Crickets
had been unpacking their instruments and making little scrapes just like
the band before the pantomime, and she had felt that she would be
expected to do something too, and had made up her mind as to what she
would say if she were asked.
"I can play a grass-blade a little," she said.
"Well, there's lots of grass about," said the Great Green Grasshopper's
wife. "Let's hear you do it."
So Winnie picked a big blade of grass and jammed it tight between the
balls of her thumbs and pressed her lips hard against it and began to
play. The first note sent the Great Green Grasshopper's wife's hind legs
straight up in the air, turned the Mole Cricket and the House Cricket
and the Wood Cricket and the Bush-cheeps head-over-heels, and drove the
Field Cricket into his hole.
"Easy, easy!" said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife. "You nearly blew
my tail off. Can't you play more softly?"
[Illustration: THIS IS THE MOLE CRICKET]
"I'll try," said Winnie.
"Please do," said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife. "There, I knew
what would happen. See what you've done."
[Illustration: THIS IS THE FIELD CRICKET]
The Field Cricket had all but disappeared, and there were only two
little black legs sticking out of his hole.
"It's no use your trying to play in there," said the Great Green
Grasshopper's wife. "Nobody will hear you at all."
"I can't help it," said the Field Cricket; "my nerves are completely
upset."
"See what you've done," said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife again.
"It will take him twenty minutes to recover."
And she was quite right. For twenty long minutes they had to wait and
look at one another, and even at the end of that time the Field Cricket
still seemed very shaken.
"I will do my best now," he said at last, "but I simply _must_ have my
head hidden." He had backed out of his hole a little way and lifted up
his wing-covers. Every now and then he chirruped softly.
[Illustration: AND THIS IS THE WOOD CRICKET]
"Well, it's better than nothing," said the Great Green Grasshopper's
wife, "and you certainly have some excuse this time. Now let's begin."
She climbed a little higher in the hedge, tapped sharply with one hind
leg, and looked about her.
"Are you all ready?" she said. "Drums?"
"Here!" said the Beetles.
"First violin?"
"Here!" said the Field Cricket.
"Second violin?"
"Here!" said the House Cricket.
"Viola?"
"Here!" said the Wood Cricket.
"'Cello?"
"Here!" said the Mole Cricket.
"Flutes?"
"Here!" said the Bush-cheeps.
"Grass-blade?"
"Here!" said Winnie, screwing her lips up very tight.
"Good!" said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife, and she reared herself
up backwards and began to beat time with her hind legs.
"Two bars first," she said. "Now!"
At the third bar they all came in very fairly together, but before they
had played half a minute the Great Green Grasshopper's wife stopped
short.
("It was really worse than the real waits," Winnie explained. "It was
like a million little glass stoppers being squeaked out of bottles--and
they didn't seem to mind the time a bit.")
The Great Green Grasshopper's wife looked at Winnie quite severely.
"I asked you to play softly," she said; "you're drowning the whole band."
[Illustration: THE FIRST NOTE SENT THE GREAT GREEN
GRASSHOPPER'S WIFE'S HIND LEGS STRAIGHT UP IN THE AIR]
"I _can't_ play more softly than that," said Winnie.
"Well, there's only one thing to be done then," said the Great Green
Grasshopper's wife. "I must hunt up the Skipjacks."
The Skipjacks are the little grasshoppers who live in the fields, and it
takes quite a number of them to play a tune that you can hear.
[Illustration: HE HAD BACKED OUT OF HIS HOLE A LITTLE
WAY AND LIFTED UP HIS WING-COVERS]
"Wait for me here," said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife; "I sha'n't
be long!" And she leapt like a jump-jim-crow and landed three yards
clear of the hedge.
She really was some time away, but at last she reappeared driving the
Skipjacks in front of her.
"It is so troublesome to keep them straight," she explained; "the little
idiots! Look at them."
[Illustration: THE GREAT GREEN GRASSHOPPER'S WIFE
REARED HERSELF UP BACKWARDS AND BEGAN TO BEAT TIME WITH HER
HIND LEGS]
They certainly were a queer flock to manage, for they could only move by
jumps, and when they jumped even they themselves had no idea of where
they were jumping to. However, by driving them in front of her she
managed to keep a few of them together, and at last she got them into
their places.
"You must fiddle," she said, "as you never fiddled before. The band
shall _not_ be beaten by a grass-blade. Now altogether--_one, two,
three, four_!"
It was really much better that time, and though Winnie could not pick up
the tune, everybody else seemed quite pleased with themselves.
"_That's_ better!" said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife. "Now again!"
But before the words were out of her mouth the great hall clock chimed
in, _Ting--Ting--Ting--Ting_----
"Midnight!" screamed the Great Green Grasshopper's wife. "What _will_
become of us?"
_Ting--Ting--Ting--Ting_----
"It's fast!" cried Winnie: "I know it's fast. I put it on myself for
getting up tomorrow."
"Are you quite sure?" said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife.
"Quite sure," declared Winnie; "it's five minutes fast at least."
"That's a great relief to my mind," said the Great Green Grasshopper's
wife; "but, of course, we must stop at once."
Indeed, the Crickets were already packing up their instruments, and the
last thing that Winnie remembers was the Great Green Grasshopper's wife
hurrying the little Skipjacks off to bed.
[Illustration]
THE PYGMY SHREW
(BOXING-DAY)
[Illustration]
Few know him and the careless eye may never see him. He is so
small,--that four of him just stop a mouse-hole; so light,--that ten of
him just tilt an ounce. Yet, if you search the files, you find him
eminent. The Pygmy Shrew in Cornwall! The Pygmy Shrew in Kent!! The
Pygmy Shrew in Rutlandshire!!!
Thus fame is garlanded round mystery.
Man's kingdom is brick-built and parchment guarded. The beasties have a
nobler heritage. Fence your broad acres as you please, yet they shall
quietly share them, paying you naught, and taking what they will. Water
and air and land are theirs by prior, nay primeval, right. So shall you
bend before their quality, and, for their lineage, you shall respect
them.
Something had brushed across the Pygmy's nose. He shook off three days'
sleep in three half-seconds. Where was his tail? Sleeping, he swings it
up across his face, and gathers all four feet within its shelter. His
tail was there, but in its waking-place, behind him. Then something must
have moved it. He stretched his neck and sniffed, long wheezy sniffs
which ended in a shiver; then he peered down the shaft. He jerked back
to avoid an avalanche--a blinding dust-cloud, a rattle of small stones,
and, in the midst, two common shrews close locked.
But I go on too fast.
The stump is close against the rookery-fence. It is a stump of quality,
a residential stump, a maze of winding roots and secret chambers,
wherein field-folk may live without acquaintance. There is a fellow to
it in the meadow, another fronts the rabbit mound, and all three hold
like tenants.
The woodmouse first, round-eyed and debonair; then the bank-vole, he who
is half a mouse, with chestnut coat, broad ear and estimable tail;
lastly the ranny-noses; the common shrew--a velvet-coated
pepper-tempered gallant; the Pygmy, who is common shrew refined--purple
and orange ripple in his fur, and him my Lady Sunshine loves the best of
all.
[Illustration: THE WOODMOUSE FIRST, ROUND-EYED AND
DEBONAIR]
All live together, yet apart, for, under ground, the stumps are
intricate. The roots twist right and left and back upon themselves, and,
over and beneath them, are the runs. Most are blind alleys, but a few
creep on, and strike the upper air. The mice and voles reserve the
lowest depths; they must be near the water; moreover they can tunnel
where they will. The common shrews live higher, scratch two-inch levels
where the rootlets aid them, and trust to their quick ears. The Pygmy
takes what stouter beasties leave; and that is how the Pygmy's tail was
moved--his sleeping-hole, the mould of some long-fallen stone, abutted
on the shaft.
That two shrews should be fighting was quite usual. Shrews fight to keep
their limbs in trim; they fight in play; they fight in deadly earnest. A
veteran shrew is scarred in every part of him; great scars like
thumbmarks, where new growth of fur has failed to draw up level with the
old.
Yet even shrews need open ground to fight on. The Pygmy waited till the
dust had cleared, then peered into the darkness. The scuffling of them
could be plainly heard; and, sharp above it, rose their vicious war
scream. The Pygmy knew what that meant--a bolt for upper air and honest
fighting. He crouched back prudently. They rattled past once more in
quick succession, the foremost gibbering his distress, the hindmost
dumb. But this was dubious measure of their quality, for, where there is
bare tunnel-room for one, one needs must be in front, and, then, his
only weapon is his voice.
[Illustration: HE TOOK THE RIGHT-HAND SURFACE-RUN]
The Pygmy sprang up after them. He is the burrows' jackal, and takes an
interest in serious fights. Once on the level ground he paused, made
three small casts, then took the right-hand surface-run.
He was quite right; the combatants had passed that way. It was a zigzag
run, but unimpeded. A drooping grass-stem tangle formed its roof, and,
through long use, its sides were brown and withered, as though some
noxious snake had glided through, and poisoned every growing blade it
touched. The Pygmy knew it end to end, and knew that, where it broke,
close to the elm, there was a moss-grown clearing. So he took matters
quietly, and, lingering as the fancy took him, had supped before he
reached the fighting-ground. The common shrews were feinting for an
opening. He knew them both by sight. One, a brown-coated, thick-set
scaramouch was neighbour to him in the stump. The other was a
meadow-shrew, of lighter build and colour, but longer and full match in
weight. The Pygmy rubbed his nose between his paws--a pretty fight was
promised.
[Illustration: HE COULD SEE AS WELL AS HEAR]
And others seemed to have got wind of it. The grass-stems flicking to
and fro betrayed them. On every side he heard short, fluttery
mouse-steps. Above he caught shrill squeaks and whimperings; a bat was
busy with the filmy moths. Below the ground seemed shivery--that was the
mole. The Pygmy heard and scented him. He crawled discreetly up the
trunk, and so could see as well as hear. In the green tangle round were
flitting specks--the voles and mice assembling in hot haste. From these
his eye passed to the combatants. The grey shrew's ear was torn, and
from it hung one drop of blood. This was the lodestone.
[Illustration: HIS RIVAL, FEINTING, FLICKED HIS TAIL
TOO FAR, AND, IN A TWINKLE, IT WAS SEIZED]
Up from a moss-clump shot a woodmouse nose, and, at the back of it, two
round black eyes looked murder. The Pygmy caught the chatter-grince of
teeth; the bat still threaded needle-notes among the leaves; the leaves
themselves were whispering; but clear above these short, crabbed,
fretful sounds, he heard the steady rumble of the mole. The thing
perplexed him. Could the expectant ring of mice be deaf? The pair that
held the stage were too absorbed to notice anything.
[Illustration: THE GREY SHREW LEANT AGAINST THE TRUNK AND PANTED
The brown shrew lay half sideways fronting him]
It was the brown shrew who got home the first. His rival, feinting,
flicked his tail too far, and, in a twinkle, it was seized. The grey
shrew swung himself upon his back, and kicked with all four paws. But
this was waste of strength. The shrewmouse has forked teeth, teeth that
will hold a slippery rounded beetle, much more a soft square tail. So
with necessity the spur of valour, he twisted round and nipped the brown
shrew's foot. Both straightway bit their hardest; the twinge made both
give way. They toppled backwards squealing. The grey shrew leant against
the trunk and panted; the brown shrew lay half sideways fronting him,
and, on all sides, the ring broke into chatterings. The Pygmy, trembling
with delight, screamed out encouragement, but no one heard _his_
screams. The bat dived headlong from the leaves, skimmed in between them
and shot up once more. The woodmouse crept two paces forward, then
backed abruptly, for they were at grips. Each nipped a loose flap of the
other's skin, and, bracing all four feet, tugged at its prize. They
tugged until they toppled sideways; then with claws fastened in each
other's fur, with tangled tails and rounded straining bodies, commenced
to spin.
[Illustration: WITH TANGLED TAILS AND ROUNDED STRAINING
BODIES, COMMENCED TO SPIN]
That is the way of shrewmice, much pother and slight wounds. Their
fights are seldom mortal. Rather, they die for want of fighting. Their
valiant souls misfit them.
[Illustration]
So this hot-blooded, strenuous pair spun as one living ball across the
ring, over and over, twist and twirl, upside and down, faster and
faster, until the spin itself released them. Then they sat back from one
another and wobbled like spent tops.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THEN THEY LAY HEAD TO TAIL, AND TAIL TO
HEAD]
The third round started dully. The brown shrew, shaken with exertion,
lay on his back the better to refresh himself. The grey shrew, just as
weary, crept to an eminence above and eyed him wickedly. The ring was
all impatience.
Both soon revived.
[Illustration: THE FIELD-VOLES ON THE SKIRTS OF IT
COULD ONLY SEE BETWEEN THEIR BETTERS' EARS]
The brown shrew twisted corkscrew-wise, and landed arched upon his toe
points. The grey shrew shot beneath him like a whiplash. Then they lay
head to tail, and tail to head. The ring drew closer. The field-voles on
the skirts of it could only see between their betters' ears. The bat
came to a halt and stared. The Pygmy climbed two inches up, and was
rewarded. For now both combatants saw red.
[Illustration: THE BAT CAME TO A HALT AND STARED]
They hurled themselves at random, they bit at random, they bucked and
somersaulted, they spun entwined in loops and twists, in double-knotted
tangles, in sinuous figures of eight. Now one was on his back and now
the other--shrewmice reck little which way up they fight. Now they sped
screaming up the trunk and all but reached the Pygmy; now they dropped
earthward with twin thud, and grazed a red vole's nose. So without pause
or respite. They tore and scratched and gripped and pulled and wrenched
and tugged and jumped and squealed until----it was an earthquake, a
rounded dull upheaval, a split and crackle of the moss, a sputter of dry
dust, and, in the midst, like some queer fungus growth, the mole's red
nose.
[Illustration: THE PYGMY CLIMBED TWO INCHES UP]
"Flick!" went a woodmouse tail, betokening danger. The amphitheatre
emptied in a moment; voles helter-skelter into cover, bat loose into the
sky. The Pygmy tumbled earthwards, shot forward, paused, whisked up
again, and crept behind a flake of bark.
[Illustration: NOW ONE WAS ON HIS BACK AND NOW THE
OTHER]
The two shrews lay amazed upon their backs, and in between them wagged
the intruding nose.
Slowly it lengthened. Two naked paddle-feet passed on the surface, and,
like some clumsy fish that quits its element, the mole plunged into air.
He missed both shrews, who, dashing right and left of him, entangled him
in double-minded purpose. Rested the Pygmy, shrunk to a rigid wisp of
apprehension, ear-straining, muscle-tautened, behind a flimsy screen of
bark.
The mole lurched slowly forward, swaying his noddle-head from side to
side, nosing each inch of ground. Blood had enticed him upwards, and
blood he meant to taste. It seemed as though short measure must content
him--a smear upon a grass stem, a drop upon a pebble. But presently his
nose flung up; on either side of it the velvet starred, leaving two
loop-holes for his pin-head eyes; he snuffed and peered about him; his
brush-tail jerked and quivered; a snarl laid bare his teeth; and then,
his instinct mastering circumstance, he charged, with swift alternate
strokes, straight at the Pygmy's shelter. Had his eye seen? Had his nose
smelt? At least he had a visible allurement--a half inch of the Pygmy's
tail. The Pygmy curled it promptly, but, even as it moved, the mole was
thundering at the bark. The Pygmy squeezed himself a half inch further,
and this half inch meant life. The mole had bored his snout into the
breach, and by a forward wriggle brought his teeth to bear.
[Illustration: THE MOLE PLUNGED INTO THE AIR]
The outworks broke and crumbled like a biscuit. His nose attained the
citadel itself, but here the assault was checked. Strain as he would he
could not get fair tooth-hold, for, working upwards in cramped quarters,
he spent his strength in struggling for a purchase.
Only exhaustion stays the hunting mole, and such exhaustion ends in
death. This mole was not exhausted yet.
He screwed his nose unceasingly, forced his teeth forward line by line,
and ground the bark to powder; snatched out his head for air, and thrust
his hand in place of it; snatched back his hand and used his jaws once
more. Harder and harder still he worked, closer and closer still he
drew, until one claw touched fur.
It was a graze, a skin scrape; the fur shrank out of reach, but the mere
contact goaded him to frenzy.
He squirmed and writhed and strained until, by muscle strength alone, he
forced his head and shoulders through the gap. His nose now touched his
quarry, his hands were squared beneath his chin, palms back, and thus,
in earth, he might have tunnelled far. But the stiff shell of bark was
obdurate.
The white owl helped him out. She caught him at the bottom of her swoop,
and loosed him high up on the elm-tree. Here the white owlets welcomed
him.
Before she turned, the Pygmy had reached home.
[Illustration]
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Apparent typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in the use of hyphens have been retained.