SWIFT PUTS BOBTILLA AND THE SQUIRRELS ON THEIR GUARD.
Old Rough was not the only listener to the conversation between the
bull-frog and the two young crows. The chimney-swallow Swift, who
at the time was sailing over the meadow, apparently intent only on
securing the finest insects, had heard every word that was said.
No sooner had the conversation ceased and the party separated, than the
swallow with a few strong strokes of his long wings soared high above
the meadow, until he looked like a little black speck. Soon, however,
the black speck seemed to remain stationary, and then it grew larger
and larger, as it rapidly descended, and alighting on the wall where
the chipmunks dwelt, sat pluming its glossy feathers in a very skilful
manner.
So engrossed was the swallow in his occupation that he appeared to be
unconscious of everything that went on about him. Even the loud cawing
of the two young crows, who alighted on a neighboring tree, did not
take his attention from his task, and he was evidently unaware of the
presence of the little chipmunk Squirrello, who first peeped timidly
out of his hole, and after a careful survey of the country, grew
bolder, and seated himself on top of the wall.
Little Bobtilla, too, from her house under the large stone, peeped
out with her bright eyes, thinking it more prudent to remain in her
doorway; the swallow, however, did not notice her any more than he did
the squirrel, and continued to sit on the tree, picking apart his thick
feathers. Before long the young crows flew away, and no sooner were
they fairly out of sight than the swallow abruptly finished his toilet,
and flew upon the top of the wall in front of Squirrello.
“I recognized you at once, Swift,” said Squirrello; “but I thought
by your manner that you didn’t wish to have me notice you, so I kept
still.”
“And quite right you were,” replied Swift. “The truth is that I have
news of importance, and didn’t want those mischievous crows to hear
it.”
Squirrello came nearer to the swallow, and awaited with anxiety the
news he had to tell. Little Bobtilla, from her doorway under the
large stone, inclined one ear toward the swallow, and listened with
breathless interest.
“Just now,” began Swift, “I observed those two young crows who have
just gone sitting very still on a tree that grows just behind old
Rough’s den. They are always so noisy and restless that I knew their
unusual silence meant mischief, so I resolved to keep about and find
out what it meant. They hadn’t the least suspicion that I was watching
them, for I took care to keep at a safe distance.
“Before long I saw Johnny the basso hopping along, and he stopped under
that very tree. Old Rough crept slyly after him, and hid where he could
overhear every word that was said. As soon as Johnny found sufficient
breath to speak, he reproached the crows for having played a trick on
him. I lost some of the conversation, not daring to venture too near;
but I gathered that the crows had tried to pass the Widow O’Warty off
for some one else. Before long old Rough came forward, and threw the
whole blame on little Bobtilla, and the crows acknowledged that it was
she who had given them their information. Whereupon Johnny, who prides
himself on his gallantry to the fair sex, said that since a lady was
to blame, he couldn’t call her to account, but that he would make the
whole race of field-mice responsible, and declared war upon the spot.
This seemed to please old Rough greatly, for he went off chuckling and
muttering to himself.”
Poor little Bobtilla’s state of mind, as she heard these words, can
be better imagined than described. She had, since her removal to
the neighborhood of the chipmunks, begun to know what peace of mind
was; and now all at once her hopes were shattered, and she felt that
in no place would she be secure from the wrath of old Rough, which
pursued her, go where she would. Shaking with fear, she remained in her
doorway, too agitated to move or speak.
“What an outrage!” exclaimed Squirrello, as the swallow finished
his recital. “Why, Bobtilla is the meekest and most amiable of
creatures,--she wouldn’t harm a fly,--and I know she never spoke a word
to either of those mischievous crows. It is a trick of old Rough, to
spite poor little Bobtilla.”
“What is a trick of old Rough; and what has Bobtilla, of all creatures,
to do with it?” asked Squirrella, who had heard her husband’s indignant
tones, and now appeared on the wall beside him, to learn the cause of
the excitement.
The story was told over again to Squirrella, and her indignation was
even greater than her husband’s.
“I never heard anything so mean in all my life!” exclaimed the
kind-hearted Squirrella. “I should think that poor little creature had
suffered enough at old Rough’s hands, without this new persecution.
However, I don’t see what old Rough will gain from a war between the
mice and frogs; he will not fight himself.”
“He evidently considers it for his advantage,” answered the swallow,
“for he went off in fine spirits. If the frogs are victorious, they
will certainly destroy every mouse-hole in the meadow and woods; and
it’s my private opinion that old Rough will slink around during the
battle, and steal everything he can lay his paws on.”
“Fortunately we are out of the way,” said Squirrello.
“I’m not so sure about that,” replied Swift. “I wouldn’t risk it. If
I were you, I’d be on the safe side, and move farther into the woods,
and make your home more secure. Bobtilla, too, must move, for old Rough
would be sure to visit her house first of all.”
“Dear me!” sighed Squirrella, “here we are, so comfortably settled for
life I thought, and now we must move again. I don’t see how I can have
the patience to go through it all again. I have heard that three moves
are equal to a fire; I should say that two were equal to an earthquake.”
“I don’t very well see what else can be done, my dear,” replied her
husband. “You are the last one, such an anxious mother as you are, to
feel secure while war is raging around you.”
“Yes, I suppose there is nothing else to be done,” sighed Squirrella.
“After we have moved, and are settled in our new home, I am sure you
will think yourself much better off, and wish you had chosen the place
before,” said Squirrello, who always looked on the bright side of
affairs.
“I forgot all about Bobtilla,” exclaimed Squirrella. “Poor thing, she
thought herself so safe here,--how can I tell her the bad news?”
“There is no need to tell me, kind friends,” said a trembling little
voice; and Bobtilla stood before them. “I have heard all, and also your
kind plans for my safety, and I can truly say that I do not feel so
badly about myself as I do to think that out of your kindness to me,
you must have the trouble of moving again.”
“Nonsense!” answered Squirrella, briskly; “what have you to do with it?
Do you suppose I want to live on the battle-field, as you may say? No,
indeed; I prefer to move away where I shall not have fighting going on
before my eyes.”
“I know very well,” persisted Bobtilla, “that I am the cause of all
this trouble, for old Rough will not let me rest as long as I have a
home to live in; and he will persecute all those who are kind to me. I
know him so well that I feel sure he has done me this ill turn because
I have found new and influential friends to protect me.”
“Well, after all, it doesn’t matter,” replied Squirrella, cheerfully.
“The woods are quieter, and the air is purer there, and I am sure we
shall be better off. So let’s decide on a spot; and the sooner we start
about it the better.”
“I have a place in my mind,” said the swallow, “and if one of you will
come with me, you can see what you think about it.”
Squirrello decided to accompany the swallow, and both set off,--the
squirrel running along the highest boughs and jumping lightly from one
tree to another, while little Swift soared high above him, often flying
far out of sight, but always returning to point out the way.
At last the swallow stopped before a stately old oak-tree, whose
sturdy branches were nearly bare of leaves, but whose topmost boughs
were still clad with green leaves, as reminders that some vitality yet
remained to the aged tree. The sturdy roots, that had resisted many a
tempest, protruded above the soft turf, and seemed so formed purposely,
that they might serve as homes for little animals in search of a
dwelling-place.
“There,” said the swallow, pointing out the spot, “there is a house
already built for you; and all you have to do is to make it soft and
comfortable for your family.”
Nothing could be more desirable for a dwelling, and Squirrello returned
to his little wife, and related to her what he had found. Both
together visited the new home, and Squirrella was, if possible, even
more pleased with the place than her husband had been, her motherly
instincts at once divining that no place in the whole world could be
so well suited for a young family like hers. The protecting roots of
the old tree made it safe against the depredations of enemies, and the
long, strong branches were just right for her children to run about
on,--so much better and safer for them than running along the stone
wall in sight of the whole world. Also under the roots of the old tree
was a hole that looked as if it were made expressly for Bobtilla and
her young family.
Thus the happy couple discussed their plans, and at once busied
themselves in collecting soft, dry moss, and carrying it into their new
house. Squirrella was so delighted with the appearance of the bed her
children were to have, that she lay down in it, to see if it were as
comfortable as it looked; and she declared that it surpassed her most
sanguine expectations, and that it was utterly impossible for any bed
in the universe to be as comfortable as her children’s was.
Then Bobtilla was brought to see the place, and the timid little
creature was greatly pleased with it, and felt that in that peaceful
wilderness she might be freed from the persecutions of old Rough. Poor
little Bobtilla! she was fast experiencing that the strong prey on the
weak in the struggle for life!
The little field-mouse, also, went to work, like the conscientious
mouse she was, and dug out her house as far as she could under the
roots of the old tree, and then made it soft and warm for her family.
When this was done, at the suggestion of her friends the squirrels she
skilfully concealed the entrance with moss, leaving only an opening
large enough to squeeze her little body through.
The squirrels viewed Bobtilla’s work with great satisfaction, and
concluded that even old Rough, shrewd as he was, could never detect it
as the abode of a family; and, indeed, all three agreed in thinking
that no living creatures had ever been so fortunate in securing such
choice locations and in making such comfortable homes.
Then the squirrel family and the mouse family were removed to their new
quarters, and all was peace and contentment once more.
While these new homes were being prepared, the news of the impending
war was spreading rapidly over the adjoining meadows and fields, and
soon all knew the fact that the frogs had declared war against the
field-mice. Everywhere, in the meadows and fields, groups of field-mice
were collected, discussing the exciting news; and every evening on the
borders of the ditch, and on the edges of the bog, frogs of all sizes
and ages were heard croaking over the same topic.
Among all the animals, old Rough the water-rat was the one who seemed
to derive the most satisfaction from the prospect of war. He fairly
gloated over the thought that the dwellings of the field-mice would be
destroyed, and he should reap the benefit of the stock of provisions
that the industrious little creatures had collected with so much pains.
More agreeable even than this was the thought that when the war was
ended, and their homes and property destroyed, the field-mice would
come to him to trade for provisions, and then he could make his own
terms.
Dwelling on these pleasant themes, old Rough remembered Bobtilla, and
he felt happier still as he reflected on the misery in store for her.
So pleasant was it to imagine what her sufferings would be, that he
resolved to make her a call, and witness her despair as he recounted to
her the misery in store for her. Thus elated by this generous resolve,
the old miser set briskly off for Bobtilla’s abode, and in due time
found himself before her door. Not hearing any signs of life, he called
aloud,--
“Bobtilla!”
Not a sound was heard in response, and old Rough wondered at this,
for the tones of his harsh voice had never before failed to bring the
little field-mouse trembling before him. Once more he called, and more
loudly; but all was silent, and he walked up to the house and looked in.
All was so still inside that the old miser was convinced that the
house was empty, and he fell into a great rage as he realized that his
victim had escaped. In his ungovernable passion he tore away the earth
from before the entrance to the former dwelling of the field-mouse,
and his strong paws soon disclosed the vacated home. Not a vestige of
Bobtilla’s family remained, save the bed of leaves and moss where they
had so lately reposed.
“Won’t I make you speak though, my lady!” exclaimed the old water-rat,
savagely.
“You must find her first, my friend,” said a voice from above the wall.
[Illustration: “So intent were they on their sport, that they did not
perceive two young crows who perched on the very tree at whose roots
they lived.”]