OLD ROUGH IN DANGER.
The next day, the two young crows started out at an early hour, and
continued their flight until they approached a large farm, situated
far back from the road. The numerous barns and sheds, well stocked
with horses and cattle, gave evidence of the prosperity of the owner.
Casting their sharp eyes about, the two crows selected a large
chestnut-tree that grew in the rear of the buildings, whose dense
foliage promised a safe hiding-place whence they could see without
being seen.
Among the topmost branches of this tree the crows perched, and their
restless eyes wandered over the landscape in all directions. They did
not lose sight, however, of everything that occurred on the farm.
Evidently something of interest was about to take place, for the crows
were very uneasy. For a short time they would sit looking about them in
silence, when all at once one of them would give a sudden caw, which
the other immediately answered, and then both cawed together excitedly.
A large hen-house stood near by, and toward this the attention of
the restless crows was often directed. The hens, too, were collected
in groups in the hen-yard, and incessantly cackling, the feathers
about their necks bristling with excitement, as if some danger were
impending. Whatever it was that gave them such uneasiness must in some
way have been connected with the hen-house itself, for the disturbed
hens cast frequent glances under the building, as if some enemy were
concealed there.
The crows, too, looked frequently in the same direction, as if they
expected something to occur in that quarter.
At last one of the crows, glancing across the field, gave a sudden caw,
and his companion answered at once. Both evidently talked it over, then
suddenly became silent, their eyes fixed intently on a dark object
moving cautiously along the border of the stream. It was the same
sluggish stream that flowed by the abode of old Rough, and the dark
object approaching was no other than the old miser himself.
Old Rough proceeded very cautiously as he approached the farm building.
Often he paused, and sitting on his haunches, looked anxiously about,
as if he were in a locality with which he was not familiar, and where
he must be on the alert. As he sat up to take these observations, his
sharp eyes glanced suspiciously about, and his long nose twitched
nervously. Satisfied that all was safe, he resumed his journey in the
same cautious manner, taking care to keep on the edge of the stream, as
if to take refuge there in case of a surprise.
When opposite the out-buildings of the farm, he left the stream, and
proceeded in the same wary manner in the direction of the hen-house.
When the two young crows, who had watched the old water-rat’s movements
with such interest, saw him approaching the hen-house, they quietly
left their hiding-place, and flew off with as little noise as possible,
as if to escape the old miser’s notice.
At first the two crows flew toward the woods, and were soon lost among
the thick forest trees; but when out of sight of the farm, they struck
out in the direction whence old Rough had appeared, and before long
found themselves in the neighborhood of the old water-rat’s dwelling.
Evidently the plans of the young crows were arranged between them, for
one of them alighted on the tall tree that grew near by, while the
other at once proceeded to the old rat’s home. After delivering himself
of several caws of derision, he recited the following verse:--
“There was once a crabbed old miser,
Who thought no one could be wiser;
But his wife once he told,
By two crows he’d been sold,
Which didn’t seem much to surprise her.”
No sooner had the crow ended than his words had the desired effect
of bringing Ruffina to the door, her long nose fairly quivering with
excitement, and her eyes glaring angrily on the impudent young crow.
“Be off, you impertinent fellow!” squeaked Ruffina, angrily; “you shall
pay for this when my husband returns!”
“Pray don’t tell him,” replied the crow, pretending to shake with fear;
“he might hurt us, you know.”
“You deserve to have your neck wrung!” retorted Ruffina; “and if Rough
doesn’t do it, _I_ will.”
The only response from the crow was a burst of laughter, that, as he
fully intended it should, exasperated the old rat more than anything he
could have done.
At this fresh insult, Ruffina lost the small remnant of self-control
she possessed, and charged on the crow, who walked rapidly off,
pursued by the enraged water-rat.
No sooner had Ruffina left her dwelling than the crow who had remained
on the tree flew quickly down and disappeared inside the old miser’s
abode.
All this time Ruffina was pursuing the other crow, who walked and flew
along the ground, allowing himself to be nearly caught, and then, with
a few flaps of his strong wings, easily keeping out of the way.
It was an easy matter for the active young crow to elude the grasp
of the old water-rat; and exceedingly exasperating for her was it to
feel him at one moment within reach of her paw, and the next, to see
him, with a single stroke of his wings, pass beyond her reach. This
game was continued until the crow saw his brother emerge from the old
miser’s dwelling, with a fine piece of pork-rind in his bill. As soon
as he saw this, he flew upon a large stone, and flapping his wings
triumphantly, cawed out,--
“Pray give our regards to the old gentleman, and tell him we thought
we’d save him the trouble of bringing the pork-rind to us, so we came
for it ourselves.” With these words he rejoined his brother, and both
flew off to the woods, to enjoy in privacy the prize they had obtained
so easily.
We will leave the young crows perched on a tree in the midst of the
woods, quarrelling over their ill-gotten treasure, and follow the
fortunes of old Rough.
We left the old miser at the moment when he had quitted the border of
the stream, and had started in the direction of the farm-buildings.
Directly toward the hen-house the water-rat made his way, stopping more
frequently as he neared it, looking anxiously about him, and evidently
prepared to run back at a moment’s notice.
As old Rough neared the building, the timid hens retreated to the
extreme end of their yard, their necks stretched to their fullest
extent, their feathers ruffled with excitement, and constantly uttering
cries of terror.
When he reached the hen-house yard, the water-rat stood on his hind
legs, and resting his forepaws on the ledge of the building, gazed
at the terrified creatures within with a gratified expression on his
wicked old features. At this horrible apparition, the poor hens became
still more frightened, and gave vent to their alarm in loud and shrill
screams.
“Not to-day, my friends,--I have another engagement; but I will visit
you later,” said the old rat, with an unpleasant leer on his ugly
features; and dropping to the ground, he proceeded to the hen-house
itself, and paused before it.
“’Twas very fortunate for me that the crows, in their stupidity, told
me where Bobtilla had moved, for I should never have thought of looking
here for her. Stupid fellows, those crows! they don’t know old Rough
very well, or they wouldn’t have expected to get the sheep’s pluck and
pork-rind. Very shrewd in Bobtilla to choose this place. She never
thought of it herself, that is certain; those smart squirrels must have
put her up to it.”
The old miser peered cautiously about the foundation of the hen-house.
It was built of large stones loosely fitted together, which served as
a support for the wooden structure. After a careful survey, old Rough
discovered what was evidently a mouse-hole, and he looked cautiously
in. Nothing could he see or hear, and he scraped the earth away, in
order to enlarge the opening. He found nothing inside, however, but a
mouse-nest that had been long deserted; so he continued his search.
Nothing could the old rat discover that resembled the place the crows
had described as Bobtilla’s new residence. At last, when he was
becoming convinced that this must have been a trick of the mischievous
crows to mislead him, he observed what seemed to be a rat-hole in one
corner of the wall.
“Why didn’t I see that before?” said old Rough to himself; “they said
she had taken possession of an empty rat-hole, and just like the
shiftless creature, too, it is. However, she shall pay for keeping me
waiting so long;” and very cautiously the old miser approached the
entrance and looked in.
“I could probably squeeze myself in,” thought old Rough, “but it would
be rather close quarters for one of my size to turn around in, so I’ll
make her come out.--Bobtilla,” he called sternly, “I have something to
say to you.”
No response came to his call, and he inclined his ear to the hole. He
could distinctly hear somebody moving about inside, and he smiled at
the thought of the treat in store for him.
“Bobtilla, I say!” called the old miser again; “will you come out, or
do you prefer to have me come in?”
No reply came to this second call, except a slight rustling from within.
“I see you, madam,” called out the old rat, looking into the dark
opening; “I advise you to come out at once, or I shall come and fetch
you. It will be all the same to me, but perhaps not quite so agreeable
to you.”
In reply, a shrill little voice was heard from within: “Come in! here I
am.”
Enraged at this insolence, the old water-rat began to dig away the
earth from the entrance to what he supposed was the field-mouse’s
abode; but suddenly he stopped in his work, and gave a shrill squeal
of terror; for instead of the timid little Bobtilla whom he intended
to torture, a slender animal with long, brownish fur came wriggling
fiercely toward him. It was the deadliest enemy of the rat tribe, the
weasel, and never in all his life had old Rough found himself in such a
dangerous situation.
Casting a terrified glance about him for a refuge, the old water-rat
darted between the stones that formed the foundation of the hen-house,
and found himself in the open space under the floor of the building.
As he glanced about him in hope of discovering some loop-hole for
escape, old Rough saw the long, flexible body of the weasel wriggling
through the same passage by which he had come, his sharp eyes following
him with an expression of intense ferocity.
No greater terror could the wicked old water-rat have inspired in poor
timid Bobtilla than that he now felt for the powerful weasel, and for
one single instant old Rough stood irresolute; but the long lithe body
of the weasel was wriggling nearer and nearer, and the water-rat made a
desperate rush for a hole in one corner. He was through in an instant,
and stood panting in a dark passage-way that was, or had once been,
the home of some rat. Several smaller passageways led in different
directions, and old Rough rushed into the one nearest him. Groping his
way blindly, he soon found himself in a large apartment.
No living creatures were to be seen, but the dry leaves and rags
and paper in one corner evidently had recently served as a bed for
some one; and the old rat shuddered as he descried in one corner the
lifeless body of a mouse, whose life-blood had evidently been recently
drawn.
The old rat shook with terror as the horrible thought dawned on him
that he had hit upon the abode of the ferocious creature from whom he
was trying to escape. Cruel and contemptible as was the old miser’s
character, he was not lacking in physical courage; and turning his face
toward the various entrances that opened from the cavern, he resolved
to make a bold stand for his life, and awaited breathlessly the
appearance of his enemy, for he knew he would lose no time in following
him.
Old Rough had not long to wait; but every moment seemed an age as his
sharp eyes glanced from one to another of the several openings. Before
long, his keen ears detected a slight noise, and he knew well what
it meant. The weasel was approaching,--but by which entrance? With a
fast-beating heart, old Rough waited until the gleaming teeth of his
relentless enemy appeared, and then, with all speed, the desperate
water-rat darted into another of the passages.
Could he have made a mistake, and chosen a passage that had no exit at
the other end? Old Rough began to fear that such was the case, for it
seemed to him, in his agony, as if the darkness grew more dense; and
with horror he perceived that the passage grew more and more narrow,
until he was forced, in places, to dig with all the desperation of
despair a space large enough for his huge body to pass.
So slow had the old miser’s progress become that he lost much time,
and he realized despairingly that his pursuer was steadily gaining on
him; for the weasel, with his long and flexible body, could easily slip
through crevices too small for the bulky form of the old water-rat.
Yes, the weasel was gaining on him! The old rat, panting from terror
and prodigious exertions, felt that his enemy was close behind, and
every minute expected to feel those sharp teeth fasten on his back;
but the old miser was resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible,
and making a gigantic effort he tore away a projection of earth
that obstructed his path, and found, to his great relief, that the
passage-way once more grew wide.
[Illustration: “And the old miser, who now felt that the decisive
moment had arrived, turned and faced his enemy.”]