OLD ROUGH EXPOUNDS A LAW OF THE WOODS, AND OLD CAW FORMS A PLAN.
After old Rough had left his little prisoner, instead of going in the
direction of his home he entered deeper into the woods. There was no
moon, and the stars were obscured by dark clouds that drifted rapidly
across the sky, while a stiff breeze swayed the tree-tops until they
jostled one another roughly, and groaned and creaked. Occasionally
a low muttering that resounded through the forest and died away in a
faint wail was heard from the dark clouds overhead.
All the small inhabitants of the woods, with the exception of a
solitary bat that crossed and recrossed old Rough’s path, were safe
within their snug homes, and the old water-rat went on through the
darkness with more confidence than if the way were lighted for him.
Occasionally he stopped and sniffed about with his long, sharp nose;
but it was evident that important business was afoot, for he proceeded
with as much haste as his bulky body and the uneven forest roads
permitted.
Darker grew the clouds, and more violently the tree-tops crashed
against one another, while the heavy rolls of thunder seemed to shake
the earth.
The louder, however, the thunder growled, and the denser the darkness,
the better pleased was old Rough as he scurried along among the
underbrush, unmoved by the commotion about him. After a time he stopped
and gazed at the tall trees.
“It should be near here,” remarked the old rat to himself. “I am sure
he said the big oak in front of the ledge of rocks. He’ll be sure to be
at home on such a night as this, so I shall not have had my journey for
nothing. Yes, there’s the ledge, and the big oak too; and unless I’m
much mistaken, there’s the old fellow himself on the lookout as usual.
He’s a fine looking fellow, is Blinkeye, that’s a fact; but I prefer to
keep at a safe distance.”
About half way up the old oak, where once a sturdy limb had been torn
away by the lightning, the wood had become decayed and crumbled, and
in the natural hollow thus formed, the owl had made his nest. There he
sat, protected from the weather, the pointed tufts on his head erect,
and his vigilant yellow eyes on the watch for any prey that might fall
to him.
As the water-rat neared the oak-tree, the slight rustling he made as he
dragged his body over the leaves and grass was detected by the quick
ears of the watchful owl.
“A bad night to be out in, friend Rough,” observed the owl, as the rat
paused under the oak-tree.
“I don’t find it so,” answered Rough. “I prefer having the road to
myself; and a little rain would suit me to a T.”
There was a short pause, during which the branches crashed fiercely
together, and a loud report from the black clouds reverberated through
the dark forest, and in the momentary silence that followed this
explosion of the elements was heard the pattering of large rain-drops.
Faster and faster came the drops, and soon down came the rain in sheets.
The owl drew farther within his retreat, and sat with his wings drawn
closely to his sides, and his head held stiffly back, to avoid the
drops that at times splashed against him. Not so the water-rat; exposed
to the full force of the shower, in a few moments his heavy fur was
drenched; but an expression of enjoyment stole over his countenance as
the rain ran in little rivers down his sides, and trickled off his long
nose.
“I suppose you strolled out to enjoy this fine evening,” said Blinkeye,
with a shrug of his shoulders, as a shower of rain-drops dashed against
his face.
“No,” answered the water-rat, frankly, “I came to see you on business.”
“I’m at your service,” replied Blinkeye.
“You know, of course, how that Italian fellow Trillo turned out?” said
Rough.
“Yes, I have heard he disappeared, after he had made use of his
friends. It is just as I expected it would be.”
“It served them right for being such toadies,” sneered the water-rat.
“That cracked Katy Did (for that’s her real name, though she doesn’t
consider it fine enough since she’s made poetry) I’m told sat up nights
making verses about him. I’m glad he went off without paying his debts,
to teach them a lesson.”
“Teach them a lesson!” repeated Blinkeye, with a cynical laugh.
“You’re right,” said the old miser, with an approving nod; “I see you
understand animal nature. But I must come to business, for it’s getting
late and I am some distance from home. You know the war between the
frogs and mice that’s to take place,--you must have heard it talked
over.”
“Yes,” replied Blinkeye; “and if it’s ever to come off, I should say it
was time to begin.”
“It _will_ begin at once now. Since Johnny the basso was so put out by
Trillo leaving him in the lurch, he’s turned his attention to the war.”
“What is he up to?” asked the owl.
“He’s putting things into shape. He’s been canvassing all the bogs
about, and they say he’s got a big army together. He’s smart, is
Johnny, and I wouldn’t give much for the mice’s chances.”
“Think not?” asked Blinkeye.
“No, sir,” replied old Rough, confidently. “Why, the frogs are ten to
one of them; and a fine set of fellows they are, I can tell you. I’ve
seen them drilling nights down by our bog. No, indeed, the mice haven’t
a shadow of a chance.”
“Frogs are not to my taste, but sleek, tender young mice--” said
Blinkeye, with a snap of his strong beak that was very expressive.
“That’s just it,” said old Rough, eagerly. “It’s for your interest and
mine to have Johnny’s army win, and I’ve promised to help him all I
can (in the way of advice, you know); and if I find an opportunity to
do the mice an ill turn, I shall take advantage of it, you may be sure.”
“I don’t see exactly how it is for your and my interest to have the
frogs victorious,” said Blinkeye.
“Don’t you see? Why, the mice will be obliged to retreat in confusion,
and you will have a chance to take your pick of them.”
“Oh, yes, I understand,” replied the owl, who in spite of his wise
expression and reputation for wisdom was not nearly so acute as the old
water-rat. “And you, what will you gain?”
“I? Oh, I shall look in on their homes while they’re fighting, and
help myself, you may be sure, to the stores I find there. The mice, as
a general thing, are thrifty and saving; but the frogs are shiftless
fellows, and live from hand to mouth.”
“When is the battle to take place?” asked Blinkeye.
“I don’t know exactly,” replied the water-rat; “but as soon as Johnny
is ready. By the way, what is that law of the woods I’ve heard you
repeat?”
“You mean that prophecy my great-grandfather recited when the crow and
your great-grandfather--”
“Yes,” interrupted the rat, hastily, “what is it?”
The owl gravely recited,--
“‘War and strife, grief and woe,
Follow you where’er you go.
Never more shall you know rest
For weary feet and aching breast,
Till body round and lithe and long
Shall vanquish body thick and strong.
Then shall dawn a day of peace,
And every strife and sorrow cease.’
Is that what you meant?” he added.
“Yes,” replied old Rough, “that’s it. It evidently refers to the battle
that’s to come off between the frogs and the mice. Yes, ‘body round
and lithe and long’ must refer to the frogs, for they can lengthen out
to any extent, and ‘body thick and strong’ of course means the mice,
though I don’t know about the strength. Yes, there’s no doubt but
that ‘body round and lithe and long’ _will_ ‘vanquish body thick and
strong.’”
“I presume,” said Blinkeye, “the mice are preparing too?”
“By no means,” replied old Rough. “I don’t believe they have the least
notion of what a battle is,--they are timid creatures.”
“I know it, afraid of their own shadows,” said Blinkeye, as a sudden
streak of lightning flashed in his face, and made him flutter his wings
nervously.
“They keep out of the way so much that they don’t know what is going on
in the world,” said the water-rat. “Oh, ’twill be an easy victory for
the frogs! Whew! what was that?” he exclaimed, as a dark object rushed
by him and nearly brushed against his nose.
“Only a bat; the woods are full of them. They’re not worth the trouble
of catching, they’re all wings,” replied the owl, coolly.
“One passed me on the way here,” said the old rat; “I shouldn’t be
surprised if it were the same one. Well, I must be off. Keep a sharp
lookout for the engagement, for it may take place any night now.”
The owl retreated farther into his den, and the old rat retraced his
steps, slipping along on the wet ground with great ease, until he came
to his native stream, when he plunged in, and disappearing under the
turbid water, arose some distance farther on, and then swam quietly
home, his long nose only visible, as it parted the surface of the
stream, forming ripples that spread to either bank.
The dark object that flew so near the old water-rat, as he was
conversing with the owl, was, as the latter had said, a bat, and no
other than our sharp friend Flipwing, who had followed the old miser
to the owl’s abode, and had overheard the conversation between the
two. Long before the old water-rat reached his den, the general of
the mouse-forces, a brother-in-law of Bobtilla, and General Squeako
by name, was apprised of all that was going on among the frogs; and a
long consultation was held between him and the bat, which seemed to be
satisfactory to both parties. Shortly before daylight, Flipwing reached
his home, wet and tired, and instantly fell asleep.
Not so the mouse-general. Sleep did not visit his eyes that night;
but under cover of the darkness he made the rounds of his soldiers,
trusting to no one but himself, to make sure that all was in readiness.
The next morning old Caw awoke even earlier than was his usual
habit, for the heavy showers of the night before were followed by a
particularly fresh and invigorating atmosphere. The refreshed foliage
glistened and quivered as the light breeze stirred it, and the rays of
the sun caused the dew-drops on the grass to sparkle like crystals.
Every bird felt the influence of the freshness that pervaded Nature,
and their morning songs rang out more blithely, until the forest was
alive with the sweet melody.
Old Caw stretched himself, and then hopped down to the bough beneath
him. The other members of the crow family were just beginning to stir,
and were cawing sleepily to one another.
“The early bird catches the worm,” said old Caw to himself, as he
noiselessly spread his wings and flew away.
The old crow reaped a fine harvest this morning, for driven to the
surface by the heavy rain, many an earth-worm was seized by Caw’s
strong beak before he could wriggle back to his hole. Grubs, too,
reposing unsuspecting of evil on the wet earth, were snapped up by the
voracious Caw.
The shrewd old crow discovered before long that something of unusual
importance was about to take place, for the field-mice, who were
usually safe at home at that hour, were hurrying about, talking
together in low tones, all conversation ceasing and groups dispersing
as soon as he made his appearance. All this excited old Caw’s
curiosity, and determined him to fathom the mystery.
In the course of his morning’s wanderings, old Caw alighted to rest
near the stump beneath which poor little Fluff was concealed. As he sat
pluming his ruffled feathers, that in his old age required more care
than in his youth when they were glossy and flexible, low tones fell
on his ear; and in an instant the old crow’s head was turned to one
side, with his best ear tilted toward the opening beneath the stump,
whence the voices proceeded.
Old Caw was not long in recognizing the voice of old Rough, and, in
her occasional submissive replies, the high, squeaking one of Ruffina;
and judging from his low tones that the old miser was desirous that
the conversation should not be overheard, Caw approached as near as he
dared without fear of detection, and listened with all his might.
“When, did you say?” squeaked Ruffina.
“I didn’t say when,” replied her husband, in the snarling tone in which
he habitually addressed his wife. “Whenever the frogs are ready; so all
you have to do is to hold yourself in readiness, and do as I tell you.”
“But how shall I know when the battle has begun? I can’t hear anything
in this lonely place.”
“I shall let you know,” replied her husband; “and mind you follow my
directions implicitly. You are certain you understand just what is
expected of you, and will not spoil all by your stupidity?”
“Yes,” replied Ruffina, meekly; “I’m to visit all the mouse-nests while
the fight is going on, and bring away whatever I find there.”
“Don’t speak so loudly; you’ve got a voice like a trumpet,” answered
her husband, sharply; “and mind you don’t waste your time among the
poor ones, but go at once to the rich mice, who have piles of grain
stored away;” and the old rat’s small black eyes snapped with pleasure
at the prospect, while his wife, poor hungry creature, felt her heart
leap within her.
“Remember you are not to taste of one single grain or kernel, or
it will be the dearest morsel you ever ate,” added the old miser,
savagely.
“Yes, Rough,” answered his submissive wife.
“I’ve heard all I want to know,” said old Caw to himself, as he
silently flew away that he might not be detected by the two rats. He
left the woods, and flew directly to the farm where old Rough, a short
time before, had fought so desperately with the weasel.
The old crow perched on an apple-tree that grew near the barnyard, and
kept his one eye roaming about in every direction. The hens were busily
engaged in eating their breakfast, for the inhabitants of a farm begin
the day early. The horses in their stalls were munching their feed,
while in the barnyard the cows stood placidly chewing their cuds during
the process of milking.
Of all these things old Caw took note, as he sat on the apple-tree,
hidden by the foliage, and careful not to attract the attention of any
of the farm-hands by the least motion; for nobody knew better than he
the unpopularity of his race among farmers. He waited until the milkers
had carried to the farm-house their pails of white, foaming milk, and
then, after a careful survey of the premises, to make sure that nobody
was in sight, he silently flew down from his hiding-place, and walking
up to the hole that he knew led to the weasel’s abode, softly called
his name.
In a few moments the head of the weasel appeared, and an earnest
conversation ensued between the two. So low were the voices of both
pitched that not a word could have been audible to any listener; but
the result of the interview was evidently highly satisfactory, for the
weasel looked very happy, and the old crow flew home, cawing exultingly.
[Illustration: “The hitherto orderly retreat of the frogs was turned
into an ignominious stampede.”]