THE CHAPERON.
While the battle was tumultuously raging, besides old Rough the miser
there was another interested spectator, a very humble and timid
one,--the little brown frog Brownella. Since the faithless tenor had
departed, her life had been a lonely one, for she was deserted by
her former friends, who so short a time before had professed such
admiration for the distinguished foreigner; and worse than all, her
former admirer, Johnny the basso, treated her with marked indifference.
In vain did Brownella sing her most melodious songs until her voice
was hoarse, and use all her arts to please the recreant basso; but the
admiration she once scorned was not to be regained at will, and her
former friend treated her advances with stony indifference.
With the perverseness which is said by some to characterize her sex,
what she had once despised, now that it was not to be had, became very
desirable, and Brownella determined to win back the affections she had
lost.
Very imposing and grand was the military appearance of General Johnny,
as he prepared for the coming battle; and as Brownella watched the
frog-forces gathering in the meadow on the eventful night, such a
longing to witness the conflict seized her, that she resolved to follow
them and secrete herself where she could overlook the battle-field, and
indulge in a stolen view of the valiant frog-general.
Speeding toward the place of rendezvous, the little brown frog, passing
the abode of the Widow O’Warty, found that personage seated, as was
her custom, in her doorway, and watching with great interest the
frog-soldiers hurrying by.
“And phere is it yourself is afther going?” asked the good-natured
widow, as the little brown frog was passing.
“For a little stroll this fine warm night,” answered Brownella,
evasively.
“It’s a sthroll in the direction av the bog, I suspicion,” replied the
widow, slyly, “to view the military.”
“Well, and what if it is?” asked Brownella. “I don’t know as there is
any law to prevent me from going there if I like.”
“It’s the law of dacency that should prevint ye,” answered the widow,
in a reproving tone. “The scane of war an’ bloodshed is not intinded
for a young cratur like yourself. It’s bould an’ forward ye would be
accounted.”
“Oh, bother!” replied Brownella, impatiently; “who cares what it’s
accounted! I’m going, and that settles the matter;” and off she started
once more.
“Sthop!” cried the widow. “It’s meself that cannot see a young cratur
laying herself open to cinsure in this way. Is it a stidy, sinsible
fri’nd ye possess, who would be willing to accompany ye?”
The little brown frog reflected a moment. After all it would be
pleasanter to have a friend with her; and who so desirable a chaperon
as the good-natured widow, who would wish to see whatever was going on?
So she replied that if the Widow O’Warty would go with her in that
capacity, it would be very satisfactory.
“Sich was not me intintion,” replied the widow. “Bloodshed and war
have no charms for meself; but since it’s detarmined to go ye are,
I conc’ave it me juty to accompany ye, an’ it’s willin’ to make a
sacrifice I am;” and casting a glance about to see that all was right
in her home, the chaperon hopped willingly away with her young charge.
In fact, the widow was not making the sacrifice she pretended, but
was secretly glad of an excuse to witness the battle, about which her
curiosity was greatly excited.
In due time the two friends arrived on the scene of action, the widow
somewhat out of breath and heated, but otherwise in good condition;
and the pair chose a position midway between the knoll which was the
headquarters of the frog-general and the bog where he had stationed his
reinforcements.
With her little heart beating with pride and affection, Brownella
watched the martial figure on the knoll giving his orders to his
aids-de-camp, the fireflies; and she followed them with her eyes as the
shining sparks flew back and forth on their commissions. Quite excited
too did the widow become, as her eyes roamed about in all directions.
Then came the mouse party, moving silently in a solid phalanx from
the outskirts of the wood, the steady lights of the glow-worms
scintillating among the tall meadow grass and lighting up the dusky
forms of the mouse-soldiers.
“He’s a foine gineral, is Squeako, an’ it’s an iligant appearance they
presint,” exclaimed the widow, enthusiastically.
“They are not half so nice as _our_ soldiers,” replied Brownella,
warmly,--“great brown awkward things, with those tiresome glow-worms.
Our fireflies are ever so much finer, flashing about like so many
diamonds. The horrid things won’t stand a shadow of a chance against
our well-trained soldiers.”
“Me sympathies are wid the frog-forces; but me judgemint tells me that
the throops of Gineral Squeako are will conducted, an’ we’ll know
whin the ind comes which side is the sthrongest,” replied the widow,
majestically.
“We shall know long before then,” replied Brownella, impetuously. “Oh,
the horrid, creeping things! how disgusting they are!”
In their eagerness not to lose sight of any of the events happening
about them, the two spectators pressed eagerly forward, forgetting in
their excitement the dangers attending a battle-field; and when the
conflict was at its height, their prudence completely forsook them;
and as the dying groans of the wounded fell on their ears, they pressed
still nearer, to ascertain if any friends were among the slain or
wounded.
At this moment, on came the frog-reinforcements from the bog, steadily
and surely, like the well disciplined soldiers they were, right toward
the spot where the little brown frog and her chaperon were anxiously
scanning the features of the wounded heroes; when, all at once, came
the order to charge, and on went the valiant frog-soldiers, their blood
coursing hotly through their veins with the warlike spirit that was
within them, and ferocity gleaming from every feature.
Not until late did Brownella and her chaperon perceive the solid force
bearing down upon them; and Brownella, aided by her youth and agility,
in a few dexterous leaps gained a place of safety, as the troops swept
by.
Not so the chaperon. Too late did she become aware of the danger that
threatened her, and seeing the ferocious expression of the thousands of
eyes coming toward her, her presence of mind completely deserted her,
and she sank on the spot, transfixed with terror. She opened her mouth
to give vent to the pent-up anguish of her soul, but no sound escaped
her; and even before the phalanx was upon her, the terrified chaperon
rolled helplessly upon her back, where she lay convulsively kicking,
while the feet of the charging soldiers passed over her ample form.
When the troops had passed, Brownella looked anxiously about for her
missing chaperon, and soon discovered her lying on her back, the
convulsive motions of her legs alone showing that life remained to her.
“Speak to me, dear Widow O’Warty,” cried Brownella, distractedly. “Tell
me you are not injured!”
Renewed convulsions on the widow’s part was the only answer.
Placing her forepaws under the stout body of her chaperon, Brownella
with great effort managed to roll her upon one side, where she lay
kicking; but the widow was heavy and Brownella was slender, and with
no amount of pushing could the little brown frog roll the solid mass
any farther. The instant Brownella, from sheer exhaustion, removed the
support of her slender paws, the chaperon rolled once more upon her
broad back, where she lay convulsed as before.
“It’s all my fault! she came here against her will to please me,”
groaned Brownella, with great self-reproach. “Oh, never in the world
shall I forgive myself! Do speak, dearest Widow O’Warty, if only to
reproach me with my thoughtlessness!”
“It’s kilt entirely I am!” moaned the widow, faintly. “Oh, me poor
bones!”
“Where are you injured?” asked the distressed Brownella. “In what place
do you feel the most pain?”
“It’s crushed from the crown of me h’id to the sowls of me f’ate I am,”
groaned the widow, as she struggled to a sitting posture; “niver agin
shall I be the cratur I was afore!”
“What’s the matter?” croaked a voice from behind, and an officer of the
frog-army appeared.
As the officer spoke, the Widow O’Warty, who had been sitting erect,
gave a loud croak, and rolled once more over upon her back, the
convulsions returning with renewed energy.
“She’s dead, and I’ve killed her!” shrieked the weeping Brownella.
“Oh, if it was something to soostain me I had, if ’twas only a dhrop of
wather!” moaned the widow.
“Is this the old toad we ran over just now?” asked the soldier.
“Yes, and you’ve killed her!” answered Brownella, distractedly.
“Don’t you believe it,” said the soldier, cheerfully. “She isn’t hurt;
she’s overcome by fright, that’s all.”
“_Fright_ is it?” exclaimed the widow, suddenly reviving and assuming
a sitting posture. “Fright is it ye mane? Indade, an’ it’s a foine way
to be talking to a body that’s kilt;” and her large eyes glared at the
audacious new-comer with indignation.
“Oh, come, come, old lady, you’re not killed, that’s evident; but
perhaps you are a little stunned.”
“Auld lady! stunned!” repeated the widow, hysterically. “It’s not so
auld I am but that I know an auld fool whin I see him.”
The valiant officer, who had been through many a battle without
flinching, quailed before the indignant countenance of the exasperated
widow, and without casting a glance behind him, turned and actually
fled!
As for the widow, her wounded pride tended to infuse energy into her
listless frame; and under its reviving influence, she forgot her
injuries, and betook herself homeward, giving expression at intervals
to her indignation.
* * * * *
We will return to Ruffina, whom we left concealed from her enemy by the
dark waters of her native stream. On she swam, until she reached a spot
parallel with the den in which she had left her charge, little Fluff.
Casting searching glances about her, to discover if her pursuer were in
sight, and satisfying herself that all was safe, she left the water,
and approached her abode.
Entering the den, the old water-rat looked about her, to assure herself
that all was right; but the corner in which the little squirrel’s form
usually lay at night was empty. Ruffina passed a paw over her eyes
to clear her vision, and looked again. No, she was not mistaken, the
corner was indeed empty.
With feverish haste Ruffina tore apart the dried leaves that had formed
little Fluff’s bed, as if she expected to find concealed beneath them
him whom she sought. In vain was her search, for at that very moment
little Fluff was curled up by his mother’s side, fast asleep.
Not a nook or cranny did Ruffina fail to search, and at last gave up
the attempt as useless. Emerging from the den, she stationed herself
before the entrance, and gazed frantically around her for some trace
of the missing Fluff; but not a sign of him did she discern. Almost
crazed at the thought of the swift vengeance that would follow the old
miser’s knowledge of the defeat of his plans for robbing the mice, and
the disappearance of his prisoner, she tried to form some plan for her
safety.
Ruffina well knew that her husband would vent on her the disappointment
these losses would cause him, for such was his amiable custom. What
could she say, and what could she do? As she sat trying to bring her
bewildered thoughts into order, troops of returning mouse-soldiers
passed her door on their way to their homes. They were eagerly
discussing the events of the battle; and by degrees it dawned on her
dull senses that the fate of the conflict was decided, and that the
frogs were defeated. And Rough wanted them to beat!
This thought, on top of the two other misfortunes, was the last straw
to poor Ruffina’s already heavy burden; and with a loud squeal of
despair she rushed wildly away, intent only on escaping from the
vengeance of the hard old miser; and never more was she heard from.
Let us hope that she found a safe retreat, where, far from the old
miser’s influence, she may lead a more useful and better life.
We will not dwell on such an unpleasant subject as the rage of old
Rough when he discovered the true state of affairs. With his propensity
for thinking the worst of everybody, he concluded that his wife had
run off with the stores she had obtained from the mice, and was living
on them in some safe retreat luxuriously and happily. For a time he
searched for his missing wife; but as day after day passed and no
Ruffina appeared, he gave up the search.
These bitter disappointments did not tend to sweeten the temper of
the old water-rat. Harder than ever did he press upon the little
field-mice, who he considered owed him a bounty for living on his
premises; more than ever did he exact from them, and many were the
depredations he committed upon his neighbors of the woods and meadow.
He seemed to feel that he must make these innocent creatures
responsible for his losses, and he was more dreaded than ever before.
[Illustration: “Each seized an ear of the old water-rat and held him
fast with his strong beak.”]