WHAT HAPPENS WHEN FOLKS LOSE THEIR TEMPERS
Nibble found out pretty soon what “a smell of weather” meant. When he
went down to the Pond for a drink he saw a family of ducks. Some of
them were paddling around and some had gone to sleep on shore in the
sun. He spoke to one who had a beautiful green head and shiny blue
feathers in his wings. “Good morning,” he said timidly.
“Eh? What?” quacked the duck in his hoarse voice, ruffling his
feathers angrily. “Oh, a rabbit. Good morning.”
“Slyfoot the Mink lives here,” warned Nibble. “You might be caught
before you know.”
“Thank you,” said the duck “we’re going South in half an hour.”
“Won’t the wind tip you?” Nibble meant to be kind.
“Ho, ho,” laughed the duck. “You’ve been talking to the quail. Of
course not. We’re Mallards. We fly faster than the wind. Now I’ll tell
you something. This wind is carrying more than ducks. Can’t you smell
it?”
Nibble sat up and sniffed very carefully. “It’s queer and dry,” he
said, “and it seems to make my fur want to stand on end.”
“Go make yourself a nest, Bunny,” said the duck good-naturedly. “What
you smell is a Terrible Storm coming, and it’s coming mighty fast.” He
turned back his shining green head to fix the little curly feathers
that quirked up over his tail. Below his white collar he wore a vest
of the rich red which all rabbits especially admire, and Nibble was
quite awed by his elegance.
“Come along,” he called to the other ducks who were paddling about in
the shallow water and feeding among the roots of the water lilies.
“It’s time you put your wings in order for a long trip.” And he set
the example by spreading his own feathers and laying them very
cleverly with his wide beak.
Nibble noticed a lady duck who wore the same colours as himself. She
stood on her head with just her tail and her yellow legs showing out
of water, until he was really afraid she was drowning. When she did
come up straight again she paddled ashore as fast as she could. “The
fish know,” she told her mate. “There’s not a fin stirring, and that
big pickerel I was afraid of has buried himself in the mud. When the
fish know about a storm it’s high time we were gone.” And site began
preening her feathers in a great hurry.
“Are you afraid of a fish?” Nibble was surprised.
“Sometimes,” said she. “If it’s big enough to catch us by the leg and
pull us under the water. We take turns watching while we have our
heads down. Everything is afraid of something. But I’m much more
afraid of that big black cloud and the thing that’s driving it.” And
she went back to preening harder than ever.
“You see, Bunny,” said her good-natured mate, “this is really no
ordinary storm. We saw it grow. We were way up north where the wind
sings in the pines and the ice cracks like the shot of a gun. And this
storm woke up. It wasn’t very big at first, and it cried very softly.
Pretty soon it stood up over the tree tops, taller and taller every
minute. And then it began to howl. It howled so loudly that even the
wolves stopped to listen. But we didn’t We came away very quickly,
before it could catch us. And we’ll keep on going until it stops.”
“What will it do if it catches you?” demanded Nibble, opening his eyes
very wide.
“It’ll throw snow all over us so we can’t see our way to fly,”
answered the lady duck. “It’ll cover up all the water with ice so we
can’t feed. When it’s very had we can’t even find a hole big enough to
thaw our feet in. Ugh! I hate to fly so fast. We ought to have come
three days ago. I knew what it was the first day when it snarled at
the wind. It wasn’t afraid!”
“Afraid?” Nibble sat up and wiggled his ears at the idea. “Are storms
ever afraid.”
“Of course,” said she, as though he ought to have known. “I told you
everything is afraid of something.”
Nibble knew this was true. Here he was afraid of Slyfoot, and Slyfoot
was afraid of Hooter. The ducks were afraid of the storm, and the
storm was afraid of—
“Afraid of the wind!” finished Madame Mallard. “As long as a storm can
keep its head nothing can stop it. But it doesn’t. Sooner or later it
breaks into a rage and begins to thrash around. When a storm really
loses its temper the next sensible wind can smash it into bits. It
never pays to lose your temper. Something always happens if you do.”
Nibble was very much excited. But he wasn’t too excited to think of a
good place to hide. There was that nice little tent made by a leaning
shock of corn out in the Broad Field. As he passed the Brushpile,
Chatter Squirrel was darting up a hickory tree with a mouthful of
leaves. “There’s going to be a Terrible Storm,” called Nibble
cheerfully, “the Mallards just told me about it.”
“Who doesn’t know that?” snapped Chatter, fussing with a clutter of
leaves and twigs in the crotch of his hickory. “My home’s not half
done. I thought I’d take my time and make a good one. Now here comes
this Storm! If I can’t get it finished I’ll have to go over to that
leaky old Oak that has bats in it. Yah!” And he swore in Squirrel
language because one of the sticks he was using had snapped and he had
to go for another one.
“The Ducks say you musn’t lose your temper, because something always
happens,” quoted Nibble. And he didn’t mean to be impertinent. He was
just pleased with himself for remembering it.
“It’ll happen to you, then,” Chatter retorted in a rage. “You and your
ducks! You’ll stand there trying to mind my business for me until
Silvertip catches you.” But there’s no way of knowing how much angrier
Chatter might have been because right then something did happen. He
gave one shriek—“Hooter!”—and made a flying leap for that hollow Oak
Tree. And Mrs. Hooter clapped her beak at the hole.
“Stickly Prickles!” said Nibble to himself—that really isn’t swearing.
“What are those owls doing out this time of the day?” For he could see
Hooter flapping sleepily along behind his mate. It was too early in
the day for him. It was a badly frightened rabbit who made the best of
his chance while they were chasing Chatter to dart across the
Cloverpatch and into the first shock he came to.
But he didn’t stay there. Just as he began to breathe again he heard
the voice of Mrs. Hooter right above him. She was speaking crossly to
her husband. “Pay attention,” she said. “It may be three days before
we can hunt again. He went in there. I saw him.”
Nibble guessed that a small brown rabbit was the “he” they wanted, so
he slipped out of the other side of that shock and ran across to the
next.
“There he goes!” screeched Mrs. Hooter. “There he goes! Catch him,
quick!” But Hooter was too slow. Nibble was safe again.
But was he? For in that second shock slept—Silvertip the Fox!
Silvertip was curled up in a ball with his tail about his feet. Of
course he woke up the minute he heard the Hooters and pricked up his
ears. Whatever were they shouting about?
In all that noise he never heard the soft sound of Nibble’s breathing
right behind him. He never sniffed anything but Owl. For they were
very close.
“Go in and drive him out!” ordered Mrs. Hooter.
“I—er—I’ve never done anything of the kind,” Hooter objected. “I don’t
think I care to begin.”
“Coward!” hissed Mrs. Hooter. And she flew into a terrible temper. She
shook him until his beak rattled. Then she bounced him down. “You see
to it that you catch him when he comes out!” she raved. “I’ll go
myself!”
And she did. Right into Silvertip! And let me tell you that for one
minute feathers flew and fur frazzled. Then Mrs. Hooter flew squawking
out one side and Silvertip limped yelping out of the other and Nibble
said to himself, “I’m so glad it wasn’t my temper that was lost.” He
had the little cornstalk tent all to himself. A clawful of feathers
and a beakful of fur were all that was left of the fight. “And they
can’t come back,” he said to himself, “because nobody could move in
this awful wind.”
For right that minute the Terrible Storm swooped down out of its Black
Cloud. “Look out,” it shrieked, “I’m bad! I’ll show you what I can do
to you if I want to. Old Earth, I’m going to turn you upside down!
I’ll make you into a rubbish pile, I will! Wow-w-w!” Which was very
mean because it had no quarrel with the Old Earth and the poor wild
things.
Nibble shook to the tips of his furry little toes when he heard it.
Once he tried to poke his nose out, just a tiny bit, to see what was
happening, but the Terrible Storm tweaked his whiskers and threw snow
into his eyes. So he backed in again and listened to the trees
shouting to each other. “Oh! Oh! I’m cracking! Hold me! Please,
please—I’m going to fall!”
Pretty soon he heard a terrible groan with a crash at the end of it.
And then he heard a little sound wailing above the wind and the trees.
It was calling for help. It was Chatter Squirrel! Then he knew it was
the Big Oak who stood alone by the Clover Patch that had blown down.
Suddenly Nibble found he wasn’t scared of that bully of a Storm. That
is, not so very, very scared. Not too scared to crawl out of his tent,
digging his little toes into the ground to keep from blowing away, his
nose close down in the grasses, his eyes half closed to keep out the
snow and look for poor Chatter. He called once or twice, but he was
very close before Chatter could hear.
“Where am I?” he sobbed. “Oh, my nest is all smashed and I don’t know
where I am. Is this the end of the world?”
“No,” said Nibble, and he nearly laughed because Chatter was so funny
when he was afraid. “It’s only the end of the Big Oak. I have a place
to sleep and plenty of food. Come along.”
“Me too,” called Gimlet the Little Downy Woodpecker who lived in a
branch of the tree. “Us too,” chorused all the little field-mice who
had burrowed in its roots. And “Us, too,” piped three partridges who
had been snuggled in the bushes beside it. Even two little bats who
had lived in the tall dark cave of its hollow trunk came scuttling and
crawling, holding on tight to whatever fur they could touch.
Every one came but Cheewee the Chickadee who said he would do very
nicely where he was, although his nest, an old woodpecker hole, was
all queer and upside down.
They scuttled along together, traveling fast because now the wind was
pushing them from behind. And the snow drove under their feathers and
fur until it stung their very skins and nipped the ends of Nibble’s
blowy ears, but he kept saying, “I’m going to have a party! I’m going
to have a party!” so pleased and happy that every one was trying to
smile by the time they reached his little cornstalk house.
The Terrible Storm had tried to knock that down, but only spread it
out so there was more room in it than ever. And the snow had tried to
smother it, but had only succeeded in stopping up the cracks so that
it was snug and warm. And the bats hung themselves upside down from
the middle of it and turned down their little webby tails over their
toes like the flap of an envelope and went to sleep again.