NIBBLE RABBIT’S STORM PARTY
For three days and three nights Nibble Rabbit’s storm party stayed in
the little Cornstalk tent in the middle of the Broad Field. The
Terrible Storm might behave as badly as it pleased but they were
having too good a time to care. And it might yowl as loudly as it
could but they were making too much noise to listen. For they knew
that no one was going to interrupt them.
When nobody could eat any more they began to amuse themselves. First
of all they had a dance. The three partridges could drum with their
wings and Nibble with his feet, for they learned it from the Indians.
Gimlet the Woodpecker tapped with much spirit on an empty corn cob,
and Chatter Squirrel called out the directions, while the mice did the
dancing.
The little lady mice held their tails like trains, sweeping the ground
when they curtseyed, but their partners cocked their tails to the left
side, and Chatter got so excited that he waved his about in time to
his commands and curled the tip of it when they bowed. And the
partridges thought he was so funny that they nearly had to stop
drumming to laugh at him.
When the mice were so breathless from whirling and twirling that they
had to stop they urged Nibble to take a turn. “We’ve seen you,” they
said, “on moonlight nights when we dance inside the Fairy Rings.” You
see the mushrooms make little dance halls for the Fairies to use on
Midsummer Eve. They have smooth, velvety grass on the inside with a
circle of little cushiony stools around them. And the mice use them
after the Fairies are through. Only they use the seats to hide under
when Hooter the Owl flits past. They nibble them, too, for
refreshments. You can see their toothmarks on every Fairy Ring you
find after midsummer.
“I can’t dance,” murmured Nibble. He felt a bit embarrassed. Rabbits
do try sometimes out in the brush where they think no one can see
them, but they are very clumsy about it. “I never learned,” he
explained.
“Dear me,” said a lively little mouse. “Why don’t you step into a
Charmed Circle some night when the moon smiles? Then you can’t help
dancing.”
“Yes indeed,” chimed in Chatter, who calls out their dances for the
elves and so knows more about them than anybody else. “You know the
May Moon draws the Circle as soon as the trees bud their leaves, so
she can tell where there is no danger of their casting a shadow on the
Great Ball. Some of the wee Wild Folk count shadows very unlucky. From
then until it is over, tooth may not crop without singing, nor foot
step there without dancing.”
“Yes,” finished the lady mouse. “So we take our children there until
they have danced three turns. After that they never forget it. But we
don’t like to let them eat. Singing is unlucky for a mouse. But
dancing is so delightful.”
“It looks so,” said Nibble soberly, “but no rabbit can dance until he
grows a tail.”
“Gracious,” said the lady mouse. “I’d forgotten you hadn’t—a regular
one.” When she saw Nibble’s feelings weren’t hurt, she asked, “Do you
mind telling us why?”
“Certainly not,” Nibble assured her. “It happened back when the world
was young and the new creatures were choosing where they would live.
Some chose the mountains and some the plains, some the sea and some
the air. But my great-great-great-great—I can’t know how many greats I
ought to use—grandfather sat back on his elegant fluffy tail and
wondered about it.
“Right near him sat a queer, snaky-looking animal. He had pricked up
ears and a bushy tail but his voice was a hissy whisper. He was
talking to a crowd of beasts and birds and they couldn’t take their
eyes off him. No wonder, for the things he said made my
great-grandfather’s ears stiff just to listen to.
“Mother Nature came by and she was very busy. ‘Speak up, you with the
tall ears,’ she said. ‘Where do you choose?’
“‘Please,’ said my great-grandfather, ‘I don’t choose at all yet. I
just want to live on the earth until I see what these things are
eating.’
“‘Oh, ho!’ remarked Mother Nature, looking at him very hard. ‘You see
with more than your ears. And what are you eating your own self?’
“‘A nibble here and a nibble there,’ answered my great-grandfather,
‘but I take nothing that will not be again as it was before.’
“‘Good!’ said Mother Nature. ‘Make your choice when you please and it
shall be as you wish.’ Then she turned to those others near him. ‘Who
are you?’ she asked the strange-looking one, ‘and where do you
choose?’
“‘I’m the Weasel,’ he answered. ‘I came up from under the earth.’
“‘Ah,’ sighed Mother Nature, ‘I knew some of you would get here. But
choose.’
“‘I shall live anywhere I can lay my foot,’ announced the Weasel
boldly. ‘And I shall eat fish, flesh and fowl, whatever I can catch.’
And the other beasts all nodded at one another.
“‘For hunger?’ asked Mother Nature. And most of her beasts who had
been listening to the Weasel answered, ‘For hunger,’ because they
thought it was the thing to do.
“‘For the joy of killing!’ snarled the Weasel. ‘Like this—’ And he
sprang at my great-grandfather.
“But my great-grandfather gave a mighty leap. He landed in a briar
patch and began racing through it. And all the briars called, ‘He
chooses us—a beast has chosen us. Catch him! Hold him!’ and they
caught him by his tall ears and elegant fluffy tail so hard that they
stopped him short.
“‘Let me go,’ he begged. ‘Please let me go. The Weasel will kill me.’
“Then the briars cried until the tears dripped from their twigs.
‘Nobody wants us,’ they sobbed. ‘Please choose us. If you lay back
your ears and shorten your tail we’ll never stop you. We’ll shelter
you from the summer sun and the winter wind. We’ll warn you of your
enemies and bar your path behind you. We’ll serve you as long as you
let us.’
“And just then my great-grandfather thought he could hear the Weasel
very close, so he cried despairingly. ‘I’ll choose the Pickery
Things.’ Down dropped his ears, up shrunk his tail, and away he ran.
But we’ve never been sorry. The Pickery Things have kept their word.”
“Dear me, how interesting!” said the lady mouse when Nibble Rabbit had
finished. “But could you have your long tail back if you wanted to?”
“It might be managed,” said Nibble. “Mother Nature said it wasn’t fair
for the Weasel to begin living before the other things had all made up
their minds. He really frightened my great-grandfather into making
that choice. And it really wasn’t fair of the briars to hold him. But
Mother Nature advised us to try it until we were sure we wanted our
tails back again and then let her know. She didn’t actually promise to
give them, as I remember,” he added honestly.
And then a commotion broke loose in the little cornstalk tent where
Nibble’s party were hiding from the Terrible Storm. “Why don’t you
grow one? What kind do you want? Try one like mine! Or mine!!” shouted
all the voices until even Nibble’s long ears couldn’t hold all the
noise.
“Your long leaps are almost like flying,” said the Partridge. “We
couldn’t steer without our tails.”
“Yes, and then you could balance yourself in the trees,” advised
Chatter Squirrel.
“Or hold on by it as we do,” said a wise old mouse.
“My cousin lost hers,” murmured Gimlet, shaking his red Woodpecker’s
cap very seriously. “And she nearly starved before it grew out again.
She couldn’t sit comfortably on a tree-trunk without it.”
“A tail,” squeaked the bats who hadn’t been heard from since they hung
themselves up from the roof, “a tail is the handiest pocket in the
world. You use it for flies in summer and to warm your paws in winter.
Do have one.”
“I do use mine,” said Nibble laughing, “but not for any of the reasons
you give. I flash mine so any rabbit behind me can tell whether it’s
safe to follow me. Why, my mother never bothered to talk as long as
she knew I could see her tail.” And he showed them how he could make
the little white puff underneath it show and disappear.
“Well, I never thought it was any good at all,” marvelled Chatter.
“Another thing,” said Nibble. “Ours was no more use than Tad Coon’s.
Just a great big brush to carry around. All you could possibly do with
it was warm your feet. And we never slept half the year like Tad does,
so where would be the use of that?”
“But Tad Coon’s was useful once,” argued Chatter. “His old great-aunt
wanted to go on a pilgrimage early one spring. But the water was high
in the marsh and she was so fat and crippled with age that she
couldn’t swim. So Tad would go down every morning and stick in his
tail to show her how deep it was. There would be a brown mark where
the mud came and a white mark where the water washed it off above.
Every morning the rings would be lower until there was only a little
black mud stain on the very tip of it. Then she started off and all
the black she got was a little on the very soles of her feet.”
“And he never bothered to wash it clean again,” said Nibble, “so you
see how little use it is to him.”
“You’re just jealous,” giggled the lady mouse. “That puff you wear is
no bigger than the fuzz off a pussywillow.” And then Chatter Squirrel
and Gimlet the Woodpecker and the Partridge all tried their best to
make Nibble say that even if he didn’t own a real tail he’d like to
try one.
Which of course he wouldn’t. For no decent rabbit would go back on his
great-grandfather’s bargain with the Pickery Things. “No,” he
insisted, “I truly wouldn’t know what to do with one at all. If it
dragged, my gawky legs would stumble on it. If it stood up, my floppy
ears would get tangled in it. I guess I’d have to walk like this—” And
he limped across the dancing floor pretending to get all mixed up in a
tail that wouldn’t get out of the way. He tripped on it and he kicked
it and at last he pretended to pick it up in his mouth and carry it.
Chatter Squirrel laughed until his feet danced under him. As for the
lady mouse she simply squeaked with joy. But the bats, who live in the
woods and sleep all day couldn’t understand. And they were very
serious about it. A bat hasn’t any fun in him at all.
“He’s got a tail,” said one, peering at Nibble.
“Of course,” answered the other sleepily, not troubling to open his
eyes to look. “Everything’s got a tail, Fish, Bird or Beast. They
couldn’t get on without one. It stands to reason.”
“How about frogs?” demanded Gimlet sharply. “They haven’t any.”
Now the bat had never particularly noticed a frog. But you couldn’t
fool him. “He’s got one,” he answered cheerfully. “Only sensible folks
keep it folded up under them like we do. Quite proper, too. One that
drags is so untidy.”
“Untidy!” snapped the lady mouse. “What do you call one with a skin
pocket like yours, all cluttered up with fly-wings, Eh?”
“Oh, but he hasn’t,” said Gimlet, and Nibble echoed, “No, truly he
hasn’t.”
“Then he’s not Fish, Bird, or Beast!” repeated the sleepy bat. “It
stands to reason.” And the other creatures looked at each other
curiously, for they didn’t know what to say.
“He isn’t Fish, Bird, or Beast, is he?” fluttered a partridge. And the
bat nodded as though he knew it all the time.
“All right,” agreed Chatter cheerfully. “But how about Man?”
“Man?” shouted Nibble and the mice and the partridge all together. For
this was news! When the Woodsfolk see a man they don’t stop to look at
him; they run and hide. And Nibble had never even got a glimpse of one
yet. Neither had the bats. But the sleepy bat just kept on insisting,
“He’s neither Fish, Bird, nor Beast, if he hasn’t a tail.”
“Then what is he?” demanded Chatter. He thought he had asked something
the bat couldn’t answer.
“What does he wear?” said the bat.
And now it was Chatter who didn’t know what to say. For a Man doesn’t
wear scales or feathers or fur. “I think he wears a skin—like a frog,”
he said at last.
“I told you so!” And the bat nodded away more conceitedly than ever.
And nothing the others could say made any difference.
“But he’s not green,” objected Chatter. “And he doesn’t hop. He’s ever
so much bigger, and he’s tan, like your vest, Nibble, or pink, like
the inside of your mouth.” Chatter had seen the little boys at the
swimming-hole and some of them must have been sunburned.
“Now isn’t that queer,” remarked a partridge. “The one we saw seemed
all brown and wrinkly and shelly, like Grandpop Snappingturtle. And he
made a noise like a Summer Storm.” She meant a man in a shooting-coat
who fired a gun.
“Nothing queer about,” announced Gimlet cheerfully. Gimlet knows more
than all the rest of them because he works for the man in the Orchard
and is on very good terms with the whole Man tribe. “They come in as
many shapes and sizes and colours as flowers.” You see Gimlet doesn’t
know the difference between men and women and children. “They make as
many different noises as all of us put together and do as many
different things.”
“I’m going to take a good long look at the first man I see,” said
Nibble. “I will, if I know him when I see him. That’s the only way
I’ll ever understand what you’ve been talking about.”
[Illustration: Silvertip pricked up his ears]
“Don’t do it,” shouted all the others. “Keep away from Man! Keep away
from Man! He’s more dangerous than Silvertip!”