in a house that had maybe only two halls--a front and a back one, as
Billy Woodchuck's dwelling was known to contain.
Maybe that was the reason why Grandfather Mole never went visiting. And
as for anybody else visiting him--well, what was the use when most
likely you never could find him?
Nevertheless there was one of Grandfather Mole's neighbors who called at
his house frequently, and for the very reason that he knew he could
probably do exactly as he pleased. Far from trying to find Grandfather
Mole, Mr. Meadow Mouse always took pains to avoid him. And if by chance
he met Grandfather Mole in one of his galleries Mr. Meadow Mouse was
always extremely polite--and ready to run at a moment's notice.
During corn-planting time Mr. Meadow Mouse went regularly down into a
gallery of Grandfather Mole's that ran under a corner of the cornfield.
And somehow he soon grew quite plump.
Now, Grandfather Mole had met Mr. Meadow Mouse two or three times in
that particular gallery. And he was not slow to notice that his visitor
looked fatter each time he saw him. So one day Grandfather Mole asked
Mr. Meadow Mouse bluntly what he was doing there.
"I'm taking a stroll!" Mr. Meadow Mouse told him meekly.
"Be careful"--Grandfather Mole warned him--"be careful that you don't
take anything else!"
Trembling slightly (for Grandfather Mole could be terribly severe when
he wanted to be) Mr. Meadow Mouse said that he hoped Grandfather Mole
didn't mind if a person took a little exercise now and then in those
underground halls. "On a warm summer's day it's delightfully cool down
here," Mr. Meadow Mouse murmured.
His speech pleased Grandfather Mole.
"I'm glad there's some one that agrees with me!" he exclaimed. "Most
people think I'm queer because I like to live underground."
Mr. Meadow Mouse hastened to assure him that _he_ didn't think him
queer--not in the least!
"Thank you! Thank you!" Grandfather Mole said. "And since you're a
person of more sense than I had supposed you're welcome to ramble
through my halls--so long as you don't take anything except exercise and
a stroll."
Then it was Mr. Meadow Mouse's turn to thank Grandfather Mole.
"I feel better," he said, "now that you've given me permission to come
here. For to tell the truth, I've often felt that I was taking a
chance."
So matters went on smoothly for a time. And Mr. Meadow Mouse spent hours
in the gallery under the cornfield. And he grew fatter every day.
Naturally he did not take such pains to dodge Grandfather Mole--after
the talk they had had. And when the two met one evening Grandfather Mole
stopped Mr. Meadow Mouse.
"There's something I want to say to you," he remarked. "I notice you're
looking extremely well-fed. And I hope you're not eating any of my
angleworms."
Mr. Meadow Mouse laughed right in Grandfather Mole's face.
"Oh, no!" he replied.
"Nor any of my grubs or bugs?" Grandfather Mole persisted.
"Certainly not!" said Mr. Meadow Mouse, making a wry face as he
spoke--for he was rather a dainty person. And then he whispered
something to Grandfather Mole.
"Oh!" said Grandfather Mole. "So that's it, eh? Well, I don't mind. I
never eat anything of that sort. Take all you want of it!"
XVII
MR. CROW SCOLDS
OLD Mr. Crow was angry with Grandfather Mole.
Now, there was nothing strange about that, because Mr. Crow was always
losing his temper. And his neighbors had long since learned not to pay
much heed to his scolding. They knew that loud talk never really hurt
any one. And generally Mr. Crow forgot a grievance quickly, because he
was sure to get angry with somebody else.
There was one matter upon which Mr. Crow was especially touchy. That was
corn. If anybody talked about corn-robbers, or even said much about
corn as a food, Mr. Crow always lost his temper. And if anybody showed
much liking for corn, or meddled in the cornfield, then old Mr. Crow
would get so angry that he couldn't speak a pleasant word for days and
days.
And now he was enraged because he had reason to believe that Grandfather
Mole was eating the corn that Farmer Green had planted.
"He's eating it out of the hills," Mr. Crow told his neighbors.
"Farmer Green sometimes places scarecrows in the cornfield," Jimmy
Rabbit remarked. "So why wouldn't it be a good idea to get him to set up
a few scaremoles?"
"That wouldn't help any," Mr. Crow said gloomily. Usually the merest
mention of a scarecrow sent him into a rage. But now he was too angry
with Grandfather Mole to pick a quarrel with any one else. "Grandfather
Mole couldn't see a scaremole if he ran head first into it," Mr. Crow
continued. "And besides, even if he had eyes to see with, he's working
underground. Grandfather Mole has dug galleries that run under the
cornfield. And he can get right inside a hill of corn and gobble the
seed corn without being seen."
"Then how do you know what Grandfather Mole is doing, when you can't see
him?" Jimmy Rabbit inquired.
"The corn isn't coming up as it should," Mr. Crow told him. "So I
scratched open a hill myself, to find out what was the matter."
"You didn't find Grandfather Mole, did you?" Jimmy Rabbit cried.
"No!" said Mr. Crow. "And I found no corn, either. But there was one of
Grandfather Mole's galleries leading up to the center of the hill. So
it's easy to guess where the corn goes."
Since news always travels fast in Pleasant Valley and tales such as Mr.
Crow told spread more rapidly than any other, it wasn't long before Mrs.
Robin repeated Mr. Crow's remarks in Grandfather Mole's hearing.
"What's that?" he called. "Please say that again!"
"Old Mr. Crow claims that you are eating Farmer Green's seed corn out of
the hills," Mrs. Robin said. And she had the grace to grow somewhat red
in the face, because it was hardly the sort of thing to say to an old
gentleman like Grandfather Mole.
For a few moments Grandfather Mole was silent. He couldn't say a word
for himself. And Mrs. Robin whispered to some of her friends that it
certainly looked as if Grandfather Mole was guilty.
At last he managed to speak. But it was a most peculiar question that he
asked; so far as Mrs. Robin could see, it had absolutely nothing to do
with the case:
"If you happen to see Mr. Meadow Mouse, will you tell him that I'd like
to have a talk with him?"
XVIII
A TALK WITH MR. MEADOW MOUSE
THE next time she saw Mr. Meadow Mouse Mrs. Robin gave him Grandfather
Mole's message. "He says," said she, "he'd like to have a talk with
you."
"Does he?" Mr. Meadow Mouse exclaimed. "Now I wonder what he has to say!
I returned his umbrella to him, after the rain. So it can't be about
that."
"If I wanted to know, I'd go and find Grandfather Mole," Mrs. Robin
suggested tartly.
Being a mild sort of person, Mr. Meadow Mouse thanked Mrs. Robin
politely, both for the message and for the advice. And then, scampering
to a certain spot that he knew, near the fence, he disappeared through
an opening into the ground. It was one of Grandfather Mole's doorways.
Mr. Meadow Mouse did not hesitate to use it, being one of those
fortunate folk that are quite at home anywhere. It made little
difference to him whether he was above the ground or in it. And aside
from Grandfather Mole and his own family there was no one that knew his
way about Grandfather Mole's galleries as well as Mr. Meadow Mouse.
To be sure, he had some trouble in finding the old gentleman, there were
so many different passages in which to look for him. But at last Mr.
Meadow Mouse met Grandfather Mole in a long tunnel that followed a row
of newly planted corn.
"Ah, ha!" Grandfather Mole cried. "There's something I want to say to
you."
"So I hear!" Mr. Meadow Mouse replied a bit anxiously, for Grandfather
Mole sounded none too pleasant.
"You've been getting me into trouble with old Mr. Crow," Grandfather
Mole complained. "He thinks I've been eating the seed corn that Farmer
Green planted. And if I told him that it was you that's done it, and
that you've been using my galleries to reach the hills of corn, Mr. Crow
would never believe what I said."
"It looks bad for you, doesn't it?" said Mr. Meadow Mouse more
cheerfully.
Somehow his remark displeased Grandfather Mole.
"You'd better be careful what you say!" he warned Mr. Meadow Mouse. "If
you make me angry it will go hard with you."
Now, Grandfather Mole was known to be a terrible fighter when aroused.
And Mr. Meadow Mouse had no liking for a fight with any one. So he
moved backward a few steps and made ready to run.
"I'm sorry if I have caused you trouble," he said. "Couldn't you explain
to Mr. Crow that you have tunnelled into the hills of corn in order to
catch the grubs that would eat the corn if you didn't eat them first?
Can't you tell him that you are helping the corn crop, instead of
ruining it?"
Grandfather Mole shook his head.
"You're not much acquainted with Mr. Crow," he replied. "If he has made
up his mind that I'm stealing corn nothing I could say would change his
opinion."
"Can't I help you in some way?" Mr. Meadow Mouse asked. "I'd do almost
anything, because you've let me use your galleries."
Grandfather Mole pondered for a time.
"Perhaps there is a way you can help," he said at last. "If you'll
manage somehow to let Mr. Crow catch you in one of these hills, with
your mouth full of corn, he'd know that you were the guilty party."
Mr. Meadow Mouse paled at the thought of such a situation. And his legs
shook beneath him. "Oh! I--I couldn't do that!" he stammered. "Can't you
think of some other way?"
"Yes, I can!" Grandfather replied. "I'll let him catch me in a hill of
corn."
"With corn in your mouth?" Mr. Meadow Mouse inquired eagerly.
"No!" said Grandfather Mole. "With _you_ in my mouth!" When he chose,
Grandfather Mole could be very spry. And as he said those words he made
a quick rush toward Mr. Meadow Mouse.
Then there was a great scurrying down there in the dark.
XIX
MR. CROW'S APOLOGY
IT was lucky for Mr. Meadow Mouse that he had placed a little distance
between himself and Grandfather Mole down in the gallery under the
cornfield. For when Grandfather Mole rushed at him, Mr. Meadow Mouse had
just enough lead to escape. He made for the open air as fast as he could
scramble, knowing that Grandfather Mole could never catch him once he
reached the great out-of-doors.
Perhaps it was only natural that Grandfather Mole should have been
angry with Mr. Meadow Mouse. Nobody likes to be accused of
thieving--especially when he is innocent. And when the real
corn thief (Mr. Meadow Mouse) declined to take the blame off
Grandfather Mole's shoulders maybe his anger was not altogether
uncalled-for.
After all, Grandfather Mole was glad, in a way, that Mr. Meadow Mouse
had got away from him. "It proves"--Grandfather Mole told himself--"it
proves that Mr. Meadow Mouse is not only a thief: he's a coward as
well."
At the same time, any one that really knew old Mr. Crow couldn't have
blamed Mr. Meadow Mouse for not wanting to follow Grandfather's
suggestion. Grandfather Mole had asked Mr. Meadow Mouse to allow Mr.
Crow to catch him with his mouth full of corn, so that Mr. Crow might
know that it wasn't Grandfather Mole that was taking the seed corn, as
Mr. Crow supposed.
Mr. Meadow Mouse was too well acquainted with old Mr. Crow to get
himself into any such fix as that.
When he found himself above ground, after Grandfather Mole had chased
him out of his galleries, Mr. Meadow Mouse felt so pleased with himself
that he couldn't help telling his neighbors about his adventure. He
boasted that he had been eating the seed corn out of the hills. And he
declared that he didn't care if Mr. Crow heard of it himself.
"It's no more his corn than mine," Mr. Meadow Mouse said. "It belongs to
Farmer Green. And since he has never spoken to me about missing any, I
don't believe he cares. Besides, I've often noticed that he drops more
kernels in a hill than he expects will grow. And really I've been saving
him the trouble of pulling up a good many young stalks."
All this Mr. Meadow Mouse spread far and wide. And soon it reached the
ears of old Mr. Crow.
"Ha!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "So he's the thief! I'll have to teach him a
lesson."
It was Jasper Jay that had related the news to his cousin, old Mr. Crow.
And now he asked, "What about Grandfather Mole? Don't you think you
ought to apologize to him?"
That was a strange thing for Jasper Jay to ask. He was the greatest
rowdy in the woods, with shocking manners.
Mr. Crow gave Jasper a sidewise glance.
"Will you apologize for me?" he inquired. "I'm too busy to do it
myself."
"Certainly I will!" Jasper Jay cried. "Leave that to me!" And he hurried
off at once to find Grandfather Mole.
Jasper was lucky enough to see Grandfather Mole's head sticking out of
the ground, when he reached the garden.
"I have a message for you!" Jasper told him. "My cousin Mr. Crow--the
old black rascal!--was going to punish you for stealing corn. But he has
made other arrangements."
"Mr. Crow"--Grandfather Mole spluttered--"Mr. Crow owes me an apology."
"Not now, he doesn't!" Jasper disputed.
"Why not?" Grandfather Mole cried.
"Because I've just brought his apology and given it to you," Jasper Jay
replied.
But Grandfather Mole told him to be gone, and to take the apology away
with him.
"It's nothing but an insult!" Grandfather Mole declared.
XX
A SIGN OF RAIN
OVER near the garden fence lay an old hollow log. Grandfather Mole
discovered it one day; and thinking that it would be a fine place to
look for grubs and other good things, he crept into one end of it.
If he had been able to see, near the other end of the log, a pair of
bright eyes that peered at him out of the darkness perhaps he would have
backed out in a hurry. But it was all right. The owner of the two eyes
was only Sandy Chipmunk. And he spoke pleasantly to Grandfather Mole, in
a soft sort of chatter, because he didn't want to alarm him.
"Good afternoon!" said Grandfather Mole. At Sandy's first word he had
jumped. But as soon as he knew who was in the log with him he felt safe
enough. "What are you doing here, young man?" Grandfather inquired.
"I came in to get out of the rain," Sandy told him.
"Rain!" Grandfather Mole exclaimed. "It's not raining!"
"I know that. But it's going to," Sandy Chipmunk replied.
"There's not the least sign of rain," Grandfather Mole declared. Being
older than Sandy, he didn't hesitate to dispute what Sandy said. And he
never troubled himself to apologize, either. Sandy Chipmunk noticed
that, for he had been carefully reared by his mother. But he knew that
Grandfather Mole was considered an odd old gentleman. And besides, what
could Sandy have said that wouldn't have sounded rude?
"There's not a sign of rain," Grandfather Mole repeated, "so far as I
can see."
"How far can you see?" Sandy inquired politely.
"Tut, tut!" said Grandfather Mole. "What I mean is that I haven't
_noticed_ anything that foretells rain. For instance, I haven't had a
twinge of rheumatism since I don't know when."
"Well, I'm glad of that, anyhow," Sandy assured him. "But I saw a sign
of rain to-day that perhaps you never noticed."
"What was that?"
"Farmer Green's cat was washing her face on the doorsteps," Sandy
explained triumphantly. "It's a sure sign of rain. My mother has never
known it to fail."
"Farmer Green's cat!" Grandfather Mole repeated after him. And he
shuddered as he spoke. "Don't you know that she's not a trustworthy
person? You surely don't depend on her, I hope! She's not dependable."
"Well, you can always depend on her to jump at you," Sandy observed.
"She's a coward--that's what she is," Grandfather Mole scolded. "You
never heard of her chasing anybody that was bigger than herself, did
you? You never heard of her attacking Fatty Coon!"
Sandy Chipmunk said that if the cat hunted coons, she kept it to
herself.
"She's too wise to run any risk," said Grandfather Mole. "But if she's
washing her face just because she expects rain, then she's stupid.
"If the cat wants to wash her face, why doesn't she stick her head out
in the rain?" Grandfather Mole demanded. And without waiting for his
young companion to answer, he went on to say that in his opinion anybody
that washed his face in anything but dirt was stupid beyond all hope. "I
claim," said Grandfather Mole, "that there's nothing quite like a dirt
bath."
"There aren't many that would agree with you," Sandy Chipmunk told
him.
"There's a lot of stupid people in this valley," Grandfather Mole
retorted.
Sandy Chipmunk thought deeply for a few moments.
"I know of one person who would say you were right," he remarked at
last.
"Who's that?" Grandfather asked him.
"The boy, Johnnie Green!" Sandy Chipmunk replied. "If you could _see_
his face you'd know that he takes a dirt bath every day!"
XXI
MRS. WREN TRIES TO HELP
"HAVE you found him yet?" Mrs. Rusty Wren asked Grandfather Mole one day
when the old gentleman had left his dark underground home to brave the
dangers of the garden.
"Found whom?" Grandfather Mole inquired.
"Why, your grandson! I saw him wandering about the garden a little while
ago. And I supposed of course that you had come up to find him."
"Now, that's strange!" Grandfather Mole exclaimed. "I wasn't aware one
of them had strayed away from the house.... Which of my grandchildren
was it that you saw!"
"I don't know them by name," Mrs. Wren replied. "But this was just a
tiny chap."
"Then it must be my little grandson Moses!" Grandfather Mole cried.
"He's the smallest of the lot.... I must find him at once, before the
cat catches him."
Mrs. Wren saw that Grandfather Mole was greatly disturbed. And though
she had enough to do--goodness knows!--to look after her own family, she
told Grandfather Mole that she would help him find his grandchild.
"That's kind of you, I'm sure," Grandfather Mole remarked. "If I had
your bright eyes I wouldn't need anybody's help."
"Oh, you're welcome!" Mrs. Wren assured him. "I shouldn't want a
youngster of mine walking about the garden alone. I'm glad to do what I
can. And meanwhile you had better stay close to that hole, for there's
no need of your running any risks. If I can't find young Moses Mole,
then nobody can."
Grandfather Mole said she was very kind and that he would take her
advice. So he stationed himself beside the hole through which he had
lately appeared and waited there while Rusty Wren's wife looked for his
grandson.
She was a quick, spry little body--was Mrs. Wren. It wasn't long before
she surprised the object of her search in the act of eating a fat grub
beside a pumpkin.
"Here he is!" Mrs. Wren called to Grandfather Mole. "I've found him. Do
you want to come and get him, or shall I bring him to you?"
[Illustration: Billy Woodchuck Calls on Grandfather Mole. (_Page 106_)]
"You'd better bring him," Grandfather Mole answered. And anybody
could see that he was vastly relieved.
A little later Mrs. Wren called to him again.
"What shall I do?" she asked. "He won't mind me. And he's too heavy for
me to carry."
"That's Moses, without a doubt!" Grandfather Mole declared. "Yes!
If he won't mind, it's certainly my grandson Moses. He's the
littlest of the family; and his mother has always spoiled him....
I suppose"--Grandfather Mole added--"I suppose I'll have to go and
get him."
"Wait a moment!" Mrs. Wren suddenly sang out. "There's some mistake.
This little fellow says his name isn't Moses!"
Well, Grandfather Mole's mouth fell open, he was so surprised. "Then
what's his name?" he demanded.
"He says it's Mr. Shrew. And he seems very angry over something or
other," Mrs. Wren explained.
"Tell me"--Grandfather Mole besought her--"has he a neck?"
Mrs. Wren glanced at the small person whose breakfast she had
interrupted.
"Yes, he has one," she reported.
"Then he's no relation of mine," Grandfather Mole said. "Or at least,
he's no more than a distant cousin. And I don't even know him." He was
relieved to learn that his grandson Moses Mole was not wandering about
the garden, after all. "Maybe you never stopped to think that none of
our family have necks--so far as you can notice."
And now Mrs. Wren looked at Grandfather Mole. And she saw that his head
was set right on his shoulders.
"I was mistaken," she faltered. "I'm sorry if I upset you about your
grandson."
"It doesn't matter now," Grandfather Mole assured her. "To be sure, I
was alarmed. And when you said he wouldn't mind I was sure it was Moses.
"Children," said Grandfather Mole, "are not brought up as strictly as
they were when I was young."
XXII
TWO FAMOUS DIGGERS
BILLY WOODCHUCK had decided to move into new quarters before cold
weather set in. Old dog Spot had learned where he lived; and to Billy's
dismay Spot was spending altogether too much of his time watching
Billy's front door.
There was only one reason why Billy Woodchuck didn't exactly care to dig
a new home for himself in the pasture just then. The fall crop of clover
was about to head out. And being very fond of clover blossoms, Billy
hated to spend his time digging.
He was telling his troubles one day to old Mr. Crow. And as usual, Mr.
Crow had an idea.
"Why don't you get somebody to help you?" he asked.
Billy Woodchuck looked a bit doubtful.
"Who is there?" he inquired. "Nobody would be willing to dig for me
unless I paid him."
"Well--if I were you I'd offer a modest wage," Mr. Crow suggested.
But Billy Woodchuck shook his head.
"I couldn't pay anybody anything--unless it was clover-tops," he
explained. "And why should any one dig for them when there are thousands
to be had for the taking?"
Mr. Crow agreed that Billy Woodchuck knew what he was talking about.
"But," said Mr. Crow, "I've usually found that there's a way out of
every difficulty. What you must do is to find somebody that _likes_ to
dig--somebody that is so crazy to dig that he'd help you just for the
fun of the thing."
Billy Woodchuck looked still more doubtful.
"Who is there?" he asked once more.
Meanwhile Mr. Crow had been thinking rapidly--for he was a quick-witted
old scamp.
"I'll tell you!" he cried. "There's Grandfather Mole!"
Although Billy Woodchuck brightened considerably--for Mr. Crow's ideas
made him more hopeful--he observed that he didn't know Grandfather Mole.
"I've heard of him, however," Billy told Mr. Crow. "He lives in Farmer
Green's garden. But you know I never go there. I stick to the fields. I
don't like to get too far from home."
"For once, then," said old Mr. Crow, "I should break my rule--if I were
you--and visit the garden. Find Grandfather Mole and have a talk with
him!"
So Billy Woodchuck decided that he would take Mr. Crow's advice. And
though he hated to leave the clover-patch he set out that very afternoon
to find Grandfather Mole and ask him if he wouldn't like to help dig a
winter home in the pasture. But before starting on his journey Billy
Woodchuck waited until Mr. Crow came back and told him that Grandfather
Mole had just appeared above ground.
Billy Woodchuck hurried off across the pasture as fast as he could
scamper. And in a short time he reached Farmer Green's garden. He was
somewhat out of breath, because there had been plenty of good things to
eat all summer long and he was round as a ball of butter.
Luckily he arrived just in time. Grandfather Mole had been on the point
of creeping down into one of his many underground halls when he heard a
strange voice say, "Stop a moment, please! I've something important to
say to you."
It was a pleasant voice. If it hadn't been, Grandfather Mole wouldn't
have waited an instant. He turned his head toward the place where the
voice came from and said, "What is it, stranger? And talk fast, because
I'm busy. I have some digging to do down below."
XXIII
SEEING A SAMPLE
GRANDFATHER MOLE'S remark made Billy Woodchuck smile.
"I'm a very busy person. I've some digging to do down below,"
Grandfather had said.
"You're just the one I need to help me!" Billy Woodchuck exclaimed, for
he had heard somewhere that if you want a thing done, you should get a
busy person to do it.
"I hope you don't want me to catch angleworms for you," Grandfather Mole
told him. "The neighbors are always asking me to do that. And I've
decided that I can't do it. Somehow I can't help eating 'em myself."
Billy Woodchuck assured him that he had no use at all for angleworms.
"What I want," he explained, "is a good digger to help dig a new house
for me."
"Is anybody else going to help too?" Grandfather Mole inquired
carefully.
"No--only myself!" Billy said.