And he had already turned away, as if the business were ended, when
Billy Woodchuck stopped him again.
"Perhaps"--said Billy--"perhaps I can find one or two others besides
myself."
"You've missed my point," said Grandfather Mole. "I don't want anybody
else to help--not even you! For I won't share the fun of digging with
any one."
Well, Billy Woodchuck could hardly believe his own ears.
"You shall have things all your own way!" he cried. "I won't scratch a
speck of dirt, I promise you!"
"That's different," Grandfather Mole remarked. "That's more like it. And
if you're a person that keeps his promises we shall not have a bit of
trouble."
"You can depend on me," Billy Woodchuck told Grandfather Mole. "While
you're working for me I'll spend all my time in the clover-patch.... And
now," he added, "I'd like to see a sample of your digging."
"Come right this way!" Grandfather Mole directed. And Billy Woodchuck
followed, and looked carefully at the small hole that Grandfather Mole
pointed to with an air of pride. "Here's one of my doorways," he
announced.
With his head on one side, Billy Woodchuck inspected it.
"It's well made," he said, "but of course it's entirely too small for my
house. If you work for me you'll have to dig bigger than that."
That speech did not please Grandfather Mole. "Small doorways are the
only kind to have," he declared. "I wouldn't make a bigger one for
anybody--not even for Farmer Green himself."
Billy Woodchuck soon saw that Grandfather Mole was a stubborn old
fellow. No matter what he said, he couldn't get Grandfather Mole to
change his opinion. And at last Billy Woodchuck gave up all hope of
having Grandfather Mole dig for him.
"A door like yours would be of no use to me," he said dolefully. "I
never could squeeze through it."
"My goodness!" Grandfather Mole cried. "How big are you, anyhow?" It
must be remembered that he couldn't see his caller.
"I'm big enough," said Billy Woodchuck, "to put you in my pocket,
almost."
Grandfather Mole turned pale at the mere thought of such a thing.
"I--I'd no idea I was talking to a monster," he stammered. "I don't
believe I want to dig for you, after all." And saying a hasty good
afternoon, he popped through his doorway and vanished at Billy
Woodchuck's feet.
Greatly disappointed, Billy Woodchuck turned homewards. "I'd have been
in a pretty fix if he had finished my house, and I had tried to move my
furniture into it," he muttered. "It's lucky I asked to see a sample of
Grandfather Mole's work," said Billy Woodchuck.
XXIV
FOLLOWING THE PLOUGH
A GOOD many of Grandfather Mole's neighbors sneered at him, and said he
was queer. Mr. Blackbird was one of these scoffers. Though he was a lazy
scamp, he always managed to look sleek and well fed. And he liked the
same fare that Grandfather Mole did.
"You're a goose to work so hard for your food," Mr. Blackbird jeered one
fine spring day as he sat on the garden fence and looked down at
Grandfather Mole. "You ought to change your habits. Just look at me! I
get plenty to eat. And I do precious little digging for it, believe me!
I tell you, there's a better way than yours!"
Naturally, Grandfather Mole couldn't look at Mr. Blackbird. But he
raised his head in his odd fashion.
"What's that?" he inquired. "What's a better way than mine?"
But Mr. Blackbird was in no hurry to tell all he knew.
"Suppose," he said, "I should explain my method to you. You could follow
it for some weeks and live well without much trouble. And then--when the
spring ploughing is finished--I should want you to supply me with
angleworms for the same length of time. You know, you can't expect me to
give away my secret for nothing."
"But I _like_ to dig," Grandfather Mole replied. "You may have noticed
that I am built for that sort of work."
What Grandfather Mole said was true. His drill-like nose, his powerful
fore-legs and big, strong feet all served to make him the fastest digger
in Pleasant Valley.
Mr. Blackbird regarded him with a sly smile. "You seem to be built for
_eating_, too," he observed.
Grandfather Mole soon confessed that Mr. Blackbird's mention of
angleworms had made him so hungry that he was ready to promise to do as
Mr. Blackbird had proposed.
So Mr. Blackbird cried that it was a bargain.
"And now," he said, "listen carefully while I whisper the secret, for I
don't want everybody to hear it.... I follow the plough," he explained.
"It turns up a great quantity of angleworms. The only work I have to do
is to pick 'em up with my bill."
Somehow Grandfather Mole did not appear as delighted as Mr. Blackbird
had expected.
"How can I follow the plough when I can't see where it's going?" he
asked.
"Silly!" Mr. Blackbird jeered. "You can find your way along a furrow,
can't you?"
Grandfather Mole thought he could do that. "But you're forgetting Henry
Hawk!" he reminded Mr. Blackbird. "Farmer Green ploughs in the daytime.
And Henry Hawk might see me."
"He wouldn't be likely to notice you if you crept along the bottom of a
furrow," Mr. Blackbird assured Grandfather Mole. "Anyhow, I'll be there.
And I'll warn you if Henry Hawk appears in the sky."
Grandfather Mole was relieved. And Mr. Blackbird told him to be ready
the next morning.
XXV
STUBBORN AS EVER
FARMER GREEN hadn't finished ploughing his first furrow before Mr.
Blackbird and Grandfather Mole began breakfasting on the angleworms that
the plough turned up.
Very soon Mr. Blackbird began to regret his bargain with Grandfather
Mole, for Grandfather was even a greater eater than Mr. Blackbird had
supposed. Mr. Blackbird began to be afraid that there wouldn't be worms
enough left for himself.
"This is a fine place to dig," he remarked to Grandfather Mole in what
seemed a careless way. But he watched Grandfather Mole narrowly, with a
grin on his face, to see what the old chap would do.
And after that Grandfather Mole couldn't resist burrowing in the loose
earth now and then. It pleased Mr. Blackbird to see him amuse himself in
that fashion, because while he was digging Grandfather Mole lost his
chance at a good many angleworms. They found their way quickly down Mr.
Blackbird's throat. And it was not long before he was in the best of
spirits.
Day after day while the spring ploughing went on, the strange pair
followed the plough together. And since Grandfather Mole spent more than
half the time in digging, Mr. Blackbird felt that on the whole their
bargain had proved a good one.
When Farmer Green had finished the last furrow in the field Mr.
Blackbird told Grandfather Mole that the ploughing had come to an end.
"And now"--he said--"now it's your turn to carry out your part of the
bargain. I showed you where the food was plentiful; and it's time for
you to begin furnishing me twenty fat angleworms a day."
Grandfather Mole was amazed. There hadn't been a word said about the
_number_ of angleworms he was to supply Mr. Blackbird.
"Twenty!" he exclaimed. "Nobody said 'twenty!'"
"That's so," said Mr. Blackbird. "It was forty."
Grandfather Mole was staggered. But he didn't dare object again, for
fear Mr. Blackbird would double the number once more and make it eighty.
"Agreed!" he cried. "And I'll have them ready for you at midnight
regularly."
"Midnight!" Mr. Blackbird repeated after him, in great surprise.
"Nothing was said about 'midnight!'"
"That's so!" Grandfather Mole admitted. "It was one o'clock in the
morning." And in spite of everything Mr. Blackbird said, Grandfather
Mole wouldn't change the time. Everybody knew that he was very stubborn.
"A hundred angleworms in the middle of the night wouldn't do me any
good," Mr. Blackbird complained. "I'm always asleep at that time."
"You'd better change your habits," Grandfather Mole replied. "You ought
to be glad to change your hours for sleep, if it would make things
easier for you."
Now that was very like the sort of remark that Mr. Blackbird himself
had once made to Grandfather Mole. But coming from Grandfather Mole the
suggestion did not please him. He even lost his temper. And he told
Grandfather Mole that he was the queerest person in all Pleasant Valley.
But that speech did not trouble Grandfather Mole.
"It's everybody else that's queer--and not I!" he declared.
THE END
SLEEPY-TIME TALES
(Trademark Registered.)
By ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
AUTHOR OF THE
TUCK-ME-IN TALES and SLUMBER-TOWN TALES
* * * * *
COLORED WRAPPER AND TEXT ILLUSTRATIONS DRAWN BY HARRY L. SMITH
* * * * *
This series of animal stories for children from three to eight years,
tells of the adventures of the four-footed creatures of our American
woods and fields in an amusing way, which delights small two-footed
human beings.
THE TALE OF CUFFY BEAR
THE TALE OF FRISKY SQUIRREL
THE TALE OF TOMMY FOX
THE TALE OF FATTY COON
THE TALE OF BILLY WOODCHUCK
THE TALE OF JIMMY RABBIT
THE TALE OF PETER MINK
THE TALE OF SANDY CHIPMUNK
THE TALE OF BROWNIE BEAVER
THE TALE OF PADDY MUSKRAT
THE TALE OF FERDINAND FROG
THE TALE OF DICKIE DEER MOUSE
THE TALE OF TIMOTHY TURTLE
THE TALE OF BENNY BADGER
THE TALE OF MAJOR MONKEY
THE TALE OF GRUMPY WEASEL
THE TALE OF GRANDFATHER MOLE
THE TALE OF MASTER MEADOW MOUSE
* * * * *
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
TUCK-ME-IN TALES
(Trademark Registered)
By ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
AUTHOR OF THE
SLEEPY-TIME TALES and SLUMBER-TOWN TALES
* * * * *
COLORED WRAPPER AND TEXT ILLUSTRATIONS DRAWN BY HARRY L. SMITH
* * * * *
A delightful and unusual series of bird and insect stories for boys and
girls from three to eight years old, or thereabouts.
THE TALE OF JOLLY ROBIN
Jolly Robin spreads happiness everywhere with his merry song.
THE TALE OF OLD MR. CROW
A wise bird was Mr. Crow. He'd laugh when any one tried to catch him.
THE TALE OF SOLOMON OWL
Solomon Owl looked so solemn that many people thought he knew
everything.
THE TALE OF JASPER JAY
Jasper Jay was very mischievous. But many of his neighbors liked him.
THE TALE OF RUSTY WREN
Rusty Wren fought bravely to keep all strangers out of his house.
THE TALE OF DADDY LONG-LEGS
Daddy Long-Legs could point in all directions at once--with his
different legs.
THE TALE OF KIDDIE KATYDID
He was a musical person and chanted all night during the autumn.
THE TALE OF BETSY BUTTERFLY
Betsy spent most of her time among the flowers.
THE TALE OF BUSTER BUMBLEBEE
Buster was clumsy and blundering, but was known far and wide.
THE TALE OF FREDDIE FIREFLY
Freddie had great sport dancing in the meadow and flashing his light.
THE TALE OF BOBBY BOBOLINK
Bobby had a wonderful voice and loved to sing.
THE TALE OF CHIRPY CRICKET
Chirpy loved to stroll about after dark and "chirp."
THE TALE OF MRS. LADYBUG
Mrs. Ladybug loved to find out what her neighbors were doing and to give
them advice.
* * * * *
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
Sleepy-Time Tales
(Trademark Registered)
By ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
_Wrappers and illustrations in color._
_Drawings by HARRY L. SMITH_
These little books for little people tell of the adventures of the
four-footed creatures of our American woods and fields in an amusing
way which delights small two-footed human beings; and at the same time,
in the shortcomings of Cuffy Bear and his neighbors, children are quick
to recognize their own faults and to take home the obvious lessons.
Tuck-Me-In Tales
(Trademark Registered)
By ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
_Wrappers and illustrations in color._
_Drawings by HARRY L. SMITH_
The stories of Jolly Robin, Old Mr. Crow and the other birds are
as unusual as they are delightful, since this is almost the first
time these feathered friends of the kiddies have appeared in print.
These bird stories, like the Sleepy-Time animal stories, are based
upon actual natural history facts, but while the youngster eagerly
listens to them, a moral foundation, of deeper importance than that
in natural history, is being laid.
Slumber-Town Tales
(Trademark Registered)
By ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
_Wrappers and illustrations in color._
_Drawings by HARRY L. SMITH_
The kiddies will love these fascinating stories of Farmyard Folk,
which tell of the daily doings of Muley Cow, Old Dog Spot, and their
companions. These tales will show them that they have much in common
with Henrietta Hen and the others, and will develop in them a wholesome
respect for those good friends.
Grosset & Dunlap, New York