“Oh, tell me, you and you and you,
If it may hap you've ever heard
Of all that wond'rous is and great
The greatest is the spoken word?”
It's true. It's the truest thing that ever was. If you don't believe
it, you just go ask Jerry Muskrat. He'll tell you it's true, and Jerry
knows. You see, it's this way: Words are more than just sounds. Oh, my,
yes! They are little messengers, and once they have been sent out, you
can't call them back. No, Sir, you can't call them back, and sometimes
that is a very sad thing, because--well, you see these little messengers
always carry something to some one else, and that something may be anger
or hate or fear or an untruth, and it is these things which make most of
the trouble in this world. Or that something may be love or sympathy or
helpfulness or kindness, and it is these things which put an end to most
of the troubles in this world.
Just take the ease of Jerry Muskrat. There he sat on the new dam, which
had made the strange pond in the Green Forest, shaking with fear until
his teeth chattered, as he watched a stranger very, very much bigger
than he climb up on the dam. Jerry was afraid, because he had seen that
the stranger could swim as well as he could, and as Jerry had no secret
burrows there, he knew that he couldn't get away from the stranger if he
wanted to. Somehow, Jerry knew without being told that the stranger had
built the dam, and you know Jerry had twice made a hole in the dam to
let the water out of the strange pond into the Laughing Brook. Jerry
knew right down in his heart that if he had built that dam, he would be
very, very angry with any one who tried to spoil it, and that is just
what he had tried to do. So he sat with chattering teeth, too frightened
to even try to run.
“I wish I had let some one else keep watch,” said Jerry to himself.
Then the big stranger had spoken. He had said: “Hello, Jerry Muskrat!
Don't you know me?” and his voice hadn't sounded the least bit angry.
Then he had told Jerry that he was his big cousin, Paddy the Beaver, and
he hoped that they would be friends.
Now everything was just as it had been before--the strange pond, the
dam, Jerry himself and the big stranger, and the black shadows of the
night--and yet somehow, everything was different, all because a few
pleasant words had been spoken. A great fear had fallen away from
Jerry's heart, and in its place was a great hope that after all there
wasn't to be any trouble. So he replied to Paddy the Beaver as politely
as he knew how. Paddy was just as polite, and the first thing Jerry
knew, instead of being enemies, as Jerry had all along made up his mind
would be the case when he found the builder of the dam, here they were
becoming the best of friends, all because Paddy the Beaver had said the
right thing in the right way.
“But you haven't told me yet what you made those holes in my dam for,
Cousin Jerry,” said Paddy the Beaver finally.
Jerry didn't know just what to say. He was so pleased with his big new
cousin that he didn't want to hurt his feelings by telling him that he
didn't think that dam had any business to be across the Laughing Brook,
and at the same time he wanted Paddy to know how he had spoiled the
Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool. At last he made up his mind to tell
the whole story.