NIPPIE NUTCRACKER.
Things went better after this visit of September’s. Cool nights
began. The noons were still hot, but with a different heat. Something
of life and freshness breathed in the air. Thekla’s wheel, set out
under the spreading boughs of an oak-tree, hummed as it turned, like
a great bumblebee. It had been silent of late, as if languid with
August’s warmth. Now its voice came back, and it sang merrily as ever.
Leaf-shadows fell from overhead, dappling the fair hair of the little
spinner, and the fleece of the lamb which lay at her feet. “Lamb” it
was still called, though fast getting into sheephood. Thekla had a real
motherly feeling toward it; and, as parents go on calling their boys
and girls “the children” when gray hairs and wrinkles have replaced
the curls and roses of youth, so the lamb was likely to remain a lamb
in her eyes for ever, should it live to become a patriarch of the flock.
[Illustration: “Miss N. Nutcracker, the Celebrated Philosopheress, will
lecture at Beech-tree Hall.”]
One thing only marred the pleasure of this happy month,--the dear
old Grandfather was poorly. Without disease or pain, patient always,
gentle, even happy, his strength ebbed daily. Some days he would not
rise from his bed at all; on others, he would have his oaken chair
drawn out into the sunshine near Thekla’s wheel, and would sit there
for hours basking in the warmth, and regarding the little girl with
fond, wishful eyes. Thekla took tender care of him. Love showed her
how. Love is a wise instructor, you know; and teaches in six lessons
what Time, slow old pedagogue, takes a lifetime to impart.
As the end of September drew near, Grandfather seemed a little
brighter; and, in her great wish to please and cheer him, a queer idea
popped into Thekla’s head. It was nothing less than to tell him all
about the Months and the moments, and let him join the story-listening
group. She consulted Max; and he thought it a capital plan, provided
October made no objections.
So Thekla told the tale in her pretty, soft voice; and Grandfather
nodded his head a great deal, and smiled, and was well pleased. How
much he understood is doubtful;--Old Age was singing its sweet lullabys
to the weary brain, and it was fast going to sleep, though now and
then it flashed again into wakefulness for a few moments. Thus much
he comprehended,--that a visitor was coming, and he must be ready. So
Thekla smoothed his white hair, and made him neat; and when October
appeared at the door, there sat Grandfather between the children, like
a snow-covered bough supported by two ripe roses.
Max and Thekla flew to meet the guest, and to whisper their request,
to which he listened with a kindly face, pinching each round cheek
gently meanwhile till it glowed with a fresher pink. When they ended,
he smiled, well-pleased.
“Yes, indeed,” he said: “the Grandfather shall stay. He is my old
friend. I knew him when he was no bigger than you, and he knew me. But
then the time came, as it will to you, when he saw without seeing, and
I was to him but a name. To the very young and the very old only am I
visible; for they are children alike. He will know me at once, be sure
of that.”
So saying, he walked in, sat down close by the oaken chair, and laid
his hand on Grandfather’s arm. The old man turned slowly, and a look of
recognition crept into his dim eyes.
“Catch! Carl, catch!” he murmured. “Where’s the basket? There never
were so many beech-nuts on the tree before.”
“That was the other boy,” explained October, in a whisper. “They always
went about together. But it’s a long time since I saw _him_.”
The children stood silent, watching the strange smiles which chased
each other over Grandfather’s lips. Now, too, they could look at
October, and see what manner of person he was. He had the brown,
bearded face of a man in his prime; but the hair was grizzled with
gray. There was something fatherly in the eyes, which were blue and
merry. His hunter’s dress--of scarlet, gold, russet, crimson, and
orange--was so gay that it would have seemed fantastic except for the
grace with which he wore it. A spray of purple leaves nodded in his
cap; a horn swung at his side, and beneath it a great pouch of fur into
which he now plunged his hand.
“Do you like chestnuts?” he said, throwing a double handful into
Thekla’s lap. “Ah! I see you do. That’s right! I always carry them
about with me for the children. And I always say, ‘Don’t crack nuts
with your teeth;’ and they always do it, just the same as if I hadn’t
spoken, as Max is doing now.”
“What is that in your bag?” asked Max, boldly, pointing to a great
sack which October had thrown down on entering.
“Samples,” replied October, briskly. “You see, I belong to a firm
of dyers,--a celebrated one,--‘Brown October & Co.’ These are our
novelties for the season. Look!” And, seizing the bag by the bottom, he
shook out upon the floor what seemed to be rainbows in confusion,--a
vast heap of brilliant scraps, so vivid and so various that nobody
could count the different tints.
“Two billion new shades,” went on October, triumphantly; “all patented,
warranted to wash, and unlike any thing seen in the shop last year.
Where is the mortal dyer, outside our firm, who can say that?” Then he
began cramming the samples into the bag again. When order was restored,
he turned toward Grandfather’s chair, and said in a gentle voice,
“Would you like to hear one more story from me, old friend, before you
and I part for ever?”
Grandfather nodded his head. “You used to tell nice ones to Carl and
me,” he answered. “One more! one more!”
So October began:--
“It’s about squirrels. People generally don’t appreciate squirrels.
They overlook them entirely, or else they make pies of them, which is
unjust and disagreeable.
“I know them well, so they talk freely before me, and let out their
secrets, which people never do until they are intimate. All the best
circles of squirreldom are open to me; and the Nutcrackers, who are
perhaps the most aristocratic family in the set, are my particular
friends, and have been for generations.
“It is about Nippy Nutcracker that I am going to tell. It is a true
story; and I hope it may be a warning to you, Thekla, and to other
young females of your age.
“Nippy, in her earliest squirrelhood, was one of the prettiest
creatures I ever saw. In those days she spelt the name ‘Nippie,’ and
had it thus engraved in monogram on the birch-bark cards she was in
the habit of leaving at the nests of her acquaintances. Later, she
changed it again to plain ‘Nippy;’ and the other squirrels agreed it
was just as well she should,--for reasons.
“A fashionable belle of the first water was Nippie,--slender, graceful,
bewitching,--with a most beautiful long tail, which she put up in hot
pine-needles every night, and fluffed out in the morning till it stood
like a glory round her head when she waved it. And this she did very
often, especially when desirable bachelor squirrels were about. All
the Nutcrackers were beside themselves with pride over the possession
of this lovely creature. Distinguished suitors came from far and near,
bringing such gifts of beech-nuts, acorns, and toothsome walnut-meats
all picked out of the shells, that Nippie’s bower used to look like
a provision-market. But to none of her lovers did she give any
encouragement; for her secret heart was set upon King Nutcracker, the
chief of her tribe.
“This mighty monarch was getting on in years; but he possessed great
gallantry of manner, and had been heard to say that never within his
experience did so lovely a vision as Miss Nutcracker alight on earthly
bough. This speech fired Nippie’s ambitious heart: which was unlucky;
for, as it happened, King Nutcracker already possessed a spouse, of
his own age, to whom, in spite of his fine speeches, he was at bottom
quite devoted. They lived in the top of a royal oak, their children
occupying neighboring branches; and, as each year some eight or ten
fresh princes and princesses entered the world, the family circle, as
can be imagined, was a large one.
“The Queen was plain and old-fashioned. She never curled her tail, and
thought hot pine-needles absolutely sinful. But she had a resolute
character and great strength of constitution; and did not feel the
least desire to die and make room for Nippie, if she could possibly
help it. All things considered, therefore, the chance did not seem
very good. But Nippie clung to hope. Queen Nutcracker, she reflected,
_must_ drop off some day; and the King would naturally look to the
fairest as her successor. ‘Queen Nippie’ sounded well;--she would
refurnish the royal nest, and astonish society. It was worth waiting
for. So she waited.
“One year--two, three, four. Lovers came, and went; Nippie snubbing
them all right royally. Still Queen Nutcracker lived and flourished;
and still every spring eight or ten lovely princes and princesses
appeared to swell the population of the royal oak. Five years--six.
Nippie’s resplendent tail began to look thin, and a little worn.
Hot pine-needles are very bad for tails, they say. She lost a front
tooth; her nose grew sharp; and her figure, once so graceful, was now
painfully thin. Suitors became weary of the Nutcracker beech, and the
few who showed themselves were mere children, on the look-out for some
younger Nutcrackers who were growing up. Nippie felt that her day was
past; that the sun was ceasing to shine, and her hay not made; and, as
the conviction forced itself upon her mind, her temper waxed horribly
uneven. She took to shutting herself into her hole, and having nervous
attacks; and when these were on, she would say the sharpest and most
disagreeable things to her nearest relations.
“This of course did not add to the happiness of the family. Her
nephews and nieces--full of spirits, and selfish, like all young
creatures--pronounced her in private ‘a dreadful old cat,’ and took
pleasure in teasing her, laughing at her little airs and graces, and
alluding to her age in the most unfeeling way. Even her brothers and
sisters, tired out by her tantrums, did not stand up for her as they
ought. So life seemed pretty hard to poor Nippie; and there were
moments when she wished herself made into pie, and an end put to every
thing.
“But this was during the betwixt-and-between period which comes to
everybody some time or other. For Nippie was not the sort of squirrel
to settle down into insignificance without at least making a good fight
for herself. She had failed as a beauty; but it was still possible
to succeed as something else. She was not long in deciding what this
should be. She would become ‘strong-minded.’
“Her first step was leaving off the ‘ie’ from her name. Nicknames, she
declared, especially those ending in _ie_, were silly and affected.
As she had been privately spoken of as ‘Nip’ for some time past among
her young relations, no one made the least objection to the change.
So Nippie the belle became plain Nippy; and soon after, to the
astonishment of her friends, beech-leaves began to circulate about,
bearing the name of ‘Dr. Nutcracker,’ and it was announced that Nippy
had adopted the practice of medicine.
“This, however, was another failure, and did not last long. Nippy began
in a small way with a remedy of her own invention, which she called
‘acorn-water,’ and which consisted of portions of a neighboring brook
upon which the shadow of an acorn had been allowed to lie for two
hours and twenty minutes by the sun. But most of the squirrels laughed
at the new medicine, and declared that it did them no good; while
the few who believed injured the water almost as much, by calling it
dangerously strong. At last one very nervous old lady, Mrs. Hopper by
name, was thrown into a fit by finding out, two days afterward, that
she had by mistake swallowed half a drop more than the right dose; and
after that nobody dared to try any more. So, upon the whole, Nippy
decided not to be a Doctress, but something else. She took a week to
think it over, and then startled the whole community by the following
placard:--
Miss N. Nutcracker,
the Celebrated Philosopheress,
will lecture at Beech-tree Hall
on Thursday, at 5 P.M. precisely.
Subject:
“Why should not Squirrels lay Eggs?”
Admission, 25 beech-nuts.
Reserved seats, 2 acorns.
Children, half-price.
“Nothing can describe the excitement caused by this announcement, which
was inscribed on a huge moose-wood leaf, and pinned with thorns to
the royal oak. No lady-squirrel had ever before appeared on a public
platform, and all the old fogies felt that it was the beginning of
great changes. Everybody wanted to go, however, especially when the
King sent down a servant with both cheeks stuffed full of acorns, and
engaged the best seats for himself and party. When the hour came, there
was hardly standing-room left on the Nutcracker beech. Nippy took her
station on the top bough, with the utmost dignity of manner. There
was nothing left of the flirting, foolish ways of the ex-belle. Her
poor thin tail was screwed tightly into a French twist. She wore a
plain gray gown, and black gloves. She had practised speaking with her
mouth full of nuts so long, that every word she uttered could be heard
distinctly; and I assure you her audience listened with both eyes and
ears.
“I’m sorry that I cannot remember the lecture,” continued October;
“for it was very fine. Nippy took the ground that as squirrels live
in trees, and so do birds;--and as squirrels make nests, and so do
birds;--and as squirrels have tails, and birds the same,--so it was
the duty of squirrels to lay eggs, just as much as it was the duty of
birds. Everybody applauded and agreed, but didn’t very well know how
to do any thing more about it. So, after all, the lecture produced no
practical result, except by making a great deal of talk.
“But this was precisely what Miss Nutcracker wished. She felt that
her enterprise was succeeding, and that a glorious future lay before
her. Other lectures followed. There was one on ‘Food;’ one on ‘What
to do with the Shells?’ another on ‘Hygiene’ (which the average
squirrel persisted in calling ‘High Jinks,’ and treating accordingly);
and a fourth on ‘The New Departure,’ which meant the removal of the
Nutcracker tribe to another tree, with more nuts on it. But the most
famous lecture of all was announced to be ‘for ladies only’ and its
subject was ‘The Wrongs of Squirrelesses.’
“Nippy told her audience (which they had not known before) that they
had always been abused and unhappy. She reminded them with great
eloquence how the largest nuts were apt to fall to the lot of the male
squirrels, who were usually up and at work early of mornings, while
their wives slept; how fathers of families were apt to go sky-larking
off into the woods, leaving their partners at home with nests full
of little ones; how they came back late at night and disturbed the
house; and many other things. So pathetic was the picture that, before
the lecture ended, most of the company were in tears. The gentlemen,
who had been sitting in distant trees meanwhile, trying to look as if
they didn’t know that any thing was going on, but secretly wild with
curiosity, were confounded when, at the end of the discourse, all the
squirrelesses came trooping home slowly and sadly, with tails in their
eyes, and not a skip or bound among them. That night nothing but sobs
and recriminations were heard among the boughs. Even the royal oak
caught the infection. The princes and princesses were disputing and
scolding right and left; and nobody kept their good humor except the
sensible old Queen, who had refused to attend the lecture.
“‘Shut up, and go to sleep!’ she exclaimed at last. ‘You are a parcel
of nonsensical fools. Since I became a squirrel I never heard of any
thing so ridiculous; and if I had my way, that Nippy Nutcracker should
be made into a fricassee by noon to-morrow, before she has time to do
more mischief.’
“But vainly did the royal dame utter her homely wisdom. Nippy, sporting
in unfricasseed freedom, with the whole range of social abuses before
her, was more than a match for the aged Queen, to whom nobody listened
for a moment. The next week the lecture was ‘Repeated by Request.’
Others followed, of a still more dangerous character; such as, ‘Frisk
in Fetters,’ and ‘Why are Incisors granted to Both Sexes?’ A dreadful
little ballad was composed, and sung by the strong-minded, whose number
became daily larger and more formidable. I remember only a fragment,
but it gives an idea of the whole:--
‘Who would stay and mind her young,
Who would gladly hold her tongue,
Who before her lord be dumb,
Let her turn and flee.
‘Let her turn in cage of tin,
Clattering with revolving din;
Grazing fur and grazing skin,
Good enough for she!’
“The grammar,” said October, “is defective, you observe. But
that is little. Grammar and all other rules are defied by the
strong-minded,--when they happen to be squirrels.
“This was last autumn. Just as I left, a lecture was announced upon
‘The Royal Family an Excrescence!’ What the state of affairs may
be now I do not know, and I dare not guess. I confess that it is
with reluctance that I return to the grove. From what I know of Miss
Nutcracker, it would not surprise me to find all the old pleasant state
of things changed, the King and Queen in exile, a Republic proclaimed,
and Nippy at the head of affairs as Provisional Governess!”
Grandfather had been as much entertained at the story as any one.
Listening, his face grew young again, his laugh mingled with the merry
peals from Max and Thekla, and was almost as gay in sound. But, as
October drew to a close, he seemed to become weary; and, when the last
words were spoken, they looked at him, and he was fast asleep.
“Better so,” whispered October. “He will miss me less.”
In silence he measured his moments from the can; silently bent over the
white head, and touched it with his lips; and on tiptoe stole from the
room.
The children followed noiselessly.
“That story didn’t really have any end, did it?” said Thekla, when they
were outside.
“No,” replied October, “there is no use trying to put ends to things
which have Nippy Nutcrackers mixed up with them.”
[Illustration: “A fashionable belle of the first water was Nippie.”]