Tiny never forgot the pleasant half hour that followed his graduation.
Although he felt happy, he was sorry to leave dear old Beaver Creek
with its many delightful associations. After waving a friendly farewell
to Mr. Opossum, Jolly Gopher, and his other chance acquaintances, he
turned to bid his classmates goodby. The bird choir was still singing
its sweetest airs.
“Your poem was very good for a beginner,” said Miss Hare, with a smile.
“I suspect that you spent much time in its preparation.”
“I expect to write a better one in a year from now,” replied Tiny.
“You did not get frightened at all,” said timid Katie Goose, who had
been unable to read her composition loud enough for her audience to
hear.
“One is never afraid of an audience unless he is afraid of himself,”
said Tiny. “I hope your future life will be happy, Katie.”
“Thank you,” replied Katie. “I want to be a lovely character like my
aunt, dear old Mother Goose.”
“I want to thank you for your kindness to me, Mr. Owl,” continued
the squirrel, running to where the wise trustee of the school sat
listening to the merry chorus of voices. “I have done nothing to pay
for my board and tuition. In fact, I never knew there was such a thing
as money, and that animals should pay for what they get from others,
instead of trying to steal it.”
“Do not worry about that,” said the owl, kindly. “Miss Hare’s school is
free to pupils that cannot pay. It is kept up by taxes paid by the good
citizens of Joy County. In this day of free schools, it is a terrible
crime for animals to neglect their education.”
“I shall organize a school in Squirreltown as soon as I return,” said
Tiny. “The little ones would be more benefitted if they would exercise
their brains as well as their legs.”
“I wish you success,” said the owl prophet, kindly. “Your education has
just begun. Even if you should live as many years as a turtle does, you
would never learn all there is to know. Most squirrels observe closely,
but almost every squirrel does not think as much as he should.”
“I am going now,” said Tiny. “Please also accept my thanks for your
kindness to my mother during my absence from home. I hope you will come
to Squirreltown and give me a chance to entertain you.”
“Thank you,” replied the owl. “I should be glad to carry you home, but
I believe you are old enough to find your own way. There are many other
lessons for you to learn, and there are other dreadful battles that you
must fight alone. Always be brave and hopeful, no matter what befalls
you.”
Tiny bade Miss Hare goodby, and she wished him success. He tried to
find Billy Beaver, but the good janitor had already started up creek to
his work. One by one the graduates left the school for their various
homes, and, when Tiny started forth on his journey, Beaver Creek was
quiet and deserted. With a sigh of regret he gazed back at the domes of
the buildings, and in his heart wished that he might return.
As he turned into the narrow path that led to the north, he heard the
noise of pattering feet. In a few moments Winkie Weasel was beside him,
panting heavily.
“I am going with you as far as Deertown,” said he. “What a pleasant
visit we shall have on the way! You were always kind to help me with my
lessons, and I thank you.”
“I suppose you are anxious to get back home,” said Tiny, as they
hurried along.
“Not very,” replied Winkie, seriously. “My home is not pleasant.
However, I am going to try to exert a good influence over those with
whom I live. Weasels fight most of the time, you know. I shall try to
teach them that vegetables are as wholesome as meat, and that weasels
would be just as healthy if they did not eat every little animal that
crossed their path.”
For a long time they chatted concerning their classmates and the
graduating exercises. They praised their teacher’s elegant manners,
Mrs. Goose’s excellent morals and grand air, the pretty faces of the
Otter sisters, the beautiful bower that Billy Beaver and his friends
had made, and the neat schoolroom. Winkie congratulated Tiny again and
again upon his splendid victory.
When it grew dark, they stopped to rest. Tiny, with the quill Mother
Goose had given him securely tied to his body, carefully climbed a
tree. He found a cozy spot sheltered by broad leaves. In the meantime,
Winkie found comfortable quarters in a hollow log. Soon they fell
asleep.
In the middle of the night an awful storm arose. The lightning flashed
and the thunder roared. The trees bent and swayed in the angry winds.
It seemed to Tiny that the world was coming to an end; but he was brave
and hopeful, for he knew that the sunshine would be bright on the
morrow.
When the storm had abated somewhat, he fell asleep again. However, he
slept badly. He thought some cruel animal was about to spring upon him
and swallow him in one gulp. He was a really brave little creature, but
such dreams are prone to disturb even the boldest animal.
He shuddered and opened his eyes with a start. Not six feet away two
terrible eyes of fire were fixed upon him. He then knew that his dream
was real. In the flash of lightning that followed, he could see a large
animal about to spring at him. Its legs were powerful, its feet were
heavy, and its claws glistened. Another flash of lightning revealed the
pointed ears of the terrible beast.
Tiny tried to escape, but the branch of the tree was slippery with
rain. In a twinkling he received a terrific blow from an enormous paw.
Then followed a crash of thunder, an angry roar, and the frightened
shriek of a poor helpless squirrel.
“Oh, save me from the lynx--the lynx!” he cried.
Both he and the bloodthirsty creature had fallen to the ground. Tiny
knew that in another moment he might meet with a tragic fate. Another
flash of lightning showed the lynx, with his fur standing straight and
his back curled, ready to pounce upon him.
[Illustration: WHEN THE LIGHTNING FLASHED AGAIN HE DASHED FORWARD AND
THRUST THE PEN INTO THE DELICATE NOSTRILS OF THE LYNX.]
Darkness came again. Tiny was so badly stunned for a while that he
could hardly move. He stood dumbly awaiting the final blow. Then a loud
roar of pain resounded through the forest. It was evident to Tiny that
some creature was attacking the lynx. The little squirrel unloosened
the pen that had been given him. When the lightning flashed again, he
dashed forward and thrust it into the delicate nostril of the lynx.
There was another cry, more of surprise than of pain, and the ferocious
animal disappeared in the blackness of night.
“We are safe now,” said Winkie Weasel’s welcome voice. “It is fortunate
that I came with you. Just as the lynx was about to destroy you, I
rushed out of the stump and gave his tail a bite that he will not soon
forget. I think, judging by the way he yelled, he must have thought he
was struck by lightning.”
Tiny was too weak to reply. He stood shivering in the rain, yet he
was grateful that he had learned the value of friendship. Winkie, who
enjoyed dreadful encounters, pushed him back into the stump that he
might protect him through the night. There they remained until daybreak.
“Now, forget about the lynx and don’t be so cast down,” were the first
words that Winkie said on the following morning. “Don’t hold any
ill-will towards him. He was only thinking what a fine meal you would
make. All animals are looking out for themselves.”
A turn in the long path brought them into Deertown. A number of red
deer were lying together upon the grassy turf. They had slept well, for
the branches of the trees had formed a thick canopy over their heads.
A stag with a reddish-brown coat and big branching antlers was guarding
them. Several pretty fawns with brown eyes and white coats were playing
hide-and-seek in the bushes. Although deer are quick to hear the
footsteps of larger animals, they paid no heed to the little newcomers.
[Illustration: “ISN’T THE STAG A NOBLE-LOOKING CREATURE?”]
“Isn’t the stag noble-looking!” cried Tiny. “What a big creature he is!”
“He is very proud,” said Winkie, less admiringly. “He is also selfish,
for he becomes angry if any other stag comes inside his family circle.”
“Isn’t it fortunate that we don’t have to wear antlers?” laughed Tiny.
“How funny you would look, Winkie, with horns or antlers!”
“It is said that one can tell the age of a stag by looking at his
antlers,” replied Winkie, with the sprightliness that Tiny enjoyed.
“Perhaps Mother Goose is thankful, too, that she doesn’t have them.”
Not far beyond Deertown, the two associates separated. Tiny was to go
directly north, while Winkie was to pass through several winding paths
to Weasel Bog.
“Goodby, Tiny. Carry your prize safely home, and tell your mother that
you well deserved it,” said Winkie. “Some day I will bring my family to
see you.”
“I am afraid you wouldn’t be very welcome in Squirreltown,” said Tiny.
“However, I will meet you alone at any time you suggest. I will fetch
you something good to eat.”
“Squirrels are all right in their bad opinions of weasels,” said
Winkie, regretfully. “I never thought how scandalous my family would
act, if I took them to Squirreltown. I do not wish to visit your
village, but I will meet you at any place you may suggest. I want to
see you only. Let me hear from you often.”
“All right,” replied Tiny, cheerily.
With another farewell he turned north and ran as fast as he could. Two
or three times he stopped to eat some delicious acorns and other food
he found by the wayside, for Nature has bountifully provided for the
squirrel race.
He might have reached home without any more dreadful encounters, had
it not been for his curiosity. While resting on the lower branch of a
beech tree, he saw an animal with soft, silky fur, fast asleep on the
bough above his head. He did not know that the pretty, innocent-looking
creature was a wild cat, one of the most terrible beasts of the wood.
The thoughtless squirrel stole noiselessly to the side of the sleeping
animal and made a shrill, screeching noise.
[Illustration: HE RAN WITH ALL HIS MIGHT ALONG THE PATH.]
The wild cat awoke. Instantly it changed to a ferocious monster, with
ruffled fur and eyes that seemed to shoot forth flames. With a snarl of
rage, it dashed at its disturber. Tiny, whose heart beat wildly, dashed
down the tree. Instead of seeking refuge in some knothole, he ran with
all his might along the path. He expected to be killed at any moment.
Horror made him run all the faster, for he knew that the wild cat was
the most dreadful animal he could possibly arouse.
Over fallen twigs and branches the frightened squirrel leapt, little
thinking of other dangers that might befall him. At last his strength
began to fail. He knew that he could hold out but a few minutes longer.
Torn by brush and briers, he ascended an oak tree. A little door stood
ajar. He rushed through the tiny opening and fell prostrate.
When he regained his senses, a little gray animal with liquid dark eyes
was bending over him.
“Bushy Graysquirrel!” he cried in delight.
“I am very glad to receive you in my new home,” was Bushy’s welcome
greeting.