THE GREAT WOODCHUCK—FUR CHARM AGAINST OWLS
Nibble Rabbit and Doctor Muskrat sat among the bulrushes on the Frozen
Pond and laughed and chuckled over the joke they were planning on the
old woodchuck in Nibble’s hole. He had everybody believing that he
came out of his hole on the day we call Groundhog Day (though the
woodsfolk never use a rude nickname like that even for a woodchuck)
and predicted the weather. That is, everybody believed it except
Nibble Rabbit and Doctor Muskrat.
This was their plan. They would get every fieldmouse in the woods and
fields looking for the woodchuck on that particular day. Then if he
did wake up the joke would be on the fieldmice. And if he didn’t—well,
you just listen!
Nibble hopped all about, from the Frozen Pond to the little cornstalk
tents in the Broad Field, looking for field-mice. And every time he
found one he’d say, “What’s this story that’s going around? I hear
that woodchuck fur plucked the day after the first February moon is a
sure charm against owls. Just the littlest tuft woven into a nest will
keep the young mice from being caught. Is there any truth in it?”
The mouse wouldn’t let on that any one knew more about mouse secrets
than he did, so he’d say “Oh, that used to be an old mouse custom, but
of late years it’s been hard to find a woodchuck.” And then he’d
scuttle off to the holes and tunnels where the mice live and fuss and
gossip and chatter about it.
Then they all ended up at the great hollow stump, where
Great-grandfather Mouse has lived for so very many years that his ears
are all crinkled, and set that agog. And poor old Great-grandfather
Mouse got so bewildered that he dragged himself down to the Frozen
Pond to talk with Doctor Muskrat. Which was exactly what Doctor
Muskrat had been hoping for.
The Doctor was very polite and pleased to see him. “Certainly,” he
said, “I’ve heard the story. Fact is, I might have heard it from you
yourself when we were both very young. But, dear, dear, my memory
isn’t very good any more. Only I’m perfectly sure it was the day after
the first February moon!” He didn’t want any mistake about that.
“Yes, yes,” agreed Great-grandfather Mouse, “I remember. I remember it
all, now you call it to mind. But where could I find a woodchuck?”
“Well, seeing we’re such old friends,” whispered Doctor Muskrat, “I’ll
let you know. But it’s a secret. He’s down in Nibble Rabbit’s hole. I
expect that sly young bunny means to be married in the spring, and
won’t his hole be nicely lined with woodchuck fur, just won’t it?”
“Great grass seeds!” exploded Great-grandfather Mouse. “It’s a mouse
charm. No rabbit has anything to do with it.” So he stumped off home,
dragging his fat old tail and wagging his crinkled ears, and in half
an hour more people knew about Doctor Muskrat’s secret than if Chatter
Squirrel had shouted it from the treetops. They knew where the
woodchuck was and they meant to get some fur off him, too.
And Nibble Rabbit was all but turning somersaults on his little paddy
feet out behind the bulrushes because he was so amused over it.
The great day came at last—Groundhog Day—the day when the woodchuck
ought to come out to foretell the weather for spring. And Nibble
Rabbit and Doctor Muskrat weren’t the only ones who were watching for
him.
For all the snow around the mouth of Nibble’s hole was tunnelled by
the mice, and they were scuffling and squeaking beneath it; so it’s a
wonderful thing Silvertip the Fox didn’t hear them. And Nibble thought
what a wonderful joke it would be if that woodchuck did come walking
out of the hole. So he shook him and jounced him and pulled his round,
mousy ears and his long spiky whiskers. But, no! That woodchuck just
wouldn’t wake up. So finally Nibble gave it up and crawled out of
doors. And there at the mouth of the hole he met old Great-grandfather
Fieldmouse, who was too fat and clumsy for any tunnel.
“Good morning,” said Nibble. “I see you’ve come to greet my friend Mr.
Woodchuck when he comes out to foretell the weather.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Great-grandfather
Fieldmouse very severely. “This is the day we come for our regular
charm of woodchuck fur to keep our young safe from owls.” He spoke as
solemnly as though he had done it every year of his life. “It’s
strictly a mouse charm,” he went on, “and no rabbit is going to keep
us from it!” He said that because Doctor Muskrat had given him the
idea that Nibble meant to keep it all for himself. And Doctor Muskrat
gave him that idea because he didn’t want Great-grandfather Mouse to
suspect that Nibble had invented the whole story about the charm.
Doctor Muskrat knew they’d never bother about coming after the
woodchuck fur unless they thought that someone else wanted it as much
as they did.
“Very well,” Nibble answered meekly; “but please leave a little for
me.”
“We’ll see if there’s enough to go round,” replied the mouse. And with
that he laid back his ears—he’s so old that they’re all crinkled—and
marched down into Nibble’s own hole. And out he came with a mouthful
of fur. And every fieldmouse from all the woods and fields solemnly
marched in and did the very same thing as if they’d done it every year
of their lives, too.
And maybe you think Nibble Rabbit and Doctor Muskrat didn’t laugh
until their sides were fit to split—maybe you think they didn’t.
Because they knew they were going to be able to prove to every one of
the woodsfolk just where Mr. Woodchuck was and what he was doing on
the next day after the first February moon.
After the last mouse had left his hole, Nibble went in to see what
they had done. He came out again in a hurry. “Whew!” he said to Doctor
Muskrat. “I’ll have to sleep in the Pickery Things to-night. It’s all
mousy in there. But they’ve plucked that sleepy old woodchuck as bare
as an egg.”
And Doctor Muskrat chuckled. “Just you wait until he wakes up in the
spring!”
That wasn’t till a long way after St. Patrick’s Day, when the little
gray pussies hung on all the willows. And he took three whole days to
wake up in. For the first day he just grunted and groaned and made the
noise that the woodsfolk take his name from. “Snoof, snoof!” he’d go
as though he were trying to sneeze, but was too lazy to do it. And the
minute he did that, Nibble hurried down to Doctor Muskrat in the marsh
and told him about it.
“Very good,” said Doctor Muskrat. “Tell me how he behaves to-morrow.”
On the second day Snoof Woodchuck had turned over in the hole with his
feet in the air and was acting as a dog does when he has a dream.
Nibble told Doctor Muskrat.
“Very well,” said the Doctor. “He’ll stand on them to-morrow, and
we’ll all be there to greet him.” Then he waddled off to the hollow
stump where Great-grandfather Fieldmouse lives. And Great-grandfather
Fieldmouse poked his head out.
“Well, well?” he demanded in his crotchety voice, because he’s very
old— so old that his ears are all crinkled. “What do you want now?”
“I just wanted to let you know that to-morrow morning Snoof Woodchuck
will take the air an hour after sun-up,” said Doctor Muskrat very
politely.
“Well, what’s that got to do with me?” demanded Great-grandfather
Fieldmouse.
“I let you know because we’re such old friends,” said Doctor Muskrat.
“Surely you remember that as long as the mice kept up the good old
custom of gathering to thank the woodchuck, the woodchuck stayed here
and you always had your charm.”
“I suppose so, I suppose so,” grunted Great-grandfather Fieldmouse.
So on the third day, when Snoof Woodchuck climbed out into the air,
all the fieldmice were assembled. He was very much complimented. He
bowed pompously, this way and that—and oh, how funny he looked, as
though the moths had been at him! “Hmm, hmm!” he began importantly.
“As I told you when I predicted the weather on the next day after the
first February moon——”
But he never got any further. For the mice simply squealed in
surprise, “Why, that was the day we came for our charms of woodchuck
fur. You were fast asleep!”
“You old bluffer,” jeered Doctor Muskrat, “we caught you napping this
time!”
“Look at yourself!” squealed Nibble Rabbit, standing on his tallest
toes to hop about. “See if you’re not mouse-eaten! You’re as naked as
you were born—yah! I’m ashamed to look at you!” And the mice all
echoed him.
And that woodchuck scuttled back into the very bottom of the hole and
hid there until midnight. And then he went so far away that no one
ever saw him again or even heard of him.