FOREST FRIENDS
BY ROYAL DIXON
AUTHOR OF "THE HUMAN SIDE OF PLANTS"
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY
ROBERT SHEPARD McCOURT
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1916, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
TO
ANNE RHODES
FAITHFUL FRIEND, GOOD FELLOW, AND RARE SOUL
_NOTE_
_The author is especially indebted to Mr. Read
Hersey for valuable suggestions and criticism in
the preparation of this book._
CONTENTS
I MRS. ELEPHANT'S MOONLIGHT DANCE
II OLD LADY WILDCAT'S FEAST
III MRS. FROG CHANGES HER DRESS
IV MR. MOCKING-BIRD AND HIS PRIZE SONG
V MR. RACCOON'S OYSTER SUPPER
VI MRS. GOOSE AND HER SWAMP COUSINS
VII MRS. FOX STEALS ONE EGG TOO MANY
VIII WHY MRS. FROG MUST LIVE IN THE SWAMPS
IX THE SCARE-MAN TREE
X MRS. FOX AND THE EIDER-DUCK EGGS
XI SUNNY GOURD AND LADY TRUMPET-VINE
XII THE END OF THE TIMBER WOLF
XIII THE TRAVELS OF PRINCE FLAMINGO
XIV PRINCE FLAMINGO'S TRIUMPHANT RETURN
XV MOTHER FOX'S HOSPITAL
XVI WHY MRS. CROW IS BLACK
XVII MRS. MUSKRAT'S POOR RELATIONS
XVIII MR. WILD GOOSE AND MRS. GREBE
XIX BABY FOX AND MRS. BEAR
XX CHRISTMAS EVE
XXI MOTHER RABBIT'S ADVICE TO HER BABIES
XXII THE MICE AND BABY STORK
XXIII MRS. BOB-WHITE AND THE HUNTING DOG
XXIV MRS. POLAR BEAR'S ADVENTURE
ILLUSTRATIONS
"At her special request, Mr. Frog played for her, not too fast, on his
elegant flute"
"'Listen, listen, listen,' said the mocking-bird"
"While the gay old foxes were in the next room, Mrs. Rabbit slipped out"
"Off through the big woods the little foxes trotted gaily behind their
mother"
"His mother was in a great state of delight over him, of course, and
his stately father eyed him with approval"
"The birds met in a great meeting. Something had to be done"
"Fireflame gasped out his news in one breath"
"They grabbed the baby stork and dragged him down to the edge of the
roof"
FOREST FRIENDS
I
MRS. ELEPHANT'S MOONLIGHT DANCE
It was a beautiful evening in the forest, and under the moonlight
there was a great gathering of friends. Mr. and Mrs. Elephant, and
the Kangaroos, the Foxes, and the handsome Leopards, even sprightly
little Miss Lynx, and a number of the aristocratic jungle Deer were
seated, all in a great circle, around the pleasant pool which shone in
the moonlight, and displayed the loveliest of lilies afloat upon its
surface.
"Then, it is decided," said the venerable Mr. Tapir. "We are, my
friends, going to contest for a dancing prize. It is felt that such an
entertainment will relieve the rather tedious monotony of our evenings
in this lovely spot.
"One week from to-night there will be the finest party we have ever
given. No expense is to be spared. Music will be supplied by the
celebrated company of Baboons and Macaws; and the ladies will adjourn,
forthwith, as a committee on refreshments."
Mr. Tapir went on at great length, for all the animals loved to hear
him talk, and he loved to hear himself. He had been to London. He knew
how things ought to be done. So he said it all over several times, but
he always ended with, "and the ladies will adjourn forthwith," which
beautiful words struck the animals as the finest they had ever heard.
"What oratory! Such a flow of London speech!" they whispered. And
the lovely Miss Giraffe broke down and cried. Such is the power of
eloquence.
Great jealousies ensued, however, for Mrs. Kangaroo let it be known
straightway that the prize was hers for sure. No one could dance as she
could. She had only to straighten her waist, lift her chin, and give a
leap. It was her specialty.
"When it comes to grace and speed," Mrs. Leopard remarked, "there is
something in my motion which is utterly lacking to the rest of you."
Now, Mrs. Elephant kept quiet. She knew what they thought of her. She
was always referred to as "that good, solid, easy-going person" unless
her friends were spiteful, when they did not hesitate to call her
"that ungainly old cow of an elephant." She knew their ways and spite.
"But I shall get that prize," she grunted, as she trudged to her
handsome, roomy home under the chocolate trees. Nor did she feel less
determined in the cool bright morning, when, as a rule, the resolutions
of the night before grow pale. Immediately she put her housekeeping
into the hands of her sister-in-law, who was young and willing.
"I have much to do," she said.
Then she set out to find her friends, the bull-frogs. They would pipe
their tunes all day in the shade, and she would practise her steps.
It was hard at first, but soon she devised a wonderful dance. Up and
down and around she went all day, and most all night. But she kept her
doings a secret; and it was well she did, for all the animals would
only have laughed at her had they seen her flopping around on the edge
of the bull-frogs' pond.
The night of the dance came. The elegance of the costumes and the
abundance of the refreshments were a delight.
It was a little game of sly Mrs. Fox's to urge everybody to eat as much
as possible, and this she would do with the sweetest smile.
"Oh, do eat another bunch of bananas," she would say to Mrs. Elephant;
for she wanted everybody to overeat except herself. Then they could not
dance, she knew, and she would get the prize if she showed only her
wonderful walking steps.
But the animals guessed her scheme. They only thanked her, and stroked
their dresses or went off into corners to try their steps.
It was a brave show, and after a few had risen to the floor and danced
their steps, favor was plainly directed to the lithe and lovely Mrs.
Leopard.
"Just wait for Mrs. Kangaroo," was whispered from one to another.
"She's wonderful, you know."
Then Mrs. Kangaroo came forth. Yes, it was marvelous what she could
accomplish. First she strutted high and proud, then she bounded up
and down, and finally made a great leap; but it was a leap before
she looked, for what did she do but jump right into the lily pond,
_ker-splash_!
Great embarrassment seized the company, and the less polite, such as
the monkeys, simply yelled in derision.
"Mrs. Elephant! Mrs. Elephant!" was now the cry.
"Yes, yes, Mrs. Elephant!" came from all sides; for the animals,
already amused by Mrs. Kangaroo's unfortunate conclusion, were ready to
be boisterous. They could roar at Mrs. Elephant if they wanted to; she
was so thick-skinned, as they thought, that you could never hurt her
feelings anyway.
But Mrs. Elephant was very modest, and a trifle grand. Besides, she was
all polished and trimmed in a manner most affecting. All that afternoon
her sister-in-law had stood in the water with her, smoothing down her
dress and rubbing her head; and two simple palm leaves behind her ears,
with a little rope of moon-flowers garlanded over her placid forehead
gave her a regal aspect which the animals were surprised and delighted
to note.
"How thin she's grown! How do you suppose she did it?" they gasped.
Then Mrs. Elephant danced.
At her special request, Mr. Frog played for her, not too fast, on his
elegant flute. But scarcely had she taken her first two steps when the
orchestra struck up that grand old march, _Tigers Bold and Monkeys
Gay_, which, as you know, would set anybody a-marching even if they had
nowhere to go.
[Illustration: "AT HER SPECIAL REQUEST, MR. FROG PLAYED FOR HER, NOT
TOO FAST, ON HIS ELEGANT FLUTE"]
Waving her splendid arms to the sky, and making the most wonderful
bows, flapping her ears and curling and pointing her trunk, all to the
tune of the music, she was, as the eloquent Mrs. Tapir was moved to
say, "as majestic as the night."
At her signal, when she knew she had captivated the audience, the
music changed, and she came tripping toward them with open arms and
the pinkest, biggest smile the world has ever seen. She begged them
all to strike up the chorus; and suddenly, without knowing what they
were about (for such is the way with an audience, once the hard-worked
artist has enraptured his fellow-beings), they were all shouting the
stirring words:
I'm the jungle dandy, O,
You're the zebra's daughter,
Come an' kiss me, handy, O,
Nuts and orange water.
Of course she took the prize. And all she would say, or all, indeed,
that can be got out of her to this day, about it is:
"Practise, my dears, practise. No, I have never done it since, nor
would I think of trying. I only wished to feel in my old age that I had
accomplished something. The race, as wise men have said, is not to the
swift. Determination and careful, unremitting practise: that's what is
wanted."
II
OLD LADY WILDCAT'S FEAST
Sister Alligator and Miss Mud-Turtle had always been exceedingly good
friends, and always helped each other out of trouble. One day Miss
Mud-Turtle flopped over to Sister Alligator in great excitement.
"Look here, my friend, I'm going to have a picnic over on the other
side of your big pond, and I want you to help me!" she said.
"Well, I'm right here to do what I can for you. Just tell me of what
service I may be," replied Sister Alligator, as she lazily opened her
sleepy eyes.
"You are a wonderfully good neighbor," declared Miss Mud-Turtle, "and
I was just wondering if you would mind carrying all my young friends,
the swamp turtles, across the pond on your big back? It would take you
only a minute to swim us across, and if we tried to go around the pond,
I am afraid Old Lady Wildcat might catch us on the way. You know she is
always trying to get the best of us mud-turtles."
Sister Alligator's sleepy eyes opened wider.
"I have the very idea!" she exclaimed. "Just send Old Lady Wildcat an
invitation to come to the picnic. Then I'll swim out into the pond and
dive under and drown her, for all of you mud-turtles can swim."
Miss Mud-Turtle laughed so hard she had to wipe the tears from her eyes.
"Sister Alligator, your sleepy old head is not on your body for
nothing! You surely have some brains! That is the very idea for
disposing of Old Lady Wildcat! I'll make a carpet out of her soft hide
for my young friends to play on before the sun goes down."
So Miss Mud-Turtle sent an invitation to Old Lady Wildcat, all written
on a grape leaf in grand style. It told of the big dinner they were to
have, and where it was to be, and that Sister Alligator would carry
them all across the pond on her back.
When Old Lady Wildcat got the invitation she mewed to Mr. 'Possum, who
had brought it, that she would be there all right, but that they must
be very careful when they carried her over the pond, as her rheumatism
was bad.
Then, when Mr. 'Possum went to take her message to Miss Mud-Turtle, Old
Lady Wildcat laughed so loudly she had to hide her face with her paws
for fear Miss Mud-Turtle would hear her. She was just planning how to
get the best of Miss Mud-Turtle.
"Whenever I dine with low-down mud-turtles and alligators it is time
for me to lose this fine coat of mine. I suppose they forget who I am!
Ha! What would all my grandchildren think of their grandmother dining
with mud-turtles!"
Then she began laughing again, and her grandchildren, who were sleeping
away up in the branches of a big pine-tree, came down to see what had
tickled her so.
Old Lady Wildcat was holding her sides and dancing about in glee.
"Oh, children," she laughed, "we're going to have some fun! Old Miss
Mud-Turtle is trying to get your grandmother to dine with her across
the pond. Get yourselves ready for the big feast, and I'll start over
on Sister Alligator's back, while you all go on ahead and eat up the
dinner."
"Hooray!" cried the young wildcats. "We'll slip along behind to see how
you get started, and then we'll run around the pond and get the dinner
before Miss Mud-Turtle and Sister Alligator can come."
So Old Lady Wildcat loped down to the pond, and there were Miss
Mud-Turtle and Sister Alligator. All the little mud-turtles climbed on
the alligator raft.
"Be very careful, Mrs. Wildcat," Sister Alligator cautioned, "not to
wet your feet. You might take cold."
Old Lady Wildcat smiled pleasantly and jumped; and then away swam
Sister Alligator.
It was fine riding till they got to about the middle of the pond. Then
Sister Alligator stopped.
"I'm very sorry," she said politely, "but I have the cramps, _ooh!
ooh!_ I must drop to the bottom of the pond."
And down she dived.
But Old Lady Wildcat was too quick for her. She sprang up into the air
and caught a grapevine, climbed up on it, and finally got to land. Then
she ran through the woods to where her grandchildren were, and there
they had the greatest feast you ever saw.
Finally, just as Sister Alligator and Miss Mud-Turtle with all the
children came in sight, Old Lady Wildcat climbed up into a tree and
laughed and mewed at them.
And this is what she said:
"Never try to fool folks, Sister Alligator and Miss Mud-Turtle, by
plotting against them, for you'll find that you are only fooling
yourselves!"
III
MRS. FROG CHANGES HER DRESS
"Also, it is said that ages and ages ago Mrs. Frog and her family dwelt
at the bottom of the sea."
"In the ocean?" queried surprised little Kingfisher, who was listening
to all that Professor Crane could tell him.
"Yes, in the great salt water," replied Professor Crane, as he shifted
his position and stood on the other leg. "Far deeper it was, too, than
this pond."
For the learned Crane and little Kingfisher were spending a quiet hour
under the shade of the wild orange trees, on the shores of a narrow
lagoon. It was a hot, still day, and they were each of them resting
after a morning's exertion. Professor Crane was always a talker after
dinner, for he knew much and was sociable. He could discourse by the
hour if any one would listen; and if nobody was disposed to heed
him, he would meditate by himself. But just now he had an alert and
inquisitive companion, for if Kingfisher loved two things in the
world, one was to hear all the scandal, and the other was to pick
feathers out of the back of a crow as he flew.
But apparently Professor Crane had decided to tell no more, for he
rested his long bill on his breast, and let his eyes close to a narrow
slit. This made him look infinitely wiser than he really was; but like
a good many talkative persons he knew the value of waiting to be asked.
Kingfisher eyed his friend earnestly and opened his mouth several times
to speak, but shut it again. Finally, however, thinking that Professor
Crane had forgotten what he was saying, he piped out:
"How strange!"
And that stirred the venerable scholar to resume his narrative.
"Yes, strange indeed; yet nothing so wonderful after all. Nothing is
past belief if you have studied long enough, and I have had signal
advantages. It was, you may be pleased to know, a relative of mine, a
Doctor Stork, who had perched all his life on the chimney of a great
university in Belgium, who told me the truth about the frog. Of course,
that is nothing to you, as you are not versed in the universities. But
that's not your fault. At any rate, as I was saying, Mrs. Frog lived
in the sea and had a palace of coral and pearl. She was very much
larger than she is now, and was of a totally different color. She was
red as the reddest coral, and her legs were as yellow as gold. Very
striking, she was; and her voice was a deep contralto. But she was
never content with her home, and couldn't decide whether she wanted to
be in or out of the water. That's the way with all inferior characters.
Men, you observe, are given to such traits of indecision, never being
content where they are.
"Mrs. Frog, for all the pleasures of her coral hall, found it pleasant
to sit on the rocks and stare at the land. And the more she stared, the
more she wished to go ashore. But she was built for swimming, you know,
and, for the life of her, she couldn't get over the sands."
"How on earth did she learn?" put in Kingfisher.
"Necessity and, as I might say, emergency," Professor Crane replied.
"One day she let the waves carry her high and dry on the beach,
trusting to another wave to take her back. But the other wave never
came. She had come on the very last roller of the high tide. By and
by she saw two eyes glaring at her from under the grass. It was
probably a snake that was after her. Then, because she had to, she got
back to the water. That's the way, you know. What folks have to do
they generally accomplish, but until they're frightened into it they
generally stand still."
"True, true," Kingfisher agreed. "I was afraid to fly when I was a
baby. The last to leave the nest was myself, and finally my father
pushed me out. I flew, of course, and never knew how I learned."
"Same with Mrs. Frog," added Professor Crane. "She got there. But the
knowledge that she could hop if she wanted to was her undoing. She was
never at home when she was wanted, and if Mr. Bullfrog had not watched
the eggs in her place, there would have been no more frogs to talk
about. At last he grew as neglectful as she was, however, and all the
frogs caught the madness. That's when they took to tying their eggs up
in packages and leaving them to care for themselves."
"How careless!" Kingfisher thought, as he recalled the hours that his
wife spent sitting on hers, and what enemies would get them if he did
not perch on guard.
"But the frogs got all the dry land they wanted. The sea turned itself
into one great wave and spilled all over the mountains, you know. Yes,
that was the time the moon changed from a golden dish to a silver
platter. Some say it was from a pumpkin to a green cheese. But the
weight of authority, the preponderance of learning is on the side of
the silver platter."
"The preponderance of what?" interrupted Kingfisher. For although he
knew what Professor Crane meant, he felt it was a compliment to him to
ask for a repetition of these handsome words.
But Professor Crane went right on, which is the proper thing to do.
"And when the water went back where it belonged, it went farther than
ever before. Half of the earth was high and dry that formerly had been
under water. And Mrs. Frog was on that half."
"How terrible!" his listener exclaimed. "And how uncomfortable she must
have been!"
"I should say she was!" Professor Crane agreed. "It was hotter, too,
than fire. In fact she was destined to spend a long time regretting her
previous state, while she sweltered, high and dry.
"The desert, you know, is the home of competition."
Professor Crane waited for this observation to sink in, for he felt
that it was one of the best he had ever made.
"I mean that it is the worst place to live because everybody else wants
you to die. That's what competition is, my friend Kingfisher. And on
the sandy desert it is that way.
"There wasn't drinking water enough to go around, and the plants and
trees, because they could burrow down and find a few drops, had the
best of it. They stored it up, too, inside of themselves, and then, to
keep people from breaking in for a drink, they threw out every kind of
needle and thorn you can think of.
"But they grew beautiful flowers, and Mrs. Frog said that these
reminded her of corals. The cactus flowers were indeed her only
consolation, and she would sit under them all day. She didn't dare to
hop out on the sands, for the birds were sure to see her and eat her,
and so she took to running her tongue out and catching what she could
in that way."
"Very convenient, I'm sure," Kingfisher observed. "I wish I could do it
myself. It would save me much gadding about."
"Yes, my young friend, it would; but you'd never be patient enough.
And Mrs. Frog is just so much patience on a lily pad. It's her whole
life.
"She learned patience, you may be sure, on that desert, and her enemies
were so many that she feared for her life every time she ventured out
from under the cactus blossom. So she only went out at night and was,
even then, careful about getting into the moonshine.
"Poor thing; she nearly starved to death, and grew thinner and thinner
until her beautiful figure was gone. Then her skin shriveled into
creases, and she finally got the leathery look that she has to-day."
"And how did she change her color?" Kingfisher begged to know.
"I don't think I care to tell you," said Professor Crane, with a sudden
change in his voice.
This produced great surprise in little Mr. Kingfisher, for he never
knew the Professor to withhold anything. Usually he was only too
eager to load you with facts. So the small bird kept silence very
respectfully, not knowing just what to say.
"You are yourself very saucy, and full of your foolishness," the wise
Crane finally observed, "and you are not likely to believe what I tell
you. But you can make what you choose of it, and it may do you good to
know."
Professor Crane cleared his throat, and wagged his long bill up and
down several times, much as a truly bearded professor strokes his chin
in delivering the hardest part of his lecture. Then he coughed, for
that is effective, too, and changed from his left foot to his right.
"Well," he resumed, "she prayed to the Man in the Moon, as that was the
only thing that she knew to do, and begged him to give her a bog.
"'Just a bog, or a piece of a swamp, Mr. Moon,' she kept saying, 'even
a few inches of water will do,' and after she had done this to every
full moon for a year, and nothing had come of it, she changed her tune."
Kingfisher looked startled. He had personally the greatest respect
for the Moon. He had heard much evil about it, however, and was not a
little cautious of expressing his views on the subject.
"What did she beg of the Moon after that?" was all he could say.
"She had concluded that the Man in the Moon was unable to give her a
bog, even if he wanted to, so she decided to start out and find one.
That was the beginning of the end of her troubles. She begged Mr. Moon
to show her how to get there, when she came to the point of starting,
and she only added, 'Give me a green dress, Mr. Moon, Mr. Moon!' And
that's exactly what the Man in the Moon did for her. The frogs made
their journey in a body, on the darkest night of the year. But there
was just one Moonbeam and it was on duty for this one thing, to show
the frogs how to go."
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Kingfisher. "Wonderful! But which night of the
year was it?" Mr. Kingfisher thought of several things he might do, if
he knew which night was the blackest.
"The darkest night of all, my dear friend, is the one when you change
the color of your life."
This silenced Mr. Kingfisher; and Professor Crane, perceiving that the
words had taken effect, concluded his story.
"That single Moonbeam Angel was very beautiful and powerful. For,
just as the frogs came at last to the valleys and found a deep swamp
where they could forever be happy, with water or land as they wanted,
Moonbeam touched them farewell, and their dresses turned to russet and
green."
There were no remarks to be made, for Professor Crane clapped his bill
together exactly as though he brought the book of history together
with a bang; and he ruffled his wings as if he were about to fly off.
So little Kingfisher, not knowing just how to thank the great bird,
said something about going home to supper.
"Just so, just so," clacked Professor Crane.
And the two birds flew up and away, Kingfisher to his nest in the
tree-top, and the learned Professor to his books and studies.
IV
MR. MOCKING-BIRD AND HIS PRIZE SONG
A very little squirrel, who was but a month old, was looking out across
an orchard from the top of a high tree. It was early morning and the
sun had just risen, so that everything was sparkling with dew, and the
air was cool and sweet to breathe.
He rubbed his fat cheeks with his paws and sat very straight on his
haunches, looking his best and trying to sing, for he wanted very much
to say something by way of letting the world know what he thought of
it. Feeling as he did, so exceedingly happy, he wished to join the
lovely sounds around him, for birds were singing everywhere, and even
the river at the foot of the orchard had a song.
So the little squirrel made all the noise he could, which is just what
the children do when they have all day to play and the sky is blue and
clear above the fields.
But just as he paused for breath he heard his words repeated from
another tree. Somebody was mocking him, word for word, and making a
very ridiculous thing of his happy little song. His tail bristled
with anger, and he ran higher in the tree to get a better view of
his neighbor. He would teach another squirrel to mock him! No living
creature could he see, but he heard a bluebird call, and then, as if to
insult him, came again his own exultant _chirp, chirp-chee, chee, chee,
chee_, and after it a perfect flood of laughter, just like the silly
notes of the little owl who sits up all night to laugh at the moon.
Indeed, the squirrel was more puzzled than angry now, and he rushed
home to his mother in the highest branches of the walnut-tree, and as
fast as he could chatter he told her all about it. She was a very busy
woman, Mrs. Squirrel, and she was too much engaged in her sweeping and
making of beds to stop and talk with her little son. Moreover, she did
not know exactly what to say; so she told him to find the wise old
woodchuck under the hill, who was lazy and good-natured and fond of
company, and to inquire of him just why the mocking-bird should repeat
everything that was said or sung.
So off to the foot of the orchard and the old rail-fence the little
squirrel scampered, and, as he expected, the good old woodchuck was
lounging by his door-step, blinking at the sunlight and munching clover.
"There's nothing here for you," the woodchuck muttered with his mouth
full. "You've come to the wrong house for breakfast."
"No, no," the squirrel hastened to say. "You do not know my errand.
I've come to ask you why the mocking-bird is so fond of mocking. Has he
no song of his own? And why should he laugh at me?"
Poor little squirrel was so full of anger, as he spoke his mind, that
he puffed and bristled mightily, and the fat woodchuck burst out
laughing.
"So he jeered at you, did he? Why, that's his business; but you
mustn't mind the things he says. He's really a very fine fellow, Mr.
Mocking-bird, and everybody loves him."
Then the woodchuck brushed the clover aside and came out a little
farther into the sun to warm his back, for he was very wise, and he
knew that the sun on the back was good for the shoulder-blades.
"Mr. Mocking-bird," he began, "is a great artist. That's why he can say
what he thinks and do what he wants to do. And once, in the long ago,
he taught all the songs in the world to the birds. You see it was this
way:
"The thrush and the robin and the catbird fell to disputing about their
songs. And all the noisy blackbirds and the little wrens, even the
crows with their ugly notes, entered the discussion, with results which
I can't describe. Oh, it lasted years and years, and every bird thought
he was the best singer in the world and tried to sing everything
he ever heard, whether it was his own song or not; and at last the
confusion was so terrible that if the robin flew North, everybody
thought he was a finch, and when he came back, he made a noise like a
wild goose."
"Impossible!" exclaimed the squirrel.
"Not at all. That's the way with singers the world over, until they are
sharply taught where they belong. Few people are content with their
own talents. My own family is the only modest and unassuming one that
I know of. We are content to dig and eat and sit in the sun. We have
never trained our voices or gone in for dancing. Very different from
your family, young Mr. Squirrel, which is frivolous and noisy. But you
must pardon that--it was a mere observation. As I was saying, the only
way to decide the business and restore order was to hold a meeting of
all the birds, with a few good judges of music on hand to decide the
question once for all.
"The adder, being deaf, was the chairman. Deafness, they say, is the
prime requirement in a critic, for it allows him time to think. And the
buzzard, also, was there to award the prizes. A peculiar choice, you
might say, but he has a horrid way of putting things and he wears a
cut-away coat.
"So the day came. The woods and the orchards were full of birds,
singing and calling and screaming and whistling. Everybody was too much
excited to think of eating, and every bush held a crowd of contestants.
It was orderly enough, however, when the contest began.
"The wood dove began the concert. Very soft and sweet. It always makes
me think of my giddy youth and my first wife to hear the wood dove.
She's really a little bit too sad.
"Then they came on, each one in turn. It was a fine cherry-tree where
they sang, and it was so full of blossoms that you could hardly see
the performers. Poor little Miss Wren was scared to death. She tried
to sing, but all she could say was, _Tie me up, tie me up_, and she
fell off the branch with fright. One redbird, and the tanager, and that
whole gay family of buntings--what a brilliant, showy lot! But they
were very clear and high and full of little scraps of tune in their
singing. More suited to the hedgerow, however, than the concert room.
"The best, to my thinking, was the thrush. You can hear him any evening
down there in the alder bushes. He's very retiring and elegant. They
say he sings of India and the lotus flowers. It's something sad and far
away that he just remembers. I'm not much of a hand at poetry myself,
and I personally have a great fondness for the crows. Good, sharp,
business men, the crows, and although they are not strictly musical,
they appeal to me. You see, we have a great deal in common, the crows
and myself, by way of looking after the young corn. We meet, as you
might say, in a business way.
"Well, the contest was long and lively. The bluebird and rice-birds,
and even the orioles performed in wonderful fashion; and at last,
when it was all over, the prize was never given at all. For right out
of the clear sky came the mocking-bird, who had kept himself out of
the contest until the end, and after he lighted on a branch of that
cherry-tree and began his song, there was simply nothing to be said. It
dawned on the whole lot of them that they had sung their notes wrong!
Yes, young Mr. Squirrel, fine and noisy as it all had been, not one of
these birds had sung the tune his father had taught him! Just by trying
to outsing each other all those years, their own sweet notes were
injured. And only the mocking-bird could remember every lovely song
as it should be done. Even the thrush had to admit as much. The adder
crawled off in disgust, and the buzzard grew positively insulting in
his remarks. He said he had been detained for nothing.
"'Listen, listen, listen,' said the mocking-bird, and straightway
he sang like the nonpareil, and then you would have thought him the
oriole. It was enough to break your heart, for it was just the lovely
old songs that the birds used to sing.
[Illustration: "'LISTEN, LISTEN, LISTEN,' SAID THE
MOCKING-BIRD"]
"And what do you suppose came of it all?" added the worthy woodchuck
after he had wiped a tear from his eyes, for thoughts of the old days
made him sad.
"What do you suppose the other birds agreed upon? They decided never
to raise the burning question again, and they begged the mocking-bird
to teach them their songs once more. That's why the robins fly South
in the fall of the year, along with the other songsters. They want
their children to hear the mocking-bird. Yes, Mr. Squirrel, I have that
on authority. There's nothing so fine for the singer as a good start
and a good teacher. And even the robin, who is full of conceit, has
admitted to me that he feels at times the need of a little correction.
He hates to go North without a few lessons from that wonderful teacher,
the mocking-bird."
With all this, little Mr. Squirrel was greatly entertained and was at
a loss how to thank Mr. Woodchuck; but he was spared the necessity of
it, for the good warm sun and the sound of his own voice had induced
Mr. Woodchuck into a pleasant sleep, and he was already snoring on his
door-step. Little Squirrel tiptoed away and ran home in glee. He felt
that he had learned all that there was to learn in the wide world.
Anyway, he had learned what he wanted to know, and that is the best of
learning.
V
MR. RACCOON'S OYSTER SUPPER
It was the loveliest of moonlight nights in the early autumn when word
was carried from house to house that Mrs. Raccoon would give an oyster
supper.
There was Mrs. Coon herself, the present Mr. Coon, and four little
Coons. At the upper farm lived several branches of the family--uncles
and aunts and their respective children. For the Coons, as a lot,
lived mainly on the farmsteads, or near to them; for, as Mrs. Ringtail
Coon, the oldest of them, always declared: "It is altogether wiser to
keep in touch with civilization." By which she meant it was wise to
live as near as possible to the orchards and the corn-fields, and the
good things which farmers keep planting every year, apparently for the
especial benefit of just such persons as Mr. Coon and Mr. Crow.
"And it is wonderful what a variety of good things you can find to
eat if you can run and climb trees and dig in the ground," Mr. Coon
would add, "especially if you live where they are very generous in the
gathering, and you can have the best of apples and pears and the sweet
corn to add to your table."
So it was altogether best to stick as close to the haunts of mankind
as possible, if you could do so without foregoing the pleasures of the
river and the woodland.
The great river, be it said, which was sluggish and muddy, contained
a thousand things which the Coons declared in rather snobbish fashion
were not to their taste. They wouldn't go fishing if they could. But
the fat mussels which lived in the mud-banks were exactly to Mr. and
Mrs. Coon's liking. And to open them is not difficult for a Coon who
has once learned the trick.
"That's what your wonderful, black fingernails are for," Mr. Coon
always told the children when he taught them to open oysters. "You need
only give the joint of the thing a sharp bite, and pull out that tough
bit of meat at the end, and then with your nails you can pry the shell
right open."
The ability to do this was a matter of pride to the Coons, for they
knew of no one else who could open oysters. Like many people who may
excel in a particular art, they fancied that they were the only adepts
in the world.
"But there's where they are mistaken," Mr. Fox would laugh, whenever he
heard of the Coons and their oyster suppers. For he knew of some one
else who could get the juicy meat out of those shells, although it was
not himself.
"I really pity their ignorance," he would say. "If they ever went
abroad in the daytime they'd see a thing or two, and maybe they'd learn
that there are wiser folks in the world than themselves."
This was an unfair thrust at the Coons, for their habit of sleeping
most of the day should not be laid against them. The world is wisely
divided into day workers and night workers anyway, and Mr. Coon, for
his part, always put down such criticism by asking what on earth would
happen if everybody rushed to his meals at the same identical moment.
And in this Mr. Coon revealed the gentility of his nature, for he was a
person of manners, and believed not only in a six o'clock dinner, but
kept his clothes in the neatest fashion and was constantly washing his
face between his two fore legs, brushing his hair and attending to his
ears after the accepted fashion of the cat. And the cat, as all the
world knows, is the cleanest of beasts.
"Your Fox is a shaggy creature," he would say. "Almost as unkempt as
the farm Dog, whom I despise."
So it is not to be wondered that Mrs. Coon, if she were going to have
an oyster supper, would have an elegant one.
Elegance in the matter of suppers is simply a question of due
preparation, and of this Mrs. Coon was thoroughly aware. Nothing would
please her husband more, she knew, than to have the party go off
without a hitch.
"We'll spend to-night getting ready," she planned. "I can't bear to see
people digging in the mud and eating at the same time. It is not nice.
Perhaps it is well enough on a merely family picnic to let everybody
shift for himself, and I know the children rather enjoy getting dirty.
I did when I was a little girl. But my ideal of the thing, done as it
should be, is to have a great lot of oysters already dug, and arranged
in an appetizing pile. It saves time, too, and makes the guests feel
better. I never liked these parties where you go digging for your own
victuals."
How could an elegant gentleman have a wife more in accord with his
desires than that? Immediately Mr. Coon embraced Mrs. Coon in a loving
clasp, for he felt that she was responding to his best and most refined
impulses.
For two nights, then, while the October moon rode serenely overhead,
Ringtail Coon and Mother Coon, with little Grayfur and Brownie, and
the two boys, Broadhead and Fuzzy Muzzle, went from their home in the
sweet-gum tree, through the wood to the farm road, under the fence to
the orchard, back of the orchard to the corn-field, and then downhill
to the steep clay banks of the river. At that point they let themselves
tumble over the edge, for there were only bushes to fall into, and Mr.
Coon did not approve of sliding down mud-banks.
"It's hard on the seat of your trousers," he said; "and Mother has all
the washing she can do."
And then they lost no time digging, but scampered here and there,
nosing out the great black shells, which they scratched and worried
out of the wet soil, sometimes venturing into the water to get a
particularly fat and enticing one.
"We'll store them here in a hole under this cornel bush," Ringtail
decided; "and if we cover them well, putting back all this driftwood
and rubbish on top, no one will guess what's been done."
And no one, indeed, but sly old Mr. Fox would ever have known what
had happened. The tempting collection of oysters, pecks of them, was
not, however, to remain unmolested. But as the Coons increased their
provisions, and worked mightily until the moon went down, they foresaw
no accident, and only entertained themselves with happy visions of the
remarks and exclamations which their cousins would be sure to make when
they beheld such stunning abundance.
"Dear me, Ringtail, there's only one thing that troubles me. I feel
that we ought to invite the 'Possums. You know how generous they were
in that matter of the persimmons. No one would ever have guessed that
there was such a tree in the whole State; and it was, after all, an
invitation that they gave us, even if you did threaten Mr. 'Possum in a
business way."
"I guess I did," laughed Ringtail as he put another handful of oysters
into the hole and stamped them down; "I told Wooly 'Possum not to be
hiding his assets that way or I'd bite his tail off. But go ahead and
invite them, if you want to. It'll show that we're not snobbish anyway.
And the 'Possums are as likely to appreciate all this as anybody.
You'll have to open their oysters for them, you know."
"Surely, my dear. I will do so gladly. A hostess never gets any of her
own party anyway. I don't expect to do anything but watch other people
eat. That's the way of receptions and such."
For Mrs. Coon had arrived at that stage of excitement in which a
hostess feels herself elevated and ennobled above humanity in general
by virtue of the toiling she has gone through in order to make the rest
of the world happy.
By this time they had to stop and take a bite themselves, for day was
beginning to break, and the children, at least, must have something
to eat. Then, having arranged the top of their secret store with the
greatest care, and very loath to leave it, they scrambled up the bank
and set out for home. Tired they were and a little cross, so that the
youngsters quarreled a good deal, and Mr. Coon, slightly worried, was
not so pleasant as when he set out.
"Oh, nothing," he replied to his wife's inquiry as to why he was so
glum. "Only I'm a bit anxious about those oysters. It's just possible
that somebody may find them."
"Oh, pshaw!" was all she would say. "Nobody's going near that spot. And
if anybody did and went and sat right down on top of them, he'd never
guess what was under all those sticks."
But somebody did exactly this. For the Coons were all fast asleep in
the sweet-gum tree, not even dreaming of their party, when Mr. Fox
edged along the river shore, greatly elated at discovering so many
little foot-prints in the mud. It was plain who had been there. And as
the dainty tracks centered under the cornel bush, it took no wits at
all, and only a little brisk pawing, to discover the secret.
Mr. Fox laughed as though he would give up. For that is a trait of
all foxy natures to go into fits of laughter when the possibility of
turning a mean trick presents itself.
"Well, of all things!" he finally gasped, as he held his sides. "How
mighty kind of them!" Then, licking his chops, and fairly choking with
humor, he set off just as fast as he could go. Up the shore and through
the woods he ran; and at a certain tree where a great sentinel crow sat
eying the farmers in a distant field, he barked out one short, sharp
message.
He had to say nothing more. Before he could get back to the spot where
the delicious supper was stored, the crows were coming, one and two at
a time, then three and four, and finally a small flock of them.
Mr. Fox got very little for his pains, for the crows were as quick as
lightning in their motions. Up in the air they flew with an oyster in
their beaks, and over the rocks and bowlders which jutted from the
shore they would pause but a second to drop their burden. Down it would
come, breaking to pieces as it fell on the rock, and then the crow
would come down almost as fast as the oyster, to tear out the meat and
swallow it. Mr. Fox played around the edges, as it were; for too many
crows had come, and they fought him off when he tried to snap up his
share.
"Oh, well, I don't care much for oysters anyway," he muttered, trying
to console himself. But he was in reality bitterly tantalized, and
he was truly in tears of disgust when the great black crowd of noisy
birds flew at him in a body and drove him off. They benefited by
his confidence, but they were utterly selfish, and he suddenly felt
wickedly put upon.
What he had done to the Coons never occurred to him.
Mr. Coon never recovered from the mortification of that evening.
The guests had assembled in a body; all of his brother's family and
their dependents, and the little 'Possums, who were so set up at the
invitation that they fairly beamed. Such toilets had been performed and
such preparation of pleasant remarks had gone on, that everybody was in
the finest of party feeling.
The walk through the corn-field, the ease and happy expectancy! Getting
down the mud-bank was not altogether a formal ceremony, for some slid,
and some just plunged headlong; but at the bottom everybody brushed his
clothes, and the little Coons and the little 'Possums danced in glee.
Then, lo and behold, there was no supper at all! The work that the
crows had done was apparent enough. But how they ever knew where to
find the banquet was an unsolved mystery to Mr. Coon.
Never again did Ringtail or his wife try to be fashionable. "Dig and
swallow," became the rule at all the oyster suppers; and even at this
one, after the disaster had bestowed its first stunning blow, the
guests and the company as a whole fell to digging as hard as they
could, and ate with might and main.
Mrs. Coon, having urged the 'Possums to come, had to open oysters
until her thumbs were sore; but she did it with a good grace, and after
everybody got to going, there was all the laughter and happiness the
heart could wish.
"Yes, it was a merry party, after all," Mr. Coon admitted several hours
later. He was curling up in his sweet-gum tree bedroom, ready for
another day's sleep. "But it was a free for all, a regular guzzling.
What's the use of trying to be nice when all the world's made up of
crows?"
But in this query, Mr. Ringtail Coon was only a bit petulant. The best
of it is that he does not know the ignorance of the world. For scarcely
anybody appreciates or even guesses the true elegance and the dainty
ways of Mr. and Mrs. Raccoon.
VI
MRS. GOOSE AND HER SWAMP COUSINS
It was a beautiful morning, very early, with the dew on the grass and
the mists lifting from the sea, when Mrs. Goose with her seven little
goslings walked through the farm gate, down the path to the road, and
then waddled under the fence into the pasture.
"You are well along now, my children," she was saying, "and your
travels should begin."
"And what are our travels?" the little geese piped as they stepped
along beside their stately parent.
"Your travels, my dears, are those excursions away from the cramping
and monotonous surroundings of the farmyard. That's what your travels
are. None of your family are given to staying always and forever at
home."
"Oh, no," the goslings all quacked in chorus. "We don't want to stay
around that farmyard all our days. That's what the chickens do, and
the guinea-hens. But where are we going now, Mother?"
For the beautiful Mrs. Goose was heading straight for the swamp at the
foot of the great pasture, and already she was taking them through the
tufted grass and the low bushes, through which they could not easily
descry her stately form. They were quite out of breath, and bore along
behind her, being very careful to keep exactly in her foot-prints.
"We are going to the great salt river, and the marshes," she called
back to them. "That is where your cousins live and we shall spend a
lovely day with them. But we must hurry through these bushes. I never
feel safe until I am well out of them."
She explained no more than this, for she was a bird well versed in the
bringing up of children, and she did not wish to frighten them. But,
truth to tell, this bushy part of the path to her favorite haunts was
always full of its terrors for her.
"It looks so very much like the spot where my first husband was
attacked by a fox," she confided to one of her friends. "He was never
seen again, of course, and although I was not long a widow, still I
have never been consoled for his taking off."
Naturally, then, she had for the rest of her days a distrust of bushy
paths, and it was with a great quack of relief that she emerged with
all her little ones on the banks of the deep, narrow stream which was a
part of the great marsh.
Off she swam on the water, paddling with a majestic ease, and down they
hopped and splashed and paddled beside her, the seven of them, highly
excited over the prospect of a day's adventure.
The stream was narrow and deep, much unlike the shallow duck-pond in
the farmyard, and it gave the goslings an exhilarating sensation to be
thus abroad on a real stream.
"How good it is," Mrs. Goose quacked, "to feel the clear, cool water,
and to know that you are not paddling across a mere mud-puddle!
"And there are no tin cans and other rubbish here," she went on.
"Very different, all this, from the rather common surroundings of the
duck-pond. You must realize that your family is a superior one, and
that while the ducks on the farm do very well for neighbors, they are
not the aristocrats that we are. And I am taking you purposely, my
children, to visit my most exclusive friends."
The old goose was indeed a haughty personage, as any one could tell by
the way she held her head. For she swam as a soldier marches, with
eyes to the front and a splendid air.
Soon they came to where the narrow inlet of the marsh widened into a
broad expanse of water banked by low, wide areas of reeds and rushes.
Many channels and enticing little bays made off into the depths of
shady and inviting spots where there were cedars and alders and dense,
tangled vines. There were delicious odors in the air, and this made the
goslings suddenly very hungry. They begged their mother to let them
run through the grasses to pluck the tender and inviting things which
their eyes caught sight of. But she shook her downy head and kept them
paddling along beside her, cautioning them very wisely:
"Never go browsing by yourself until you know the ways of the country.
Where there are others feeding it is safe for goslings. But to go into
those tall grasses, tempting as they are, is to walk right into danger.
You have never met Mr. Blacksnake, and I hope you never will until you
are too big to tempt him!"
Immediately, of course, they clamored for the details about this
dreadful creature, but their mother spared them any unhappy visions of
the sort.
"You must not dwell on such uncomfortable things," she would say. "All
you need think of when you are out with me are the bright sky and the
good green world. But here we are, almost at Mrs. Bittern's gate. And
there is Grandpa Bittern waiting for us at the door."
As she spoke, the goslings all craned their necks; but they were not
big enough to see over the top of things as their mother could, and
they were totally in doubt as to who the Bitterns were, or where they
lived.