TOTO'S MERRY WINTER.
TOTO'S
MERRY WINTER.
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS,
AUTHOR OF
"THE JOYOUS STORY OF TOTO," "FIVE MICE IN A MOUSETRAP,"
"SKETCHES AND SCRAPS," ETC., ETC.
[Illustration]
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1887.
_Copyright, 1887_,
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
TO
The Blind Children of the Perkins Institution,
WHO HAVE LISTENED TO THE FIRST
"STORY OF TOTO,"
_THIS SECOND AND LAST PART OF HIS
ADVENTURES_
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
TOTO'S MERRY WINTER.
CHAPTER I.
IT was evening,--a good, old-fashioned winter evening, cold without,
warm and merry within. The snow was falling lightly, softly, with no
gusts of wind to trouble it and send it whirling and drifting hither and
thither. It covered the roof with a smooth white counterpane, tucking it
in neatly and carefully round the edges; it put a tall conical cap on
top of the pump, and laid an ermine fold over his long and impressive
nose. Myriads of curious little flakes pattered softly--oh! very
softly--against the windows of the cottage, pressing against the glass
to see what was going on inside, and saying, "Let us in! let us in!
please do!" But nobody seemed inclined to let them in, so they were
forced to content themselves with looking.
Indeed, the aspect of the kitchen was very inviting, and it is no wonder
that the little cold flakes wanted to get in. A great fire was crackling
and leaping on the hearth. The whole room seemed to glow and glitter:
brass saucepans, tin platters, glass window-panes, all cast their very
brightest glances toward the fire, to show him that they appreciated his
efforts. Over this famous fire, in the very midst of the dancing,
flickering tongues of yellow flame, hung a great black soup-kettle,
which was almost boiling over with a sense of its own importance, and a
kindly consciousness of the good things cooking inside it.
"Bubble! b-r-r-r-r! bubble! hubble!" said the black kettle, with a fat
and spluttering enunciation.
"Bubble, hubble! b-r-r-r-r-r-r! bubble!
Lots of fun, and very little trouble!"
On the hob beside the fire sat the tea-kettle, a brilliant contrast to
its sooty neighbor. It was of copper, so brightly burnished that it
shone like the good red gold. The tea-kettle did not bubble,--it
considered bubbling rather vulgar; but it was singing very merrily, in a
clear pleasant voice, and pouring out volumes of steam from its slender
copper nose. "I am doing all I can to make myself agreeable!" the
tea-kettle said to itself. "I am boiling just right,--hard enough to
make a good cheerful noise, and not so hard as to boil all the water
away. And _why_ that beast should sit and glower at me there as he is
doing, is more than I can understand."
"That beast" was a raccoon. I think some of you children may have seen
him before. He was sitting in front of the fire, with his beautiful tail
curled comfortably about his toes; and he certainly _was_ staring very
hard at the tea-kettle. Presently the kettle, in pure playfulness and
good-will, lifted its cover a little and let out an extra puff of snowy
steam; and at that the raccoon gave a jump, and moved farther away from
the fire, without ever taking his eyes off the kettle.
The fact is, that for the first time in his life the raccoon knew what
_fear_ was. He was afraid--mortally afraid--of that tea-kettle.
"Don't tell me!" he had said to Toto, only the day before, "don't tell
_me_ it isn't alive! It breathes, and it talks, and it moves, and if
that isn't being alive I don't know what is."
"Coon, how utterly absurd you are!" cried Toto, laughing. "It _doesn't_
move, except when some one takes it up, of course, or tilts it on the
hob."
"Toto," said the raccoon, speaking slowly and impressively, "as sure as
you are a living boy, I saw that kettle take off the top of its head and
look out of its own inside, only last night. And before that," he added,
looking rather shamefaced, "I--I just put my paw in to see what there
was inside, and the creature caught it and took all the skin off."
But here Toto burst into a fit of laughter, and said, "Served you
right!" which was so rude that the raccoon went off and sat under the
table, in a huff.
So this time, when the kettle took off the top of its head, Coon did not
run out into the shed, as he had done before, because he was ashamed
when he remembered Toto's laughter. He only moved away a little, and
looked and felt thoroughly uncomfortable.
But now steps were heard outside. The latch clicked, the door opened,
and Toto and Bruin entered, each carrying a foaming pail of milk. They
brushed the snow from their coats, and Toto took off his, which the good
bear could not well do; then, when they had carried their milk-pails
into the dairy, they came and sat down by the fire, with an air of being
ready to enjoy themselves. The raccoon winked at them by way of
greeting, but did not speak.
"Well, Coon," said Bruin, in his deep bass voice, "what have you been
doing all the afternoon? Putting your tail in curl-papers, eh?"
"Not at all," replied the raccoon with dignity, "I have been sweeping
the hearth; sweeping it," he added, with a majestic curl of his tail,
"in a manner which _some_ people [here he glanced superciliously at the
bear] could hardly manage."
"I am sure," said the boy Toto, holding out his hands toward the ruddy
fire-blaze, "it is a blessing that Bruin has no tail. Just fancy how he
would go knocking things about! Why, it would be two yards long, if it
were in the same proportion as yours, Coon!"
"Hah!" said the raccoon, yawning, "very likely. And what have you two
been doing, pray, since dinner?"
"I have been splitting kindling-wood," said Toto, "and building a snow
fort, and snowballing Bruin. And he has--"
"I have been talking to the pig," said Bruin, very gravely. "The pig.
Yes. He is a very singular animal, that pig. Is it true," he added,
turning to Toto, "that he has never left that place, that sty, since he
was born?"
"Never, except to go into the yard by the cow-shed," said Toto. "His sty
opens into the yard, you know. But I don't think he cares to go out
often."
"That is what he said," rejoined the bear. "That is what struck me as so
very strange. He said he never went out, from one winter to another. And
when I asked why, he snorted, and said, 'For fear the wind should blow
my bristles off.' Said it in a very rude way, you know. I don't think
his manners are good. I shall not go to see him again, except in the way
of taking his food to him. But here we sit, talking," continued the
bear, rising, "when we ought to be getting supper. Come! come! you lazy
fellows, and help me set the table."
With this, the good bear proceeded to tie a huge white apron round his
great black, shaggy body, and began to poke the fire, and to stir the
contents of the soup-kettle with a long wooden spoon,--all with a very
knowing air, as if he had done nothing but cook all his life. Meanwhile,
the raccoon and Toto spread a clean cloth on the table, and set out
cups and plates, a huge brown bowl for the bear, a smaller one for the
raccoon, etc. Bread and milk, and honey and baked apples came next; the
soup-kettle yielded up a most savory stew, made of everything good, and
onions besides; and finally, when all was ready, Toto ran and knocked at
the door of his grandmother's room, crying, "Granny, dear! supper is
ready, and we are only waiting for you."
The door opened, and the blind grandmother came out, with the little
squirrel perched on her shoulder.
"Good evening to you all!" she said, with her sweet smile and her pretty
little old-fashioned courtesy. "We have been taking a nap, Cracker and
I, and we feel quite refreshed and ready for the evening."
The grandmother looked ten years younger, Toto was constantly telling
her, than she did the year before; and, indeed, it was many years since
she had had such a pleasant, easy life. Helpful as Toto had always been
to her, still, he was only a little boy, though a very good one; and by
far the larger share of work had fallen to the old lady herself. But now
there were willing hands--paws, I should say--to help her at every turn.
The bear washed and cooked, churned and scrubbed, with never-tiring
energy and good-will. The raccoon worked very hard indeed: he said so,
and nobody took the trouble to contradict him. He swept the kitchen
occasionally, and did a good deal of graceful and genteel dusting with
his long bushy tail, and tasted all the food that Bruin cooked, to see
if it had the proper flavor. Besides these heavy duties, he caught rats,
teased the cow, pulled the parrot's tail whenever he got a chance, and,
as he expressed it, "tried to make things pleasant generally." The
little squirrel had constituted himself a special attendant on "Madam,"
as the forest-friends all called the grandmother. He picked up her ball
of yarn when it rolled off her lap, as it was constantly doing. He
cracked nuts for her, brought her the spices and things when she made
her famous gingerbread, and went to sleep in her ample pocket when he
had nothing else to do. As for the wood-pigeon and the parrot, they were
happy and contented, each in her own way, each on her own comfortable
perch, at her own window.
Thus had all Toto's summer playmates become winter friends, fast and
true; and it would be difficult to find a happier party than that which
gathered round the bright fire, on this and every other evening, when
the tea-things were put away, the hearth newly swept, and a great
tin-pan full of nuts and apples placed on the clean hearth-stone. Only
one of the animals whom you remember in Toto's summer story was missing
from the circle; that was the woodchuck. But he was not very far off. If
you had looked into a certain little cupboard near the fireplace,--a
quaint little cupboard, in which lived three blue ginger-jars and a
great pewter tankard,--you would have seen, lying in the warmest corner,
next the fireplace, something which looked at first sight like a large
knitted ball of red yarn. On looking closer, you would have seen that
it was a ball of brown fur, enclosed in a knitted covering. If you had
taken off the covering and unrolled the ball, you would have found that
it was a woodchuck, sound asleep.
Poor Chucky had found it quite impossible to accept the new arrangement.
He had always been in the habit of sleeping all through the winter; and
while the other animals had succeeded, after a long time, in conquering
their sleepiness (though it was still a very common thing to find Bruin
asleep over the churn, and Coon had a way of creeping into Toto's bed at
odd times during the day), the woodchuck had succumbed entirely after
the first week, and had now been asleep for a couple of months. At
first, after he had dropped into his long slumber, the bear and the
raccoon had played ball with him a good deal, tossing him about with
great agility. But one day the living ball had fallen into the
soup-kettle, where the water was so hot as to elicit a miserable sleepy
squeak from the victim, and the grandmother had promptly forbidden the
game. It was then that she knit the red-worsted cover for poor Chucky,
for she said she could not bear to think of his sleeping all winter with
nothing over him; and she put him away in the cupboard by the fireplace,
and wished him pleasant dreams as she closed the door. So there the
woodchuck lay, warm and comfortable, but too sound asleep to know
anything about it. And the three blue ginger-jars and the pewter tankard
kept watch over him, though they had their own ideas about this stranger
having been popped in among them without so much as saying, "By your
leave!"
As I was saying, it was a happy party that sit around the blazing fire.
The grandmother in her high-backed armchair, knitting in hand; Toto
sitting Turk-fashion on the hearth-rug, his curly head resting on the
shaggy coat of the bear, who sat solemnly on his haunches, blinking with
sober pleasure at the fire; the raccoon on a low hassock, which was his
favorite seat in the evening, as it showed off his tail to great
advantage; the parrot and the wood-pigeon perched on the high
chair-back, and standing on one leg or two, as they felt inclined.
"Ah!" exclaimed the little squirrel, who had stationed himself on the
top of Bruin's head, as a convenient and suitable place, "Ah! now this
is what _I_ call comfort. Snowing fast outside, is isn't it, Bruin?"
"Yes!" replied the bear.
"That makes it all the more jolly inside!" said the squirrel. "What are
we to do this evening? Is it a story evening, or dancing-school and
games?"
"We had dancing-school last night," said the bear. "I haven't got over
it yet. I backed into the fire twice in 'forward and back, and cross
over.' Let us have a story to-night."
"Yes!" said the grandmother. "It is just the night for a story; and if
you wish it, I will tell you one myself."
"Oh! please, Madam!" "Thank you, Madam!" "Hurrah! Granny!" resounded on
all sides, for the grandmother's stories were very popular; so, settling
herself back in her chair, and beginning a new row in her knitting, the
good woman said:--
"This story was told to me by my own grandmother. A story that has been
told by two grandmothers in succession is supposed to be always true;
you may therefore believe as much of this as you like."
And without further preface, she began as follows:--