Little Chief's father taught him how to make hay.
"And so it proved. And that is how Little Chief the Pika learned to make hay while the sun shone in the days of plenty. He taught his children and they taught their children, and Little Chief of today does it just as his great-great-ever-so-great-grand-daddy did. I don't see why you don't do the same thing, Peter. You would make me a great deal finer dinner if you did."
"Perhaps that is the reason I don't," replied Peter with a grin.
Glutton the Wolverine is a dweller in the depths of the Great Forests of the Far North, and it is doubtful if Peter Rabbit would ever have known that there is such a person but for his acquaintance with Honker the Goose, who spends his summers in the Far North, but each spring and fall stops over for a day or two in a little pond in the Green Forest, a pond Peter often visits. This acquaintance with Honker and Peter's everlasting curiosity have resulted in many strange stories. Atleast they have seemed strange to Peter because they have been about furred and feathered people whom Peter has never seen. And one of the strangest of these is the story of how Glutton the Wolverine got his name.
Of course you know what a glutton is. It is one who is very, very, very greedy and eats and eats as if eating were the only thing in life worth while. It is one who is all the time thinking of his stomach. No one likes to be called a glutton. So when Honker the Goose happened to mention Glutton, it caused Peter to prick up his ears at once.
"Who's a glutton?" he demanded.
"I didn't say any one was a glutton," replied Honker. "I was speaking of Glutton the Wolverine who lives in the Great Forests of the Far North, and whom everybody hates."
"Is Glutton his name?" asked Peter, wrinkling his brows in perplexity, for it seemed a very queer name for any one.
"Certainly," replied Honker. "Certainly that is his name, and a very good name for him it is. But then of course it is because heisa glutton that he is named Glutton. Rather I should say that is the reason the first Wolverine was named Glutton. The name has been handed down ever since, and it fits Mr. Wolverine of today quite as well as ever it did his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather."
"Tell me about it," Peter begged. "Please tell me about it."
"Tell you about what?" asked Honker, pretending not to understand.
"About how the first Wolverine got the name of Glutton," replied Peter promptly. "There must havebeen a very good reason, and if there was a very good reason, there must be a story. Please, Honker, tell me all about it."
Honker swam a little way out from shore, and with head held high and very still, he looked and listened and listened and looked until he was quite certain that no danger lurked near. Then he swam back to where Peter was sitting on the bank.
"Peter," said he, "I never in all my born days have seen such a fellow for questions as you are. If I lived about here, I think I should swim away every time I saw you coming. But as I only stop here for a day or two twice a year, I guess I can stand it. Besides, you really ought to know something about some of the people who live in the Great Forest. It is shameful, Peter, that you should be so ignorant.And so if you will promise not to ask for another story while I am here, I will tell you about Glutton the Wolverine."
Of course Peter promised. He wanted that story so much that he would have promised anything. So Honker told the story, and here it is just as Peter heard it.
"Once upon a time long, long, long ago, the first Wolverine was sent out to find a place for himself in the Great World just as every one else had been sent out. Old Mother Nature had told him that he was related to Mr. Weasel and Mr. Mink and Mr. Fisher and Mr. Skunk, but no one would have guessed it just to look at him. In fact, some of his new neighbors were inclined to think that he was related to Old King Bear. Certainly he looked more like King Bear than he did like little Mr.Weasel. But for his bushy tail he would have looked still more like a member of the Bear family. He was clumsy-looking. He was rather slow moving, but he was strong, very strong for his size. And he had a mean disposition. Yes, Sir, Mr. Wolverine had a mean disposition. He had such a mean disposition that he would snarl at his own reflection in a pool of water.
"Now you know as well as I do that no one with a mean disposition has any friends. It was so with Mr. Wolverine. When his neighbors found out what a mean disposition he had, they let him severely alone. They would go out of their way to avoid meeting him. This made his disposition all the meaner. He didn't really care because his neighbors would have nothing to do with him. No, he didn't really care, for the simple reason thathe didn't want anything to do with them. But just the same it made him angry to have them show that they didn't want to have anything to do with him. Every time he would see one of them turn aside to avoid meeting him, he would snarl under his breath, and his eyes would glow with anger; he would resolve to get even.
"Being slow in his movements because of his stout build, he early realized that he must make nimble wits make up for the lack of nimble legs. He also learned very early in life that patience is a virtue few possess, and that patience and nimble wits will accomplish almost anything. So, living alone in the Great Forest, he practised patience until no one in all the Great World could be more patient than he. No one knew this because, you see, everybody kept away from him. Andall the time he was practising patience, he was studying and studying the other people of the Great Forest, both large and small, learning all their habits, how they lived, where they lived, what they ate, and all about them.
"'One never knows when such knowledge may be useful,' he would say to himself. 'The more I know about other people and the less they know about me the better.'
"So Mr. Wolverine kept out of sight as much as possible, and none knew how he lived or where he lived or anything about him save that he had a mean disposition. Patiently he watched the other people, especially those of nimble wits who lived largely by their cunning and cleverness—Mr. Fox, Mr. Coyote, Mr. Lynx and his own cousins, Mr. Mink and Mr. Weasel. From each one he learned something,and at last he was more cunning and more clever than any of them or even than all of them, for that matter.
"Living alone as he did, and having a mean disposition, he grew more and more sullen and savage until those who at first had avoided him simply because of his mean disposition now kept out of his way through fear, for his claws were long and his strength was great and his teeth were sharp. It didn't take him long to discover that there were few who did not fear him, and he cunningly contrived to increase this fear, for he had a feeling that the time might come when it would be of use to him.
"The time did come. As you know, there came a time when food was scarce, and everybody, or almost everybody, had hard work to get enough to keep alive. Mr. Wolverine didn't.The fact is, Mr. Wolverine lived very well indeed. He simply reaped the reward of his patience in learning all about the ways of his neighbors, of his nimble wits and of the fear which he inspired. Instead of hunting for food himself, he depended on his neighbors to hunt for him. They didn't know they were hunting for him, but somehow whenever one of them had secured a good meal, Mr. Wolverine was almost sure to happen along. A growl from him was enough, and that meal was left in his possession.
"Knowing how scarce food was and the uncertainty of when he would get the next meal, Mr. Wolverine always made it a point on these occasions to stuff himself until it was a wonder his skin didn't burst. If there was more than he could eat, he would take a nap right there, and because of fear ofhim the rightful owner of the food would not dare take what was left. When he awoke Mr. Wolverine would finish what remained.
"Those who secured more food than they could eat and tried to store away the rest found that no matter how cunningly they chose a hiding-place for it and covered their tracks, Mr. Wolverine was sure to find it. In fact, he made a business of robbing storehouses, and the habit of greediness became so strong that he would stuff himself at one storehouse and immediately start for another. When it did happen that he couldn't eat all he found and yet didn't want to stay until he could finish it, he would tear to bits all that remained and scatter it all about. You know I told you he had a mean disposition.
"Even when good times returnedand there was no possible excuse for such greed, Mr. Wolverine continued to stuff himself until it seemed that instead of eating in order to live, as the rest of us do, he lived in order to eat. Of course it wasn't long before some one called him a glutton, and presently he was named Glutton, and no one called him anything else. Glutton by name and a glutton in habit he remained as long as he lived. Both name and habits he handed down to his children and they to their children. So it is that today there is no more cunning thief, no greedier rascal, and no one with a meaner disposition in all the Great Woods of the Far North than Glutton the Wolverine."
"Queer how a habit will stick, isn't it?" said Peter thoughtfully.
"Particularly a bad habit," added Honker.
Peter Rabbit and Mrs. Quack the Mallard Duck are great friends. They have been great friends ever since Peter tried to help Mrs. Quack when she and Mr. Quack had spent a whole summer on a little pond hidden deep in the Green Forest because Mr. Quack had a broken wing and so he and Mrs. Quack simply couldn't keep on to their home in the Far North for which they had started. During that long summer Peter had become very well acquainted with them. In fact he visited them very often, for as you know, Peter is simplybrimming over with curiosity, and there were wonderful things which Mr. and Mrs. Quack could tell him, for they are great travelers.
Now once, as Mrs. Quack was telling Peter about the far-away Southland where she and Mr. Quack and many other birds spend each winter, she mentioned Old Ally the 'Gator. People who live where he does call him just 'Gator, but you and I would call him Alligator.
At the mention of Old Ally, all Peter's curiosity was awakened, for Mrs. Quack had said that foolish young ducks sometimes mistook him for an old log floating in the water and didn't find out the difference until his great mouth flew open and he swallowed them whole. At that Peter's eyes threatened to pop right out of his head and every time he visited that little pondhe pestered Mrs. Quack with questions about Old Ally the 'Gator and Mrs. 'Gator. It seemed as if he couldn't think of anything else. And when Mrs. Quack just happened to mention that little 'Gators are hatched from eggs just as her own children are, it was almost too much for Peter to believe.
"What?" he squealed, hopping up and down in excitement. "Do you mean to tell me that anything as big as Old Ally, big enough to swallow you whole, can come from an egg? I don't believe it! Besides, only birds lay eggs."
"Quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack,Peter, you must take that back!"
cried Mrs. Quack.
"Why must I take it back?" demanded Peter.
"Because as usual you've let your tongue run loose, and that is a bad habit, Peter. It certainly is a bad habit. How about the Snake family?"
"Oh!" said Peter, looking very foolish. "I forgot all about the Snakes. They do lay eggs."
"And how about Spotty the Turtle? Didn't he come from an egg?" persisted Mrs. Quack.
Peter looked more foolish than before, if that were possible. "Y-e-s," he replied slowly and reluctantly.
"Then don't be so quick to doubt a thing just because you've never seen it," retorted Mrs. Quack. "I've seen Mrs. 'Gator build her nest more than once, and I've seen her eggs, and I've seen the baby 'Gators; and what is more, I'm not in the habit of telling things that I don't know are so."
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Quack." Peter was very humble. "I do indeed. Please forgive me. Is—is Mrs. 'Gator's nest at all like yours?"
Peter seemed so truly sorry for having doubted her that Mrs. Quack recovered her good nature at once. "No," said she, "it isn't. If I hadn't seen her make it, I wouldn't have known it was a nest. You see, one spring I got hurt so that I couldn't take my usual long journey to the Far North and had to spend the summer way down in the Southland where I always lived in the winter, and that is how I happened to learn about Mrs. 'Gator's nest and eggs and a lot of other things. Mrs. 'Gator is lazy, but she is smart. She's smart enough to make Mr. Sun do her work. What do you think of that?"
Right away Peter was all excitement. You see, that sounded as if there might be a story behind it. "I never have heard of such a thing!" he cried. "How did she learn to do such a smart thing as that? Of course I don't for a minute believe that she herself discovered a way to get Mr. Sun to work for her. Probably it was her ever-so-great-grandmother who first did it. Isn't that so, Mrs. Quack?"
Mrs. Quack nodded. "You've guessed it, Peter," said she. "It all happened way, way back in the days when the world was young."
"Tell me about it! Please, please tell me about it, Mrs. Quack, and the first chance I get, I'll do something for you," begged Peter.
Mrs. Quack carefully went over all her feathers to see that every one was in place, for she is very particular about how she looks. When she wasquite satisfied, she turned to Peter, fidgeting on the bank.
"Way back in the days when the world was young," said she, "Old Mother Nature made the first Alligators before she made the first birds, or the first animals, so Old Ally and Mrs. 'Gator, who live way down south now, belong to a very old family and are proud of it. In the beginning of things there was very little dry land, as you may have heard, so old Mr. and Mrs. 'Gator, who of course were not old then, were made to live in the water with the fish. Old Mother Nature was experimenting then. She was planning to make a great deal more land, and she wanted living creatures on it, so she gave the 'Gators legs and feet instead of fins, and lungs to breathe air instead of gills for breathing in the water as fish do. Then, having many other things to attend to, she told them they would have to take care of themselves, and went about her business.
"It didn't take Mr. and Mrs. 'Gator long to discover that their legs were not of much use in the water, for they used their powerful tails for swimming. Then one day Mrs. 'Gator crawled out on land and right away discovered what those legs were for. She could go on dry land while fishes could not. It didn't take her long to find out that nothing was quite so fine as a sun-bath, as she lay stretched out on the bank, so she and Mr. 'Gator spent most of their time on sunny days taking sun-baths.
"One day Old Mother Nature came along and whispered a wonderful secret to Mrs. 'Gator. 'I am going to give you some eggs,' whispered OldMother Nature, 'some eggs of your very own, and if you watch over them and keep them warm, out of each one a baby 'Gator will some day creep. But if you let those eggs get cold, there will be no babies. Don't forget that you must keep them warm.'
"Old Mother Nature was as good as her word. She gave Mrs. 'Gator twenty beautiful white eggs, and Mrs. 'Gator was perfectly happy. Those eggs were the most precious things in all the Great World. It seemed as if she never would grow tired of looking at them and admiring them and of dreaming of the day when her babies should come out of them. It was very pleasant to lie there in the sun and dream of the babies to come from those wonderful eggs. Suddenly, right into the midst of those pleasant dreams, broke the memory of what Old MotherNature had said about keeping those eggs warm. All in a twinkling happiness was turned to worry.
"'What can I do? What can I do?' Mrs. 'Gator kept saying over and over. 'However can I keep them warm when Mr. Sun goes to bed at night? Oh, dear! Oh, dear! My beautiful eggs never, never will turn to darling babies! What can I do?'
"All this time Mr. 'Gator was a great deal more interested in making himself comfortable than he was in those eggs. He had picked out a place where all day long Mr. Sun poured down his warmest rays, and he had dug a place to sprawl out in comfortably. The sand he had thrown in a pile at one side. When Mrs. 'Gator went to consult Mr. 'Gator about those precious eggs and her worries when the cool of evening had come, she happened to put one foot in that loose pile of sand, and she found that while the sand on the outside was already cool, that down inside the pile was still warm. A clever idea came to her like a flash.
"First she sent Mr. 'Gator into the water to get his supper. Then she scooped a hole in that pile of warm sand, and in it she put her precious eggs and carefully covered them up with sand. When this was done she stretched out close by to keep watch and see that nothing disturbed those treasures. That was a very anxious night for Mrs. 'Gator. The sand on which she lay grew very cool. When at last day came and Mr. Sun once more began to shine, she opened that pile of sand and great was her joy to find that inside it was still warm. When Mr. 'Gator came crawling out ofthe water to spend the day in that comfortable bed he had dug, she chased him away and was so cross that he went off grumbling and dug another bed. Mrs. 'Gator waited until Mr. Sun had made the sand very warm indeed, and then she made a great mound of it, and in the middle of it were her precious eggs. Night and day she kept guard, and all the time she worried lest those eggs should not be warm enough. Then one day twenty baby 'Gators dug their way out of that mound of sand. Yes, Sir, they did.
"All this happened long, long ago when the world was young, and ever since then 'Gators have lived only way down south, where it is very warm and where Mr. Sun will hatch their eggs for them. And today it is done just as I've told you, for I've seen with myown eyes Mrs. 'Gator build her nest, cover her eggs, and then lie around while Mr. Sun did the work for her. What do you think of that?"
"I think that if you hadn't told me that you had seen it with your own eyes, Mrs. Quack, I should think it a fairy story," replied Peter.
Twice every year, in the early spring and in the late fall, Peter Rabbit watches the Smiling Pool with a great deal of eagerness. Can you guess why? It is because two very good friends of Peter's are in the habit of stopping there for a few days for rest and refreshment before continuing the long journey which they are obliged to make. They are Mr. and Mrs. Quack, the Mallard Ducks. Peter is very fond of them, and when the time for their arrival draws near, Peter watches for them with a great deal of anxiety. You see they have told him somethingof the terrible dangers which they always encounter on these long journeys, and so Peter is always afraid that something terrible may have happened to them, and it is a great relief when he finds them swimming about in the Smiling Pool.
One reason Peter is so fond of Mr. and Mrs. Quack is because they always have a story for him. Sometimes it is a story of adventure, a tale of terrible danger and narrow escapes. Sometimes it is about their home in the far Northland, and again it is about the wonderful Southland where they spend the winter. But the story that Peter likes best is the one about where and how the Quack family got their funny, webbed feet. Mr. Quack doesn't think those feet funny at all, but Peter does. He never grows tired of watching Mr. and Mrs. Quack use them, because, youknow, they are used so differently from other feet. And always he goes back to the dear Old Briar-patch with renewed admiration for the wisdom of Old Mother Nature.
Peter noticed those feet the first time he met Mr. and Mrs. Quack. He couldn't help but notice them. It happened that Mr. and Mrs. Quack were out on the bank of the Smiling Pool as Peter came hurrying over in his usual way, lipperty-lipperty-lip. They heard him coming and not knowing at first who it was they at once started for the water. Peter never will forget the funny way in which they waddled. He never had seen anybody quite so awkward. But when they reached the water he forgot to laugh. He simply stared open-mouthed in astonishment. You see there they were as graceful as they had been awkward on land.Afterward, when Peter had become acquainted with them and they were the best of friends, he ventured to speak of their queer feet.
"Do you know," said he, "you have the most interesting feet of anybody I know of. They are so broad that the first time I saw them I couldn't believe my own eyes. I didn't suppose anybody had such broad feet. I suppose there is some special reason why they are so broad and why your legs are so short. Do you know how Mother Nature happened to give you feet so different from the feet of other birds, Mr. Quack?"
Mr. Quack chuckled. "I tell you what it is, Peter," said he, "if you'll tell me why it is you have such long hind legs and such a funny short tail, I'll tell you why it is that Mrs. Quack and I have such broad feet, though Imust confess that I don't see anything odd about them."
Peter agreed at once. He told Mr. and Mrs. Quack all about what happened to his grandfather a thousand times removed, the very first Rabbit, way back when the world was young, and how ever since then all Rabbits have had long hind legs and short tails. When he had finished Mr. Quack thoughtfully scratched his handsome green head, looked at his reflection in the Smiling Pool to make sure that he was looking his very best, looked behind to see that the feathers in the tip of his tail had the proper curl, and then gazed off over the Green Meadows with a far-away look in his eyes as if he were looking way back to the time he was to tell about. At last, just as Peter Rabbit was beginning to lose patience Mr. Quack began.
"It must be, Peter," said he, "that my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather lived just about the same time as your great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, way back in the days when the world was young. Perhaps they knew each other. Perhaps they were acquainted just as you and I are now. Anyway, according to what has been handed down in the family, Grandfather Quack was very much such a looking fellow as I am now, except in the matter of his bill and feet. His bill was not broad like mine but more like the bills of other birds, and his feet were like the feet of Mr. Grouse and Bob White. They were made for scratching, and there was nothing between the toes. You see, Old Mother Nature was experimenting. She made everybody a little different from everybody else and then startedthem forth in the Great World to shift for themselves and to find out what they really needed that they hadn't got.
"Old Mr. Quack, my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, soon discovered one thing, and that was that his legs were too short for him to get around very fast. When he walked, everybody laughed at him. When he tried to run, they laughed harder than ever. He didn't mind this so very much, though he did a little. Nobody likes to be laughed at, especially when it is because of something they cannot help. But what he did mind was the fact that his neighbors could run about so much faster than he that they got all the best of the food, and quite often he went hungry.
"One day he happened to be sitting on the bank of the Smiling Pool, thinking the matter over and wondering what he had best do, when Mr. Fox stole up behind him and startled him so that he lost his balance and tumbled down the bank into the water. This frightened him more than ever, and he flapped about and squawked and squawked and flapped until Mr. Fox nearly split his sides laughing at him. And when he was quite out of breath, Mr. Quack discovered that he was making all this fuss for nothing. He didn't sink, but floated on the water, and what was more the water didn't get under his feathers at all. When he tried to walk, of course he couldn't, and he had a funny feeling because his feet didn't touch anything and felt so very useless. But he kept moving them back and forth, and pretty soon he discovered that he moved ahead. Of course he moved very slowly, because his feet were not made for use in the water, but he moved, and that was enough. He knew then that he could get back to land. Then he tried his wings and he found that he could rise into the air from the water quite as easily as from the land. Right then and there all fear of the water left him. In fact, he liked it.
"Little by little, Grandfather Quack began to understand that he had made a great discovery. He had discovered the safest place in all the Great World for him. Out on the water he was safe from Mr. Fox and Mr. Wolf and all the other four-footed hunters. So he took to spending most of his time on the water or near it. When he wanted a nap, he would hide among the rushes that grew in the water. 'If only I didn't have to leave the water for food!' sighed Grandfather Quack. 'Ifonly I could find food here, I would never leave the water.'
"At the time he was squatting at the very edge of the Smiling Pool. Presently he noticed a funny water bug crawling on the bottom where the water was only an inch or two deep. 'I wonder if that fellow is good to eat,' thought he, and almost without thinking he plunged his head under water and caught the bug. It was good. Grandfather Quack at once started to look for more, and while doing this he discovered that there were a great many seeds from the rushes scattered about in the mud at the bottom of the Smiling Pool, and that these also were good to eat. Then quite by accident he got hold of a tender root in the mud and found that this was especially good.
"This was enough for GrandfatherQuack. He had found that he could get plenty to eat without leaving the Smiling Pool. Moreover, he didn't have to share it with anybody, because there was no one else who thought of looking for food there. He knew when he was well off. So Grandfather Quack grew fat and was happy. The only things that bothered him were the slowness with which he had to pick up seeds, one at a time, and the slowness with which he could paddle about, for you couldn't really call it swimming. But in spite of these things he was happy and made the best of his lot.
"One day he tugged and tugged at a root with his head under water. When at last he had to bring his head up for a breath, whom should he discover but Old Mother Nature watching him from the opposite bank. 'Comeover here, Mr. Quack, and tell me all about it,' she commanded.
"Grandfather Quack started across the Smiling Pool, but because his feet were not made for swimming, it took him a long time to get there. Old Mother Nature smiled as she watched him. 'You look better on the water than you do on land,' said she. 'In fact, I believe that is just where you belong. Now tell me how you happened to take to the water.'
"Grandfather Quack told her the whole story and how Old Mother Nature did laugh when he described how frightened he was when he fell in that time. Suddenly she reached out and caught him by the bill. 'I don't think much of that bill for poking about in the mud,' said she. 'How will this do?' She let go, and Grandfather Quack found he had abroad bill just suited for getting food out of the mud. Then Old Mother Nature bade him hold forth first one foot and then the other. Between the toes she stretched a tough skin clear to the toe nails. 'Now let me see you swim,' said she.
"Grandfather Quack tried. He kicked one foot and then the other, and to his great joy he shot along swiftly. When he drew his feet back for another kick his toes closed together, and so his feet came through the water easily. But when he kicked back they were wide spread, and the skin between them pushed against the water, and drove him ahead. It was wonderful! It was splendid! He hurried over to Old Mother Nature, and with tears of joy in his eyes he thanked her. And from that day to this members of my family have hadthe same broad bills and webbed feet, and have lived on the water," concluded Mr. Quack.
Peter noticed those feet the first time he met Mr. and Mrs. Quack.
Thunderfoot the Bison, often called Buffalo, is not a handsome fellow, as you very well know if you have seen him or a picture of him. His head is carried low, very near the ground, and on his shoulders is a great hump. No, you wouldn't call him handsome. You would hardly call him good-looking even. In fact, you would, I suspect, call him homely. Certainly there is nothing about him to suggest pride. Yet according to the story Digger the Badger once toldPeter Rabbit, pride and nothing less was the cause of that big hump which makes Thunderfoot appear so clumsy and homely.
Peter Rabbit, as you know, is very fond of stories. In this respect he is very like some other folks I know. Anyway, he never misses a chance for a story if he can help it. He had discovered that Digger the Badger and Old Man Coyote, both of whom had come to the Green Meadows from the Far West, were full of stories about their neighbors of the distant prairies, folk whom Peter never had seen. Sometimes when he had nothing else to do, Old Man Coyote would come over to the dear Old Briar-patch and tell stories to Peter, who sat safe behind the brambles. Perhaps Old Man Coyote hoped that Peter would become so interested that he would forget andcome out of the dear Old Briar-patch. But Peter never did.
But most of the stories of the people of the Far West Peter got from Digger the Badger because, you see, he wasn't afraid to go beg for them. He knew that Digger couldn't catch him if he wanted to, and so when Grandfather Frog hadn't a story for him, Peter would go tease Digger for one. It was thus that he heard about Thunderfoot the Bison and where he got that great hump of his.
"I don't suppose," said Peter, "that there are any very big people out there on those prairies where you used to live any more than there are here on the Green Meadows. All the very big people seem to prefer to live in the Green Forest."
"It is that way now, I must admit," said Digger the Badger, "but it wasn'tso in the old days, in the good old days when there were no terrible guns, and Thunderfoot and his followers shook the ground with their feet." Digger shook his head sadly.
Instantly Peter pricked up his ears. "Who was Thunderfoot?" he demanded.
Digger looked at Peter with such a look of pity for Peter's ignorance that Peter felt almost ashamed. "He doesn't live here and never did, so far as I have heard, so how should I know anything about him?" he added a wee bit defiantly.
"If that's the case," replied Digger, "it is time you learned about the Lord of the Prairies."
"But I want to know about Thunderfoot first!" cried Peter. "You can tell me about the Lord of the Prairies another time."
"Were you born stupid or have you grown so?" asked Digger impatiently. Then without waiting for an answer he added: "Thunderfoot was the Lord of the Prairies. He ruled over the Wide Prairies just as Old King Bear ruled in the Green Forest. He ruled by might. He ruled because no one dared deny him the right to rule. He ruled because of his great size and his great strength. And all who lived on the Wide Prairies looked up to him and admired him and bowed before him and paid him the utmost respect. When he and his followers ran the earth shook, and the noise was like thunder, and everybody hastened to get out of the way and to warn his neighbors, crying: 'Here comes my Lord of the Prairies! Make way! Make way!' And truly Thunderfoot and his followers were a magnificentsight, so my great-grandfather told me, and he had it from his great-grandfather, who was told so by his great-grandfather, who saw it all with his own eyes. But that was in the days before Thunderfoot's head was brought low, and he was given the great hump which none of his descendants have ever been able to get rid of."
"Tell me about that hump and where my Lord of the Prairies, Thunderfoot the Bison, got it!" begged Peter, with shining eyes. That there was a story he hadn't the least doubt.
Digger the Badger flattened himself out on the ground, and into his eyes crept a dreamy, far-away look as if he were seeing things a great, great way off. "Way back In the days when the world was young, so my great-grandfather said," he began, "Thunderfoot,the first Bison, was given the Wide Prairies for a kingdom by Old Mother Nature and strode forth to take possession. Big was he, the biggest of all living creatures thereabouts. Strong was he with a strength none cared to test. And he was handsome. He held his head proudly. All who lived on the Wide Prairies admired him with a great admiration and hastened to pay homage to him.
"For a long time he ruled wisely. All the other people brought their disputes to him to be settled, and so wisely did he decide them that the fame of his wisdom spread even beyond the Wide Prairies and was talked about in the Green Forest. The humblest of his subjects could come to him freely and be sure of a hearing and that justice would be done. Big as he was and mighty as he was, he took thegreatest care never to forget the rights of others.
"But there came a time when flattery turned his head, as the saying is. Mr. Coyote and Mr. Fox were the chief flatterers, and in all the Great World there were no smoother tongues than theirs. They never lost an opportunity to tell him how handsome he was, and how mighty he was, and how they admired him and looked up to him, and how unequaled was his wisdom. You see, being themselves dishonest and mischief-makers, they frequently were in trouble with their neighbors and would have to appear before Thunderfoot for judgment. Even when it went against them they praised the wisdom of it, admitting that they were in the wrong and begging forgiveness, all of which was very flattering to Thunderfoot.
"Little by little, without knowing it, he yielded to the flattery of Mr. Coyote and Mr. Fox. He liked to hear the pleasant things they said. Little by little it became easier to find them in the right than in the wrong when they were accused of wronging their neighbors. Of course they flattered him still more. They hinted to him that it was beneath the dignity of one so big and strong and handsome to take notice of the very small and humble people like Mr. Meadow Mouse and Mr. Toad and Mr. Meadow Lark and others of his subjects.
"Gradually the little people of the Wide Prairies began to notice a change in Thunderfoot. He became proud and vain. He openly boasted of his strength and fine appearance. When he met them he passed them haughtily, not seeing them at all, or at least appearing not to. No longer did he regard the rights of others. No longer did he watch out not to crush the nest of Mrs. Meadow Lark or to step on the babies of Danny Meadow Mouse. It came about that when the thunder of his feet was heard, those with homes on the ground shivered with fright and hoped that my Lord of the Prairies would not come their way.
"One day, as he raced over the Wide Prairies for no reason but that he felt like running, Mr. Meadow Lark flew to meet him. Mr. Meadow Lark was in great distress. 'Turn aside, my Lord!' he begged. 'Turn aside, my Lord of the Prairies, for before you lies my nest with four precious eggs, and I fear you will step on them!'
"Thunderfoot the Bison, Lord of the Wide Prairies, tossed his head.'If you will build your nest where it can be trodden on, you can't expect me to look out for it,' said he. 'If anything so unfortunate happens to it, it is your own fault, and you mustn't blame me.' And he neither looked down to see where he was putting his feet nor turned aside so much as an inch. On he galloped, and presently with a cry of fright out from beneath his feet flew Mrs. Meadow Lark, and at the very next step he trod on the little nest in the grass and crushed the four eggs.
"Mr. Coyote, who was racing beside him on one side and saw what had happened, grinned. Mr. Fox, who was racing beside him on the other side and saw what had happened, grinned. Seeing them grin, Thunderfoot himself grinned. Thus grinning heartlessly, they continued to run until they cameto a place where Mother Nature walked among the flowers of the Wide Prairies. Mr. Coyote and Mr. Fox, whose heads were not held so high, saw her in time to put their tails between their legs and slink away. Thunderfoot, holding his head high, failed to see her until he was so close to her that it was with difficulty he stopped before running her down.
"'My Lord of the Prairies seems in fine spirits,' said Mother Nature softly. 'Is all well with my Lord?'
"Thunderfoot tossed his head proudly. 'All is well,' said he.
"'I am sorry that others cannot say as much,' replied Mother Nature, and all the softness was gone from her voice, and it was sharp. 'I seem to hear the sobs of a broken-hearted little Meadow Lark,' she continued. 'Little though she be and humble, she is asmuch to me as is my Lord of the Prairies who has made her suffer.'
"Stooping swiftly, Mother Nature picked up her staff and with it struck Thunderfoot on the neck, so that his head was brought low, and in fear of another blow he humped his shoulders up. 'Thus shall you be, still big, still strong, but hump-shouldered and carrying your head low in shame, no longer Lord of the Prairies, until such time as you restore to Mrs. Meadow Lark the eggs you destroyed,' said she, and turned her back on him.
"It was so. From that day on, Thunderfoot ceased to rule over the Wide Prairies. He was hump-shouldered and he carried his head low, looking and looking for the eggs he never could find to restore to Mrs. Meadow Lark. And though his children and his children's children became many, there never was one without the hump or who ceased to carry his head low in shame," concluded Digger the Badger.
Have you ever seen Limberheels the Jumping Mouse when he was in a hurry? If you have, very likely the first time you felt very much as Peter Rabbit did when he saw Limberheels for the first time. He was hopping along across the Green Meadows with nothing much on his mind when from right under his wobbly nose something shot into the air over the tops of the grasses for eight or ten feet and then down and out of sight. Peter rubbed his eyes.
"Did I see it, or didn't I? And if I did, what was it?" gasped Peter.
A squeaky little laugh answered him. "You saw it all right, Peter, but it isn't polite to call any one it. He would be quite provoked if he had heard you. That was my cousin, Limberheels," replied a voice quite as squeaky as the laugh had been.
Peter turned to see the bright eyes of Danny Meadow Mouse twinkling at him from the entrance to a tiny little path that joined the bigger path in which Peter was sitting.
"Hello, Danny!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me that was a relative of yours? Since when have any of your relatives taken to flying?"
Danny chuckled. "He wasn't flying," he retorted. "He just jumped, that was all." Danny chuckled again, for he knows that Peter considers himself quite a jumper and is inclined to be a bit jealous of any one else who pretends to jump save his cousin, Jumper the Hare.
"Jumped!" snorted Peter. "Jumped! Do you expect me to believe that any Mouse can jump like that? I didn't get a good look at that fellow, but whoever he is I tell you he flew. Nobody can jump like that."
Danny chuckled again. "Wait a minute, Peter," said he. He disappeared, and Peter waited. He waited one minute, two minutes, three minutes, and then suddenly Danny poked his head out from the grass beside the path. "Here he is, Peter," said he, coming wholly out into the path. "Let me introduce my cousin, Limberheels."
As he spoke the grass beside him rustled, and out crept some one besidewhom Danny Meadow Mouse looked big, clumsy and homely. One glance was enough to tell Peter that the stranger was a sure-enough member of the Mouse family, but such a member as he never had seen before. He was trim and slender. He wore a reddish-brown coat with a white waistcoat. But the things that made Peter stare very impolitely were his tail and his legs. His tail was nearly twice as long as his body, slim and tapering, and his hind legs were very long, while his fore legs were short. It took only one glance to convince Peter that here was a born jumper. Any one built like thatmustjump.
"You two must become acquainted and be friends," continued Danny Meadow Mouse. "Peter is one of my best friends, Limberheels. He wouldn't hurt a flea. I'm sure thatfrom now on he will be one of your best friends."
"I'll be happy to," said Peter promptly. "Danny has been telling me what a wonderful jumper you are. Would you mind showing me how you jump? I guess you jumped right in front of me a few minutes ago, but I was so surprised that I didn't really see you."
"I guess I did," replied Limberheels rather timidly. "You see, I didn't hear you coming until you were almost on top of me, and then I didn't know who it was so I got away as quickly as I could. I'll be ever so glad to have you for a friend and next time I won't run away."
"Show him how you can jump," interrupted Danny Meadow Mouse. "He wouldn't believe me when I told him that you didn't fly."
Limberheels grinned rather sheepishly. "Of course I didn't fly," said he. "No animal can fly but Flitter the Bat. I just jumped like this."
With a tremendous spring from his long hind legs Limberheels leaped, while Peter Rabbit stared, his mouth wide open with astonishment. He hadn't dreamed that any one could jump so far in proportion to his size as this slim, trim little cousin of Danny's. Later, after Limberheels had jumped for Peter's benefit until he was tired and had gone to hunt for a lunch of grass seeds, Peter wanted to know all about Limberheels.
"Never in my life have I seen such jumping," he declared. "And never have I seen such a tail. I thought Whitefoot the Wood Mouse had a fine tail, but it doesn't compare with that of Limberheels."
"It is a fine tail," replied Danny, whose own tail, as you know, is very short.
"It is a fine tail," he repeated rather wistfully. "Would you like to hear where he got it?"
"I know," retorted Peter with a grin. "He got it from his father, who got it from his father, and so on way back to the days when the world was young." Then, seeing a look of disappointment on Danny's face, and eager for a story as usual, he added: "But I would like to know how such a tail as that came in the family."
Danny brightened up at once. "It's funny how things come about in this world," he began. "The great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of Limberheels, the first one, you know, was quite an ordinary Mouse when Old Mother Nature made him and startedhim out to make his way in the Great World. He was little, one of the smallest of the family, and his tail was short, no longer than mine. His hind legs were like those of all his relatives. He ran about just as his relatives did. He was so small and kept out of sight so much that he didn't even have a name. There was nothing about him to suggest a name.
"For a long time he was contented and happy. Then one day he happened to see Mr. Hare jump. It seemed to him the most wonderful thing in the world that any one should be able to jump like that. So he began to spend most of his spare time where he could watch Mr. Hare. One day Old Mother Nature happened along unseen by him, as he was watching Mr. Hare jump, and she overheard him say very, very wistfully, 'How I wish Icould jump like that! I wish I had long hind legs like Mr. Hare.'
"Old Mother Nature's kindly eyes twinkled. 'That's easily arranged,' said she. 'If you think long hind legs will be of more use to you than the ones you have, you shall have them.'
"The next morning when little Mr. Mouse awoke, he discovered that in the night something had happened to his hind legs. They were very long and strong, regular jumping legs like those of Mr. Hare. Of course he was in such a great hurry to try them that he couldn't wait for his breakfast. He began by making little short hops, and in no time at all he was getting about splendidly. At last he got up his courage to try a long jump. Up in the air he shot, and then something happened. Yes, Sir, something happened. He couldn't kept his balance. He turnedtwo or three somersaults and landed on his back.
"'I guess,' said he to himself, 'I've got tolearnto make long jumps.' So he kept trying and trying, but always with the same result—he never knew when, where, or how he was going to land. As long as he made short jumps he had no trouble, but every time he tried a long jump he lost his balance, and try as he would he couldn't discover why. So at last he gave up trying and contented himself with short jumps. Finally Old Mother Nature came that way again.
"'How do you like your long hind legs?' she asked.
"'Very much, thank you,' replied little Mr. Mouse politely.
"'Let me see you jump,' said Old Mother Nature.
"Little Mr. Mouse made half adozen little jumps. They were not much more than hops. 'You don't call that jumping, do you?' laughed Old Mother Nature. 'With such long, strong legs as I've given you, you ought to be one of the best jumpers anywhere about. Now let me see you make a long jump.'
"Little Mr. Mouse tried his best to think of some excuse, but he couldn't. So he made a long jump, and the usual thing happened—he turned two or three somersaults and landed on his back. Old Mother Nature looked astonished. Then she laughed until she had to hold her sides. 'Do it again,' she commanded.
"With the most shamefaced air that you can imagine, little Mr. Mouse jumped again. Old Mother Nature watched him closely. 'Come here to me,' said she as he scrambled to hisfeet after his tumble. 'It's all my fault,' said she kindly, as he obeyed her. 'It was very stupid of me. What you need is a long tail to balance you on a long jump. That short tail is all right for short jumps, but it won't do for long jumps. It won't do at all. I should have thought of that when I made your legs long.'
"She reached down and took hold of the tip of that little short tail and drew it out until it was long, almost twice as long as the body of little Mr. Mouse. 'Now jump,' she commanded, 'and jump with all your might.'
"A little fearfully but with the beginning of a little hope Mr. Mouse jumped with all his might. Away he sailed straight and true and landed lightly on his feet so far from where he had left the ground that he could hardly believe his own eyes as helooked back. Mother Nature was smiling.
"'There you are, Mr. Limberheels. I guess that that will make you quite the most wonderful jumper of all my children,' said she.
"And so it was that little Mr. Mouse, all at one time, became possessed of a long tail, a name, and the ability to out jump all his neighbors," concluded Danny Meadow Mouse. "Do you know," he added wistfully, "sometimes I envy my cousin Limberheels."
"I envy him myself," declared Peter.
Peter Rabbit never will forget the first time he saw Big Tom Gobbler. It was very early one spring morning, when Peter was not yet old enough to have made the acquaintance of all the people who live in the Green Forest, and when it seemed as if the chief thing in life with him was to satisfy his curiosity about the ways of the Great World. Several times when he had been hopping along, lipperty-lipperty-lip, through the Green Forest just after sun-up, he had heard a strange sound quite unlike any other of all the many sounds his long ears had learned to know. He knew that it was the voice of some one who lived in the Green Forest, but though he had looked and looked he had been unable to discover the owner of that voice.
On this particular morning Peter happened to be sitting under some ferns on the edge of a little open space among the trees when again he heard that strange voice. It seemed to come from somewhere back in the woods in the very direction from which he had just come. "Gobble-obble-obble!" said the voice, and again a moment later "Gobble-obble-obble!"
Peter was just preparing to go back to see if he could find the owner of that voice when the noise of great wings caused him to look up just in time to see a bigger bird than he everhad even dreamed of coming swiftly over the tree-tops. With his eyes popping out and his mouth wide open with astonishment, Peter saw the great bird set its wings and sail down into the little opening on the edge of which Peter was sitting. The instant this great bird was on the ground, he stood as still as if he were made of stone, his long neck stretched up. Only the shine of a pair of the sharpest eyes Peter ever had seen showed that he was alive.
Peter held his breath, and it was so still that you could have heard a leaf drop had you been there. When at last the stranger moved, it was his head only. He turned it suddenly to the right and a moment later to the left. It was plain that he was listening for suspicious sounds. All the time his bright eyes searched the edge of theopening until Peter, although he was well hidden, felt that he must be seen. At last, satisfied that all was safe, the stranger drew in his neck and began to walk about, pecking at the ground here and there and swallowing what he picked up, though what it was Peter couldn't tell.
A sound seemed to catch the stranger's quick ears, for he stopped and stared very hard at a little clump of brush. Peter stared at it too. At first he saw nothing, but presently he saw a head poked out, and this also was a stranger. Peter glanced at the big stranger in the opening, and for a minute he wondered if it could be that something was wrong with his eyes. Never had he seen such a change in anybody. This stranger didn't look like the same bird at all. He was swelled up until Peter was afraid hewould burst. His tail was spread out like a great fan. His head was laid back on his humped shoulders. His wings were dropped until the stiffly spread feathers brushed the ground. His head and neck were as red as blood, and there were no feathers on either. All the feathers of his body were ruffed out so that the sun shone on them and made them shimmer and shine in colors that seemed to constantly change.
Back and forth in front of the brush from which the other stranger was peeping very shyly this great bird strutted. He would stand still so that the sun would fall full on his shining coat and show it off to the best advantage, and at the same time he would draw in a great deal of air and then puff it out all at once. Then he would walk a few steps, turn, draghis wings on the ground to make them rustle, wheel, and run a few steps. Never had Peter seen such vanity, such conceit, such imposing, puffed-up pride. He watched until he grew tired, and then he stole away and hurried over to the Smiling Pool to tell Grandfather Frog all about it and ask who these strangers were.
"Chug-a-rum!" exclaimed Grandfather Frog, opening his big mouth very wide to laugh at Peter and his excitement. "That was Big Tom Gobbler, and he was doing all that for the benefit of Mrs. Gobbler, who was hiding in that brush. It was her head you saw. Big Tom is the most conceited fellow in the Green Forest. He dearly loves to strut. He is just like his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather. The Gobblers never have gotten over strutting since OldMr. Gobbler, the first of the family, got the habit."
"Tell me about it. Please, Grandfather Frog, tell me about it," begged Peter. "How did Old Mr. Gobbler get the habit?"
Grandfather Frog chuckled. "He got it from admiring his own reflection in a pool of water," said he. "You see, in those days way back when the world was young, people had more time to form habits than they do now. With plenty to eat and little to do, they had more time to think about themselves than they do now. Old Mr. Gobbler soon discovered that he was the biggest of all the birds in that part of the Great World where he lived, and this discovery was, I suspect, the beginning of his vanity. Then one day as he was walking along, he came to a little pool of water. It was very clear,and there wasn't a ripple on the surface. There for the first time Mr. Gobbler saw his reflection. The more he looked, the better he liked his own appearance. He spread his tail just to see how it would look in the water. Then he puffed himself out and strutted.
"'There is nobody to compare with me,' thought he, and strutted more than ever.
"After that he used to steal away every day to admire himself in that little pool of water. He tried new ways of strutting and of puffing himself out. After a while he was no longer content to admire himself. He wanted others to admire him. So the first chance he got he began to strut and show off all his grand airs before Mrs. Gobbler. At first she paid no attention to him. At least that is theway she appeared. She would turn her back on him and walk off into the bushes. This made Old Mr. Gobbler very angry until he discovered that she would tiptoe back and watch him admiringly when she thought he didn't know it. That made him strut all the more.
"At first all the neighbors used to gather around and admire him and tell him how handsome he was until his head was quite turned, as the saying is, and he spent most of his time strutting and showing off. Then he took to bragging and boasting that there was no bird to compare with him. Thus he became quite unbearable, and all his neighbors would turn their backs on him when they saw him coming. Only Mrs. Gobbler continued to watch in secret and to admire him.
"Now in those days Mr. Gobblerdidn't have a red head and neck. One day Old Mother Nature happened along when Mr. Gobbler was strutting and boasting how big and brave he was. He didn't see her, and she watched him quietly for a few minutes. Then she slipped away and hunted up Mr. Wolf.
"'I want you to steal over where Mr. Gobbler is strutting,' said she, 'and suddenly spring out at him as if you intended to catch him.'
"Mr. Wolf grinned and trotted off to do her bidding. He found Mr. Gobbler swelled up until he looked as if he must burst, and bragging to Mrs. Gobbler.
"'I'm the biggest of all the birds,' bragged Mr. Gobbler. 'I'm afraid of no one. While you have me with you, my dear, you have nothing in all the Great World to fear.'
"Just then out sprang Mr. Wolf with all his long, sharp teeth showing. Mr. Gobbler gave a yelp of fright. He lost his swelled-up appearance as suddenly as a bubble flattens out when it is pricked. With a frantic beating of his wings he took to the air. Being in such a fright, he didn't see where he was going, and struck his head against a sharp twig, which tore the skin, for there were no feathers to protect it, and made it bleed. The blood ran all over his head and down his neck, though he really was hardly hurt at all. From the top of a tall tree he looked down. There stood Old Mother Nature, looking up at him.
"'Mr. Gobbler,' said she, 'you have acquired a bad habit, a very bad habit. Hereafter, whenever you become vain and strut, your head and neck shall become as red as they now are, as a reminder to you and all who see you of how silly it is to be vain and boastful.'
"And so it was. And so it is with Big Tom Gobbler to this day. There is nothing in the world more foolish than vanity," concluded Grandfather Frog.