To die in her arms would have been a happier lot than leaving her
To die in her arms would have been a happier lot than leaving her
“It was not easy to scramble up into the vehicle, for I was fat, and could not get a foothold. I tried using the spokes of the wheel as a ladder, but kept slipping and falling back. I knew one side of the wheel would go up and the other down when the wagon started, but could not figure out which side did which. However, I decided to take a chance. Taking a firm grip on one of the lower spokes I braced my feet on the one below it. It happened to be the right side of the wheel. So when thevehicle started the spoke I was holding to began to rise, carrying me up nearly to the top of the wagon. Bracing my legs, I gave a leap that landed me in the buckboard upon some empty potato sacks. Hurriedly selecting one I crawled into it.
“The farmer thought he had heard something fall into the wagon, and stopping his horses, he glanced back. I was hidden by this time but he saw a bulging under the pile of sacks and was about to poke into them when I said, ‘Please, Mr. Smythers, let me stay here until we get by those boys in the road. I am hiding from them.’
“When he heard my voice Mr. Smythers, of course, took me for a boy and he answered: ‘No, you cannot stay there. You will smother. Come out and I will protect you from the boys.’
“Receiving no reply he poked about among the sacks until he found the one I was in.
“‘Why, it’s a pig in the bag instead of a boy!’ he cried in great surprise. ‘Well, I’ll soon fix him so he can’t get away!’ and he tied up the opening with a string. ‘But where is that boy that spoke to me just now?’
“Mr. Smythers looked under the wagon, searched both sides of the road, and even the trees, but of course found no one. Greatly perplexedhe got into his buckboard and drove on, glancing back every few minutes to see if there wasn’t a boy around somewhere. After he had driven about a mile he ceased looking around, and as we were going through a dense forest, I decided to try to escape. The bag I was in had a hole in it (that is why I had chosen it), and it was not difficult to make the opening larger by tearing the rotten threads. Little by little I squeezed myself out, and dropping off the back of the buckboard, fell in a heap in the road.
“‘Now I am free,’ I thought, and I wandered deeper and deeper into the woods until I found you.”
“Hm,” said Snythergen when Squeaky had finished his tale, and for some time he remained silent. At last he spoke.
“I think we had better build a house!”
“Good,” said Squeaky, “but is this a safe place? Didn’t I see a bear in the crowd you attracted?”
“Yes, but I don’t think he’ll come back. If he does my tree suit will save us. I can bend over until my limbs touch the ground. Thenyou can climb into my top branches and I’ll lift you out of danger. The bear will take me for a tree and leave us alone.”
So they set to work very promptly. The plans they drew called for a round house. And to make sure it would be big enough for Snythergen, he lay on the ground curling up in the smallest space he could, and Squeaky traced a line around him in the dirt to mark the position of the outside wall. They planned to make the roof high enough for Snythergen when he was lying down, but of course he would be unable to stand up or even to sit up without bumping his head on the ceiling. The outer circle just inside the wall was to be Snythergen’s bedroom, and Squeaky was to occupy the space in the middle. It took several weeks to build the house and before the paint was quite dry Snythergen spread pine boughs over the ground floor to make a soft place for them to lie.
The house was left dangling above ground to receive an airing out
The house was left dangling above ground to receive an airing out
In the center of the roof was a hook to which was fastened a rope running up over a pulley attached to the top of a pine tree. From the other end of the rope hung a huge boulder, just as heavy as the house. The stone and the building balanced each other so nicely that a little pull would send the house up or down. In the daytime the house was pulled up and leftdangling above the ground to air out. At night when they went to bed Snythergen would lie down, bending himself into the exact shape of his bedroom by following a line marked out on the ground; and when he lay in just the right position so that the house when lowered would clear him, Squeaky would crawl over him into his little nest. Then Snythergen, reaching up, would pull the house down over their ears, making them snug and cozy for the night.
While they had been at work on their new house a most persistent little bird had followed them around, perching on a near-by tree or bush. He appeared to listen to their words and moved his bill as if practicing the sounds; and sometimes he would make the strangest noises! Squeaky, always glad of a chance to visit, fell into the habit of talking to the bird. It did not occur to him that a goldfinch would not be able to understand; besides the little fellow stood so still when Squeaky spoke to him he seemed to be taking it in.
“Do you understand me?” Squeaky would ask impatiently.
A strange sound not unlike “no” was the response.
“Then you do understand!” said Squeaky.
“No,” it came unmistakably now.
“Evidently the finch wants to learn to talk,” thought Squeaky, so he began to instruct him. He knew well how to set about it, for he had learned himself only with the greatest difficulty. He used the silent speech method—that is, he had the finch go through the motions of saying the words with his bill and throat, without actually making a sound. It was a good way to learn, but amusing to watch. The first day the goldfinch learned to make the motions for several words. When he did “cat” how he shuddered and flapped his wings as if to fly away in a hurry. How his bill did water and what a hungry gleam came into his eyes when he did “worm”!
Because his teacher would not permit sounds at first, the finch learned to put great feeling into his gestures and the expression of his face. And in time when he had learned to talk this assisted him greatly with animals and birds ignorant of the language. For those who did not understand what he said, knew what he meant by his gestures. After he had been instructing the finch for a fortnight and had come to like him, Squeaky decided to ask Snythergen to invite the little bird to share their quarters. “He is such a sensible little bird,”thought Squeaky, “if he behaves well to-morrow, I’ll ask Snythergen’s permission then.”
That was the day the house was completed and that night the owners were very tired. They slept soundly until three o’clock in the morning when something woke them.
“What was that?” asked Squeaky in a shaky voice.
“It sounded like a growl,” said Snythergen, and his trembling was so violent it shook the house. Thereafter no more sleep was possible for either, but the sound did not return. When morning came they investigated and found bear tracks leading to the door.
“What shall we do?” asked Snythergen.
As usual the finch was perched on a branch listening, standing so close to Snythergen’s ear that his wing rubbed against it.
“Who’s tickling my ear?” said Snythergen, looking around. But the finch had hidden behind a leaf.
“What do bears want?” asked Squeaky.
“To make trouble, I guess,” said Snythergen.
During the building of the house Snythergen had been so busy he had not even noticed Squeaky’s little friend. Now the finch wished to join in the conversation, for his teacher had just given him permission to speak out loud.He wanted to celebrate his first spoken words by saying them at the top of his voice, so pushing his little bill into Snythergen’s ear, he screamed:
“Bears don’t want to make trouble, they want food!”
Snythergen jumped as if a bee had stung him.
“What was that!” cried he, looking around and seeing nothing. For again the finch had hopped behind a leaf.
“It’s my good friend, the goldfinch,” said Squeaky. “I want you to meet him. I have been teaching him to talk, and you heard the first words he has spoken out loud. Don’t you think he did them rather well?” he asked, proud of his pupil.
“If loudness is an indication I should say he did, most decidedly,” said Snythergen, whose ears were still ringing. “If he keeps on improving they can hear him in the next county!”
“Come,” said Squeaky, looking around for the finch, “I want you to meet him.” At Squeaky’s request, the finch came out of his hiding place and was presented.
“If it isn’t the little goldfinch!” exclaimed Snythergen in surprise, and he burst out laughing.
“What are you laughing at?” asked the finch suspiciously.
“I was just thinking how difficult it seems to be for some birds to find their way back to their nests,” said Snythergen.
At this the sensitive bird flushed a brighter gold and hung his bill dejectedly.
“I suppose trees look a good deal alike,” continued Snythergen mockingly, “and that is why it is so hard to find the one your nest is in!”
Too confused to answer, the finch made up his mind to question Squeaky when they were alone, and at the first opportunity told the pig of his adventure with the strange tree. When Squeaky explained that Snythergen had a costume of bark, branches and leaves, the little bird understood how the “tree” had been able to hide from him, and why he had been unable to get any trace of his nest. Though he felt indignant about the way he had been treated, he decided for the present to say nothing and bide his time.
The goldfinch stayed close to his new friends and in the end they accepted him as one of them. They named him “Sancho Wing” and built him a little house on the roof of their new home. In many respects it was not unlike the permanent nest the bird had planned to build in one of the strange tree’s branches, but it was made of regular building materials—not woven of twigs and weeds—though Snythergen remembered Sancho Wing’s weakness for soft things, and caught andsaved all the thistle down and milkweed silk that blew against his leaves to use for lining the walls and floors. The living rooms were down stairs, but in the garret above there was ample space in which the finch might store stray bits of string, odd twigs, and curious little things he found in the woods—for Sancho Wing was an eager collector of curiosities. But the most interesting thing about the house was its watch tower, which rose to a dizzy height—even for a bird. For it was intended as a look-out from which Sancho might keep a sharp watch for the bear.
Sancho Wing was far too curious a little bird to sit quietly at home and wait for things to take their course. So, in addition to scanning the horizon daily for signs of the bear, he searched the forest over until he located the cave in which the beast lived, and actually flew into it. As it was getting dark and the beast was half asleep, he mistook the bird for a bat and paid no attention to him. Although very much frightened, Sancho hovered around until the brute’s heavy snoring indicated that he was fast asleep. Then hastening back he assured Snythergen and Squeaky they might now rest in peace, and retired to his own snug feather bed.
The three friends had been living togetherhappily and unmolested by the bear for about a month, when one Sunday at daybreak Sancho Wing opened his eyes and wondered what had awakened him. He listened. There was a faint sound like the crackling of twigs. He winged a few hundred yards into the woods in the direction of the cave and saw the bear approaching. Hastening back he pecked Snythergen until he opened his eyes.
“The bear is coming! Get into your tree suit at once, it’s your only chance!” said Sancho.
Snythergen pushed the house up out of the way and jumped out of bed, calling to the pig. But Squeaky would not wake up. He was too fond of sleep ever to allow himself to be disturbed before breakfast was on the table, and always he slept rolled into a ball, his head tucked under his body; and so tightly did he curl himself up that he kept this position no matter what any one did to him. Snythergen might have rolled him on the ground or tossed him into the air, without waking him. And had he done so Squeaky would have recounted these adventures afterwards as part of his dream.
Therefore Snythergen did not waste time trying to wake Squeaky, but hastened to arrange himself in his tree suit. This done, he bentover and with his top branches picked Squeaky up and lifted him out of danger. Next he lowered the house to the ground to make the bear think it was occupied, and took his position as a tree. Hardly had he shaken out his leaves and arranged his branches when the beast arrived.
Casting an inquiring glance at the tree, the bear entered the house in search of food. He proceeded at once to the ice-box. Luckily (as it turned out) the door was open. Before leaving Snythergen had had the quick forethought to put a piece of cheese in his pocket and had neglected to close the ice-box door. When the bear had eaten up everything that was handy, he pushed his head far into one of the smaller compartments of the box to reach a last morsel of jam he had been unable to get before. This time he succeeded and, licking his lips, attempted to pull his head out.
He pulled and he pulled but he could not pull his head out. It was caught in the opening, and the harder he strained, the more firmly the ice-box became attached to him. He growled and he gnashed his teeth. He stood on his hind legs and pounded the ice-box against the walls, until Snythergen and Sancho Wing feared he would knock the house down.Through a window Sancho saw the bear bracing himself for a mighty blow which, if allowed to land, would surely break through the wall.
“Quick, quick, pull the house up!” he called.
Grasping the rope with the twigs of a lower limb, Snythergen gave it a jerk. And just as the brute was delivering a terrific blow the house shot up and the bear’s effort spent itself in the air harmlessly, except that the big fellow was thrown sprawling to the ground, with a force that twisted his neck painfully.
For the moment Snythergen and Sancho Wing forgot their own fears to laugh at the beast’s comical state. Undoubtedly he was the most surprised bear in the whole world. Thinking himself still inside of the house (for whoever heard of a house running away!), he felt about for the walls, but there were no walls there! The ice-box fastened to his head, blinded him. Back and forth he stumbled, groping in every direction. And the pounding of the heavy box on the ground was giving him a splitting headache.
After he had pulled the house up Snythergen was not at all pleased to find the bear had eaten up all of their food. And now he beheld the intruder in a rage, bent on breaking their newice-box! He was so indignant, his branches fairly itched to punish the clumsy brute. And the moment the bear was in a favorable position Snythergen crept softly behind him, stripped the leaves and twigs from one of his stoutest limbs and gave the beast a sound thrashing. As the blows fell fast and heavy the bear yelled like a sick puppy. But Snythergen closed his ears to the sound, and not until he was out of breath and perspiring did he conclude the brute had had enough. Then his kind heart was touched, for with the headache and the spanking, the bear was aching and smarting at both ends.
“At least I can relieve his headache”
“At least I can relieve his headache”
“At least I can relieve his headache,” thought Snythergen, bending over to examine the ice-box. There was still ice in one of the compartments. Removing a piece Snythergen was able to crowd it in against the bear’s head, and in spite of the brute’s wiggling, placed it so it rested against his forehead. Very gently the beast settled down on his aching haunches, to let the ice cool his throbbing brow. The ice-box was still attached to him as securely as ever. Apparently he had given up trying to free himself. But the bear was not to rest in peace for long. His head recently so hot now became freezing cold. And the pain of it drove him into a frenzy. Snythergen and Sancho wereabout to come to his assistance when he charged blindly forward and a lucky jump was all that saved Snythergen from a fatal collision. The bear rushed back and forth beating the ice-box against the rocks and trees, not minding how it hurt his neck and shoulders. His one desire was to relieve the terrible freezing in his brain.
Snythergen quite understood all the bear’s thoughts and now decided that the big fellow had been punished enough. Grasping the rope from which the boulder dangled, and swinging it around his head, he brought it down squarely upon the ice-box. This well-aimed blow split open the box, freeing the bear’s head, but the door frame still clung about his neck—an absurd collar.
Stunned, lame, and aching, the poor bear crawled into the sunlight to thaw out his brain and to melt his frost-bitten thoughts. But the sun did not melt his hard heart or calm his rising indignation. He looked about angrily for his persecutors. He strode threateningly up to one tree after another, but they all stood very still and wore the innocent look that comes natural to trees. Snythergen, however, had not been a tree long enough to look as unconcerned as the others; besides he had a guilty conscience.
The bear may have smelled the cheese inSnythergen’s pocket, or maybe something unusual in his appearance made the beast suspect him, for he came up and walked around and around the tree until poor Snythergen was dizzy, following with his eyes, and so frightened he could hardly stand. Uneasily he swayed from side to side, catching his balance just in time to avoid a fall. The bear stopped, rubbed his nose on Snythergen’s bark, dug a claw into it. And Snythergen could not avoid a cry of pain. Sancho Wing saw the danger his pals were in, and realized that something must be done quickly if they were to be saved.
“Throw the cheese to him!” cried the little bird. Snythergen tossed it on the ground a few yards away and the bear followed it eagerly, gulping it down in one mouthful. Sancho Wing thought he heard woodchoppers in the distance and flew away to summon help. Soon he found two men with axes and a rifle, and hiding in some leaves, he called to them:
“Hello, hunters! there is a bear over there near that shaking tree. Follow the sound of my voice and you will easily find the place.”
The men were simple fellows, only too eager to follow Sancho as he darted through the leaves calling: “This way, this way!” They could not see who was calling but supposed it was alittle boy who was keeping out of sight for fear of the bear. Now that help was near, in the midst of his anxiety Sancho could not avoid chuckling. For he had thought of a way to get even with Snythergen for the tricks he had played on him about the nest. As he hurried along he told the woodsmen, after driving away the bear to cut down a certain tree. “You will know it by the sleeping pig in its top branches,” he said. Just then the bear saw the huntsmen approaching and he did not wait for them to come up, but made tracks before they could get a shot at him.
Snythergen gave a sigh of relief when the bear went away and was just about to step out and un-bark, when he heard voices.
“This is the tree we are to chop down!” Snythergen heard one of them say, and already the woodchopper was swinging his axe. Snythergen did not wait for the blow to land, but leaped into the air and was off as fast as his roots would carry him. To be sure, he was hampered by his leaves and his branches and hissheath bark skirt. Brushing none too gently against bushes and trees he trod on the toes of innumerable growing things. Apologizing with his bows to right and left, he did not pause even to see what damage he had done, nor did he know he had stepped heavily on the roots of an oak, or rubbed the shins of a birch. He knew only that two woodsmen were after him, threatening to chop him into kindling wood.
“Did you ever see such a rude tree?” cried a graceful elm suffering from a broken limb. “And it’s so untreelike to run away like that! Suppose the rest of us did likewise—what would become of the forest!”
“If he is restless, I don’t object to his walking about in a gentlemanly manner,” said the birch whose shins had been rubbed, “as long as he picks his steps carefully; but to go slamming through regardless of the rest of us is most inconsiderate!”
There was much bobbing of tree-tops and angry shaking of limbs in the direction the runaway tree had taken. But Snythergen might have saved himself running so far and so fast, had he taken the trouble to look around. For the hunters were not following but standing still, astonished at the spectacle of a tree racing through the forest at break-limb speed. In allthe years they had lived in the woods never had they seen a runaway tree before.
“Is the forest going crazy?” cried one. “What if all the trees were to run after us like a herd of buffalo! What chance would we have of escape?”
The mere thought of it was so terrifying they turned and ran, leaving coats, rifle, and axes where they lay, and they did not stop until they were well out of the woods and safe in their own home, behind locked doors and windows. And they did not stir abroad for two days.
When Sancho Wing saw the hunters and Snythergen running away from each other in opposite directions, it was too much for him. He laughed and laughed, and shook so that he fell from the limb he was perched on, and only saved himself from a bad fall by using his wings.
“Surely I have paid Snythergen now for all of his tricks,” he cried merrily.
During all this time Squeaky actually had remained asleep in Snythergen’s top branches, though his rest had been somewhat uneven.
“Where am I?” he cried, rubbing his eyes and waking up to find himself violently tossed about, and bumped against the branches of trees as Snythergen crashed through the forest.
With a breathless word here and there as heran, Snythergen gave the pig an idea of what had happened, and when Squeaky realized all the dangers he had slept through, he lost his grip and would have fallen had Snythergen not tightened his hold. On and on ran the tree, stumbling and reeling, and with every lurch Squeaky’s little heart quivered; for tree-riding was as terrifying as hanging to the top of a mast in a storm at sea. What a relief when Snythergen slowed up and stopped at the shore of a lake, panting like a porpoise!
“I think you had better get down now,” said Snythergen, “for I am going to wade across that lake and plant myself in the farmer’s yard on the other side. I shall remain there until the woodchoppers get tired of looking for me. I believe my leg is cut. Will you look on the ground and see if I am bleeding?”
“I guess your leg isn’t bleeding,” said Squeaky after looking around, “for I don’t see any sawdust.”
“Would you mind running home now, Squeaky, just to see that Sancho Wing is all right? I am a little worried about him. But if you will come back to this spot twice a day I will signal across the lake to let you know how I am getting on.”
Very much shaken Squeaky limped homefollowing the broad trail Snythergen had made through the woods, and found Sancho Wing still chuckling. After talking over their adventure for a little while they settled themselves for a nap.
As soon as Squeaky left him, Snythergen waded into the lake. He found the cool water refreshing to his overheated roots and tattered branches, but when he bent over to drink he came near losing his balance and floating away.
Only while he stood erect and kept in shallow water did his roots find a firm footing on the bottom of the lake. With much splashing of water and stirring of mud, and by wading around the deep places he managed to cross. When no one was looking, he crept into the farmer’s yard, where he hoped to find an end to his troubles. After looking the place over, he decided to plant himself where he would shade the dining-room window and could see what the family had for dinner. It occurred to him that if he became very hungry, he might reach through the window and help himself to a morsel of food. “Turn about is fair play,” he reasoned. “If I provide shade for them, they should not begrudge me a bite to eat now and then!”
Luckily the farmer and his wife were awayat camp meeting when Snythergen arrived, and when they returned, it was dark. A crescent moon and the stars revealed but a dusky outline of the place.
“Somehow things don’t look natural around here,” said the farmer when he reached home. “The place seems changed, swelled out! Why, I believe the house has got the mumps!”
“Silas, you don’t think baby has the mumps, do you?” cried his wife, thinking he must be referring to their child.
“No, no, it’s the house that’s got the mumps,” said the farmer.
“Nonsense, Silas, you must be out of your mind!” she said. She saw nothing out of the way, for her eyes sought only the windows of a room on the other side of the house where her small son had been left, and nothing more was said about the matter that night.
The next morning the discovery of a new tree in the farmer’s yard caused great surprise. At first the people were awed and afraid, and some were a little suspicious. Indeed, Snythergen had to stand very stiff and still and put on his very best tree manners to make them believe he was a real tree. He was watched so closely that he scarcely dared to breathe, and he feared the cool breeze from the lake might make him cough, for already he hada slight cold from wading in the chilly water the day before. Once or twice he nearly exploded trying to hold in a sneeze. But the people on the ground saw only his top branches tossing and thought it due to an upper current of air.
Then an adventurous boy began climbing his trunk, and Snythergen thought surely the little fellow would feel his heart beat. But the child only climbed higher and higher, venturing out on a high limb which Snythergen held insecurely with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. It had been difficult to support the branch alone and keep it from swaying, but with the heavy boy on it Snythergen found it almost impossible. The perspiration stood out on every bough. His left arm became so tired it pained him dreadfully, and it took all his strength to keep from dropping it to his side. He knew that he could not hold it out much longer, and yet if he let the branch drop the boy would be dashed to the ground and perhaps cruelly hurt. In spite of all he could do he was horrified to see the limb settling slowly downward and he closed his eyes to shut out the catastrophe that seemed sure to follow. Suddenly there was a cry from below.
“Get right down out of that tree,” called themother of the boy. Snythergen braced himself to hold on a moment longer, and just as the boy reached his trunk, the branch fell to his side. Snythergen breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. The child soon was safe on the ground.
Snythergen thought the people in the farmer’s yard curious and watchful, but he was mistaken. He was soon to learn what real curiosity and watchfulness are like. Some one had sent for a famous tree doctor, and he came promptly to look Snythergen over. When he appeared Snythergen put on his most correct forest behavior and really was a model tree, for the doctor’s benefit.
“I can’t see anything unusual about that tree,” said the physician, unpacking his instrument case. Snythergen was holding out his branches gracefully and letting his leaves flutter naturally in the breeze. The doctor spread his shining wood-carving tools out on a cloth on the ground. Much as the little man knew about trees, he had never learned to climb one, and the farmer had to fetch him a long ladder before he could make his examination.
When the little man had mounted well up toward the top of Snythergen he placed a fever thermometer in a knothole, which happened to lead into Snythergen’s mouth. Leaving it therehe descended to the ground, and wrapped a rubber bandage about his trunk, winding it so tightly that Snythergen barely avoided a cry of pain. One look at the indicator gave the tree doctor a shock.
“Sap pressure 110!” he cried. “There must be some mistake!”
Again and again he tried it and each time it registered 110.
“Surely there is something very strange here!” said the doctor. “Never have I heard of a tree with a sap pressure over 30. Why, it’s as high as the blood pressure of a boy!”
But the tree doctor was to receive another shock when he tapped Snythergen’s bark and listened with a tree stethoscope.
“Why, I didn’t think there was a tree in the world with such a violent throb. It’s as fast and strong as the heart beat of a child!”
But the greatest shock of all was to come when he climbed up to read the fever thermometer. He could hardly believe his own eyes when he saw what it registered.
“I never heard of a tree having such a temperature!” he cried. “It is as high as a boy’s.” Indeed the temperature was so much like a boy’s, the little doctor so far forgot himself as to shout:
“Stick out your tongue!”
“Stick out your tongue!”
“Stick out your tongue!”
This command took Snythergen by surprise,and without thinking, he stuck his tongue out through the knothole, and when the little man saw it, he was so frightened he nearly fell from the ladder. Snythergen drew back his tongue in a hurry. The doctor puzzled and puzzled over the matter. Finally he concluded that he must have seen a squirrel’s red head.
There were so many strange things about the tree that the physician made up his mind in the interest of science to watch it day and night. He camped in a tent beside Snythergen, and only when he retired for a cat nap did he take his owl-like eyes from the tree. Even then Snythergen could not attempt to escape, or even stretch his limbs and relax, for the little man was a light sleeper and would rush out at the faintest unusual rustle of a twig.
Snythergen realized more than ever that the life of a tree is not all joy. His roots were sore and calloused from standing in one position. A leg or an arm would go to sleep because he dared not move it. He was numb all over, besides being cold, tired and hungry. He gazed longingly into the dining room. His mouth watered and he swallowed hard at the sight of the rich home cooking. How eagerly would hehave eaten the crusts the farmer’s little boy tried to hide under the edge of his plate! How he would have enjoyed taking the heaping plate of his tormentor, the little doctor, when the latter’s back was turned! But usually the window was closed, or some one was looking.
All the next morning Snythergen watched impatiently for Squeaky to appear on the opposite shore of the lake. He wondered why Sancho Wing did not come, but he could not know that Sancho was spending all of his time keeping track of the bear, who was in a revengeful mood and very restless. The ice had given him mental chilblains and the pain served as a reminder, making him more determined than ever to find and punish his persecutors.
About eleven o’clock Snythergen thought he saw a little movement in the bushes along the opposite shore of the lake. Then he recognized Squeaky’s peculiar wobbling walk. So delighted was he that he forgot the little doctor, and waved his branches excitedly. Squeaky answered. Snythergen signaled back that he was hungry and wanted some bread and butter with sugar on it—not an easy message for a tree to wave to a pig all the way across a lake. It took ingenuity to figure it out, and this is how he did it.
First Snythergen held out two limbs and pretended he was carrying a slice of bread in each hand. Next he rubbed an upper branch over these in such a way that Squeaky would know he wanted them spread with butter—and not to save on the butter. Then he bent his top boughs down, shaking them vigorously to make the pig understand that he wanted all the powdered sugar the bread would hold.
The little tree doctor was watching this performance with the utmost amazement.
“Why, I believe that tree has the St. Vitus’ Dance!” said the physician. “I never heard of a tree having it before. The discovery will make me famous. But I must prove it beyond a doubt or the scientists will never give me credit for it. In order to be sure I must give it the brass band test for that is the only reliable one. If our leafy friend here dances when the band plays I will know then that he has the St. Vitus’ Dance. If he does not, I may have to ‘tree-pan’ him to find out.”
Snythergen shuddered at the horrible thought of being trepanned—or in other words of having his skull operated on so his brain could be examined. As he talked to himself the little man danced excitedly about.
“The fit seems to be over,” he said breathlessly,when Snythergen had waved his last signal to Squeaky.
“Dinner is ready,” called the farmer’s wife from the house.
“I will be right in,” answered the doctor, for he had decided to wait until he had eaten before going for the musicians.
The chance of running away to meet Squeaky and bread and butter had become more and more doubtful now the little doctor had seen him waving, and Snythergen was so hungry! He looked in through the dining-room window to see what the family was having to eat. It was a very hot day and the window was wide open. The farmer was placing a steaming plate of meat and potatoes before the doctor, who sat facing the window where he could watch the tree while he ate. The rich odor of food arose to Snythergen’s nostrils and it was more than he could resist.
“I must have something soon, or I’ll fall over,” he said to himself. “I wonder how I can manage it?” For a moment he thought, then an idea came to him. Leaning over, with his top branches he beat violently upon the roof of the house.
“What’s happening upstairs!” cried the farmer’s wife in alarm.
“It sounds as if the roof was falling in!” said the farmer leaping from his chair, and they rushed out of the room. In his excitement the doctor followed part way upstairs. The instant he was gone Snythergen reached a forked limb into the dining room and helped himself to the doctor’s dinner.
“He will never miss it,” he thought. “He’s too excited to eat, anyway.”
When the physician returned and found his dinner had disappeared, he was dumbfounded.
“What has become of it?” he cried, jumping up and looking under the table. He searched behind the chairs, in the closets, and even in the hall. In each new place he cried out over and over again, “Who took my dinner? Who took my dinner?”
While he was thus occupied Snythergen had an opportunity to eat, but he was in such haste to be done before his tormentor looked out of the window again, that he entirely forgot his table manners and crammed and stuffed his mouth with his twigs. The farmer and his wife had found nothing out of the way upstairs to explain the noise on the roof, and when they returned the little man was still fussing about, looking in the china closet, the napkin and silver drawers, and other absurd places.
“What’s up now?” demanded the farmer, who was getting a bit tired of the tree doctor’s queer ways. The farmer’s wife too was looking on suspiciously. She did not fancy having a stranger poking into her drawers and closets.
The physician tried to explain but they only laughed at him.
“The very idea!” cried the farmer’s wife. “Nobody could come into the room and take your dinner away without your knowing it!”
“Besides, who would want something to eat that bad around here,” said the farmer. “Everybody knows we feed every tramp that comes along!”
The little doctor felt uncomfortable and embarrassed because they laughed at him, and he barely touched the second plate of food the farmer served him. Snythergen was right, he was too excited to eat. Scarcely could he wait until the dinner was over for the farmer to drive him to town to get the band.
Thereafter he would strike a tree-like pose not so difficult to hold
Thereafter he would strike a tree-like pose not so difficult to hold
The doctor’s departure was Snythergen’s cue to escape. Cautiously he stole away from the house and waited for an opportunity to cross the lake. The man next door was plowing, and Snythergen had to be very careful. While the man’s back was turned he ran as fast as possible, but when he plowed toward him, Snythergenhad to stand motionless and trust that his altered position would not be seen; and whatever position Snythergen’s limbs were in when the farmer turned toward him, had to be held while the plow traveled the whole length of the field. Once when the man approached, Snythergen was in the lake with one root raised ready to step, and he dared not lower his root or make any other movement until the farmer had walked the whole distance and had turned his back again. Thus he stood balancing himself for fifteen minutes, and to make matters worse he had been caught with his branches pointing to the sky. The painful experience of holding this position taught him a lesson, and thereafter when the plow neared the end of the row, he would strike a tree-like pose not so difficult to hold. Luckily the farmer was near-sighted, and failed to remark the strange apparition of a tree wading across the lake up to its branch pits in water.
In spite of various discomforts Snythergen made the crossing successfully and had no difficulty in following the trail home. On reaching the house he found Sancho Wing and Squeaky feverishly preparing the bread and butter and sugar to take to him. They were overjoyed to see him, but Snythergen was too tiredto sit up and visit. He had been standing on his roots so long he was only too glad to lie down and sleep. But before he would close his eyes, they had to assure him that the woodchoppers had left the forest.