CHAPTER XTHE RULES OF TENTSNo one in all the Woods and Fields could understand how Louie Thomson came to be back with them again. But here he was, and you ought to have seen what he brought with him! He brought some carrots out of his mother’s very own garden, and some corn bread out of her kitchen, and some sugar in a little bitty paper bag for the birds because he couldn’t bring them any grain, and he brought a blanket. His mother just must have given those things to him. Maybe Tad Coon was right when he said mothers know what is best for their little ones. Maybe his mother thought it was good for little boys to go wild if they wanted to in the summer-time--quite as good for them as hoeing corn in the hot sun.Of course they had a feast. Doctor Muskrat was awfully taken up with that corn bread. He couldn’t imagine where it was grown. He kind of thought maybe housefolk made it out of pollen. You remember the wasps told him that the yellow dust you get on your nose when you smell a water lily was the bread they fed their little grubby young ones.But didn’t Stripes Skunk just love that blanket! Louie knew it would be hot if he tried to sleep inside it. He didn’t want to be rolled up tight like a bug in a cocoon. A cocoon is the little silky blanket a caterpillar makes himself to go to sleep in. That may be nice for caterpillars, even in the summer time, but Louie made himself a tent instead. He slanted a long stick from the crotch of Tad Coon’s tree to the ground and hung the blanket over that. Then he spread out the corners and held them down with big flat stones. That was tent enough for him. But the woodsfolk just wouldn’t let it alone; they are so curious!Stripes was perfectly delighted. He hadn’t ever seen a real skin tent like the Indians made, he’d only heard about them. This wasn’t much like any skin he knew about, but it smelled kind of furry, and he could see Louie meant to live in it. So he called his three kittens, because he wanted to explain the rule of tents to them. And of course curious old Tad Coon and Nibble Rabbit’s bunnies came, too, and sniffed and burrowed and poked their noses into all the wrinkly places and nibbled the fuzz till it set them sneezing.“The rule of tents is that every night at sundown we skunks must look into every corner and see that there’s no one inside to disturb our man when he’s sleeping,” said Stripes. He meant snakes and mice and beetles--creepy-crawly things.“Aye, aye,” squealed the kittens. They cleared out those bunnies in no time. Then they pounced on Tad Coon and pulled his fur until he was laughing so hard he couldn’t box their impudent little pricky ears. He tried to run out the wrong end. Down came the pole and off he walked, dragging the whole blanket after him, and the kittens couldn’t think where he was gone. And Louie most made himself sick laughing at them.Louie put it up again, as soon as he got done laughing, and fastened it down with more stones all around. But Doctor Muskrat began to turn over the stones to see what they had under them. That was because the blanket smelled so queer. Then the mice came out to visit him and Stripes Skunk came out to hunt them. After that the little owls came and perched right over it. Louie could hear them talking.“What’s that?” asked one. “It wasn’t here this morning.”“It’s alive,” whispered the other, “I can hear it breathing.”“It’s very queer,” said the first little owl. “It surely does breathe. But it hasn’t any head or any feet or any tail.” Of course the tent didn’t have any. Louie Thomson had a head and some feet, but the owls couldn’t see him.“Maybe it’s got them all pulled in, like a turtle,” said her mate.“Aw, you old squawk-sparrow!” she snapped. [That’s the same as calling a boy a “’fraid cat.”] “I’ll soon find out what it is.” And she lit right on Louie’s tent pole. “It’s all woolly,” she said. “I s’pose maybe it’s a buffalo.”The woodsfolk were delighted with Louie’s tent.“Buffaloes have horns,” insisted the little he-owl. “You just ask the cows. They know. They’re right over there in those woods. I dare you to ask ’em.”“Are they?” said she. “That shows how much you know. They’re breaking into the cornfield this minute. Hear the fence--now!”Sure enough there was the whine and snap of a wire when a cow leans into it, and a floundering and swishing as she tore at the leaves. Even Louie could hear it; he put out his head to listen.“Whe-e-e-e!” yelled the little he-owl in the tree. “It is a turtle! It is!”But as he spoke Louie gave the blankets a jerk, trying to climb out, and the rude little owl who was perched on it came tumbling and sliding down to the ground before she could catch herself. Didn’t she squawk? And didn’t they flap off as fast as their wings would go? They were too scared even to turn their heads as they flew.If they had they’d have seen Louie Thomson running, too. And his feet were going most as fast as their wings--over to the cornfield.
No one in all the Woods and Fields could understand how Louie Thomson came to be back with them again. But here he was, and you ought to have seen what he brought with him! He brought some carrots out of his mother’s very own garden, and some corn bread out of her kitchen, and some sugar in a little bitty paper bag for the birds because he couldn’t bring them any grain, and he brought a blanket. His mother just must have given those things to him. Maybe Tad Coon was right when he said mothers know what is best for their little ones. Maybe his mother thought it was good for little boys to go wild if they wanted to in the summer-time--quite as good for them as hoeing corn in the hot sun.
Of course they had a feast. Doctor Muskrat was awfully taken up with that corn bread. He couldn’t imagine where it was grown. He kind of thought maybe housefolk made it out of pollen. You remember the wasps told him that the yellow dust you get on your nose when you smell a water lily was the bread they fed their little grubby young ones.
But didn’t Stripes Skunk just love that blanket! Louie knew it would be hot if he tried to sleep inside it. He didn’t want to be rolled up tight like a bug in a cocoon. A cocoon is the little silky blanket a caterpillar makes himself to go to sleep in. That may be nice for caterpillars, even in the summer time, but Louie made himself a tent instead. He slanted a long stick from the crotch of Tad Coon’s tree to the ground and hung the blanket over that. Then he spread out the corners and held them down with big flat stones. That was tent enough for him. But the woodsfolk just wouldn’t let it alone; they are so curious!
Stripes was perfectly delighted. He hadn’t ever seen a real skin tent like the Indians made, he’d only heard about them. This wasn’t much like any skin he knew about, but it smelled kind of furry, and he could see Louie meant to live in it. So he called his three kittens, because he wanted to explain the rule of tents to them. And of course curious old Tad Coon and Nibble Rabbit’s bunnies came, too, and sniffed and burrowed and poked their noses into all the wrinkly places and nibbled the fuzz till it set them sneezing.
“The rule of tents is that every night at sundown we skunks must look into every corner and see that there’s no one inside to disturb our man when he’s sleeping,” said Stripes. He meant snakes and mice and beetles--creepy-crawly things.
“Aye, aye,” squealed the kittens. They cleared out those bunnies in no time. Then they pounced on Tad Coon and pulled his fur until he was laughing so hard he couldn’t box their impudent little pricky ears. He tried to run out the wrong end. Down came the pole and off he walked, dragging the whole blanket after him, and the kittens couldn’t think where he was gone. And Louie most made himself sick laughing at them.
Louie put it up again, as soon as he got done laughing, and fastened it down with more stones all around. But Doctor Muskrat began to turn over the stones to see what they had under them. That was because the blanket smelled so queer. Then the mice came out to visit him and Stripes Skunk came out to hunt them. After that the little owls came and perched right over it. Louie could hear them talking.
“What’s that?” asked one. “It wasn’t here this morning.”
“It’s alive,” whispered the other, “I can hear it breathing.”
“It’s very queer,” said the first little owl. “It surely does breathe. But it hasn’t any head or any feet or any tail.” Of course the tent didn’t have any. Louie Thomson had a head and some feet, but the owls couldn’t see him.
“Maybe it’s got them all pulled in, like a turtle,” said her mate.
“Aw, you old squawk-sparrow!” she snapped. [That’s the same as calling a boy a “’fraid cat.”] “I’ll soon find out what it is.” And she lit right on Louie’s tent pole. “It’s all woolly,” she said. “I s’pose maybe it’s a buffalo.”
The woodsfolk were delighted with Louie’s tent.
The woodsfolk were delighted with Louie’s tent.
“Buffaloes have horns,” insisted the little he-owl. “You just ask the cows. They know. They’re right over there in those woods. I dare you to ask ’em.”
“Are they?” said she. “That shows how much you know. They’re breaking into the cornfield this minute. Hear the fence--now!”
Sure enough there was the whine and snap of a wire when a cow leans into it, and a floundering and swishing as she tore at the leaves. Even Louie could hear it; he put out his head to listen.
“Whe-e-e-e!” yelled the little he-owl in the tree. “It is a turtle! It is!”
But as he spoke Louie gave the blankets a jerk, trying to climb out, and the rude little owl who was perched on it came tumbling and sliding down to the ground before she could catch herself. Didn’t she squawk? And didn’t they flap off as fast as their wings would go? They were too scared even to turn their heads as they flew.
If they had they’d have seen Louie Thomson running, too. And his feet were going most as fast as their wings--over to the cornfield.