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For the first time in his life Nimble felt quite grown up. He forgot that he had not yet lived a whole summer. He had made a suggestion to his mother which she had promptly acted upon. It had never happened before. And that was enough to cause him great pleasure.
Then there was something else that made Nimble believe himself to be a person of some account: A strange affair had happened at the lake. He had seen it all. He had taken part in it himself. Really it was no wonder that he began to talk quite importantly.
"It was lucky I was with you," he remarked to his mother as they rested amid the tangle of Cedar Swamp.
"It was lucky we weren't any further out in the lake," she exclaimed. "If you hadn't been with me no doubt I'd have gone where the water was much deeper. And that light would have caught me before I could have reached the shore."
What his mother said made Nimble feel bigger than ever. He wasn't quite sure what had happened back there, where they had been surprised while eating water lilies. But he meant to find out, for he thought it would make a good story to tell his friends.
"Would the moon have burnt us if it had hit us?" he inquired.
"What in the world are you talking about?" his mother asked him.
He looked puzzled at her question.
"Wasn't that the moon that lit up the lake along the shore?" he demanded.
"Certainly not!" she replied.
"Didn't the moon fall into the water?" he asked.
"No, indeed!" his mother cried. She was astonished at his question.
Nimble was disappointed. He had thought he had a wonderful tale to tell. And he couldn't understand yet why everything wasn't as he had supposed.
"I was sure the moon fell into the lake and blew up," he explained. "What was that terrible noise we heard if it wasn't the moon bursting into pieces?"
His mother didn't laugh. Instead she was quite solemn as she answered Nimble's last question.
"That—" she said—"that was a gun that you heard. And the light that you saw came from a lantern in a boat."
It was very hard for Nimble to believe what she told him.
"I thought I heard a piece of the moon whistle past my head," he went on.
"A bullet!" his mother declared. As she spoke she moved a little distance, to a spot where the trees were not so thick. And she raised her nose towards the sky. "There!" she said. "There's the moon! It's still up there where you've always seen it."
Nimble looked; and at last he knew that his mother had made no mistake. But somehow he was more frightened than ever.
"Then—" he faltered—"then there must have been men in the boat—men that turned the light upon the shore—and fired the gun!"
"They were men—yes!" said his mother. "And they were lawbreakers,too. I hope the game warden will catch them at their tricks."
"What is a game warden?" Nimble asked her.
"He's a man," she answered. "He's a man that looks after all of us forest folk and he's the best friend we've got.... Goodness, child! Are you never going to stop asking questions?"
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Nimble didn't mind losing his spots, when he grew older. He had something else that gave him much more pleasure than they ever had. He had a new toy. Or to be exact, he had two new toys. And everywhere he went he carried them with him.
He carried them on his head. And he couldn't have left them behind in the woods even if he had wanted to—at least not until he had enjoyed them for a whole season.
Of course you have already guessed that he had a pair of horns. They were notvery big. But neither was Nimble, for that matter. So they suited him well. A little deer like him would have looked queer wearing great branching horns such as his father owned.
Nimble's horns were merely two spikes which stuck up out of the top of his head in a pert fashion.
It was a proud day for him when an old deer spoke to him and called him "young Spike Horn." About that time the forest folk had begun to speak of him as a "yearling." But there was something about "Spike Horn" that sounded much more important.
Somehow there was a new crop of Spike Horns that summer—Nimble's second summer. And every one of them had been—like him—a little spotted fawn the year before.
At first Nimble had thought it fun touse his new horns to jab anybody that happened to be with him. One day he even stole up behind his own mother and gave her a sharp prod with them.
He never did that again. His mother quickly taught him better. She wheeled and struck him smartly with her fore feet.
"There!" she cried. "That's the first time a child of mine has played that trick on me.... Let it be the last!"
And it was. Nimble was very careful, after that, to prod only those that didn't mind such pranks.
Luckily he soon found that the other Spike Horns liked the same sort of fun that he did. They were just as proud of their new horns as he was of his. And (sad to say!) there was a good deal of boasting among them. Each one declared that his own horns were the longest and strongest.
All the Spike Horns, including Nimble, were forever butting one another in play. And they had just discovered a new sport when Nimble met with what he feared, for a time, was a terrible accident.
Late in the fall, before the deep snows came, both his horns loosened and dropped off his head.
"Oh! oh!" he cried when he saw what had happened. "I'll never be able to take part in another mock battle again!" For the Spike Horns had had gay times pretending to fight one another in a most savage fashion.
After Nimble lost his horns he carefully avoided all his playmates. He didn't want the other Spike Horns to see him. At last, to his great dismay, one day he came face to face with one of them. They both tried to dodge out of sight. But the other, whose name was Dodger, was notquite quick enough. Before he hid behind a thicket Nimble saw that he had lost his horns too!
Then Nimble guessed the truth. He knew why it was that he had managed to keep out of sight of his friends. Every Spike Horn in the neighborhood had lost his horns! And every one of them had been trying to keep out of sight.
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During his first summer Nimble never reached Farmer Green's carrot patch once. His mother had planned to take him there. But on account of an unexpected party she had postponed their visit. And somehow the right night for a trip after carrots never seemed to come again.
Now, Nimble had never forgotten what his mother had told him about carrots. And he was going after some—so he promised himself—just as soon as he was big enough.
When Nimble's second summer rolledaround he was big enough and old enough to prowl through the woods and fields much as he pleased. He was a Spike Horn. And he felt fit to go to the carrot patch without waiting for anybody to show him the way.
So one night he stole down the hillside pasture, across the meadow, and jumped the fence into Farmer Green's garden.
He saw at once that somebody was there ahead of him. It was Jimmy Rabbit. He was very busy with one of Farmer Green's cabbages.
"I've come down to try the carrots," said Nimble.
Jimmy Rabbit made no reply, except to nod his head slightly. He was eating so fast that he really couldn't speak just then.
"Are these carrots?" Nimble inquired, as he looked about at the big cabbages,which crossed the garden in long rows.
Jimmy Rabbit shook his head.
"They seem to be good," said Nimble, "whatever they are. I'll taste of one."
And he did. In fact he tasted of three or four of them, eating their centers out neatly.
Meanwhile Jimmy Rabbit was becoming uneasy. And at last he spoke.
"I thought," he said, "you told me you had come down here to try the carrots."
"So I did," Nimble answered. "But I don't know where the carrots are."
"Why didn't you say so before?" Jimmy Rabbit asked him. And without waiting for a reply he cried, "Follow me! I'll show you." And he hopped off briskly, with Nimble after him.
Soon Jimmy Rabbit came to a halt.
"Here it is!" he said. "Here's the carrot patch. Help yourself!" And then hehopped away again, back to his supper of cabbages.
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Nimble Deer began to eat the carrot tops. And he was greatly disappointed.
"They're not half as good as those great round balls," he muttered. And he turned away from the carrots, to go back and join Jimmy Rabbit. But he hadn't gone far when he met Jimmy bounding along in a great hurry.
"Old dog Spot!" Jimmy Rabbit gasped as he whisked past Nimble. "He's out to-night and he's coming this way."
In one leap Nimble sprang completely around and followed Jimmy Rabbit across the meadow, up through the pasture and over the stone wall into the woods. There they lost each other.
The next morning Nimble met his mother along the ridge that ran down toward Cedar Swamp.
"I went down to the carrot patch last night," he told her. "And I must say I don't see why you're so fond of carrots. They're not half as good as some big green balls that I found in the garden. I call the carrot leaves tough. But the big green balls have very tender leaves."
His mother gave him a queer look.
"Do you mean to tell me," she asked him, "that you ate only theleavesof the carrots?"
"Why, yes!" said Nimble. "I saw nothing else to eat. There was no fruit on them."
"Ho!" cried his mother. "You have to dig with your toes to reach the carrots themselves. They're down in the ground. And to my mind there's nothing any juicier and sweeter and tenderer than nice young carrots, eaten by the light of the moon."
Nimble felt very foolish. And then he tossed his head and said lightly, "Oh, well! It wouldn't have made any difference if Ihaddug the carrots out of the dirt. They wouldn't have tasted right anyhow. For there was no moon last night!"
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Nimble did not spend all his spare moments with the other Spike Horns. Once in a while he met Cuffy Bear prowling about near the foot of Blue Mountain. But Nimble never had a mock battle with Cuffy. Cuffy Bear was a famous boxer. And in each of his paws he carried long sharp claws. What if Cuffy should forget to pull in those claws sometime, when he struck you a playful tap? Ah! That wouldn't be very pleasant! This was what Nimble thought about the matter. So he never butted Cuffy Bear nor pricked him with his spikes.
On the whole they found each other good company. Cuffy liked to see Nimble jump. And Nimble liked to see Cuffy climb trees.
One day, late in the fall, that year when Nimble was a Spike Horn, he strayed half way up the side of Blue Mountain. It was seldom that Nimble wandered so far up the steep and thickly wooded slopes. But old dog Spot was ranging about the lower woods. And for once Nimble did not run for Cedar Swamp when he heard the old dog bay. Instead he climbed steadily until he was sure that he had shaken Spot off his trail.
Nimble had stopped for a drink at the spring which marked the beginning of Broad Brook and there he met Cuffy Bear, who was just turning away from the ice-framed pool. "Aren't you a long way from home?" Cuffy asked him.
"Yes! But I can get down to my favorite ridge quickly enough, when I want to," said Nimble. "Do you live in this neighborhood?"
"I'm not quite sure," Cuffy Bear replied. "I've had my eye on a snug den a little further up the mountain. I'm thinking of living there, if it suits me.... Wouldn't you like to see it?"
Nimble told Cuffy that he would be delighted. So they started up the mountain, after Nimble had had his drink.
Cuffy Bear led the way. And in a short time he stopped in front of a cave. A tangle of bushes hid the mouth of it. You'd have passed right by it without ever guessing that there was any cave there.
"This is it," Cuffy Bear told Nimble. "Come right in!"
"No, thank you. I'd rather not," saidNimble. "I don't care for caves, myself, though this seems to be a good one."
"It's worth seeing," Cuffy Bear urged.
"No, thank you!" Nimble repeated.
"You don't mind if I take a look at it?" Cuffy Bear inquired. "Maybe I can make up my mind—about living here—if I look at the cave once more."
"Go inside, by all means!" Nimble cried.
"Will you wait here till I come out?" Cuffy asked him.
And Nimble promised that he would wait.
Cuffy Bear yawned as he turned away. And Nimble thought it strange that he didn't take the trouble to beg pardon, nor to cover the yawn with a paw. Only a very careless—or a very sleepy—person would forget those things, Nimble knew.
Well, Cuffy crept inside the cave. Andoutside Nimble waited. He waited and waited, until at last the afternoon light began to fade.
"I wish he'd hurry," Nimble muttered. "We're going to have a storm and I don't want to stay up here in it, all night."
Snowflakes were already falling. And Nimble wished he hadn't promised that he would wait till Cuffy Bear came out of the cave.
He went to the entrance and called. But he got no answer.
"I hope nothing has happened to him," Nimble said.
But something had.
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Far up on the dark mountainside, in the driving snow, Nimble waited in front of the cave where Cuffy Bear had vanished. And all the time Nimble was growing more uneasy. He feared that Cuffy Bear might be in some sort of trouble.
Nimble looked all about for help. But there wasn't a sign of anybody stirring, anywhere. All the mountain people seemed to have sought shelter from the storm.
At last, however, Peter Mink came sneaking up from the spring. He had set out to follow Broad Brook all the wayup to its beginning, on a hunt for meadow mice. And when he set out to do a thing he always finished it, no matter what the weather might be.
"You're just the person I want to see!" Nimble cried. "Will you do me a favor?"
Now, Peter Mink never did anybody a favor if he could help it. So he promptly said, "No!"
"Won't you go inside this cave for me and see what's happened to Cuffy Bear?" Nimble implored him. "He went inside the cave. I promised to wait for him here. And he has been gone for hours."
"I won't go into that cave for anybody," Peter Mink declared. "How do I know you're not trying to play a trick on me? I don't see any Bear tracks in the snow."
"Of course you don't!" Nimble agreed."All this snow has fallen since Cuffy crawled into the cave."
"Why don't you go inside yourself?" Peter Mink inquired with something very like a sneer.
"I'm too tall," said Nimble. "Besides, I don't like caves. I keep out of them."
"So do I!" Peter Mink declared—though everybody knew that he went everywhere—even under the ice along Broad Brook and Swift River.
Poor Nimble didn't know what to do. He felt that he ought to go for help, somewhere. But he had promised Cuffy Bear to wait for him.
Then all at once an idea came to him. Why not send Peter Mink for help?
"Won't you please go down to Cedar Swamp and ask Fatty Coon to come up here?" Nimble begged Peter.
"I can't," Peter answered. "I must gohome now." And everybody knew that Peter Mink had no home at all! He was the vagabond of the woods.
Nimble saw then that it was useless to look for help from him. And after Peter Mink had gone his surly way Nimble still lingered there. He was hungry. So he began to paw the snow away here and there, to uncover the ground growths. And just as he was nibbling beside a bush somebody said, "Don't step on me!"
It was Mr. Grouse, half buried in the snow.
"I wondered why you were waiting here so long," Mr. Grouse told Nimble. "When I heard you talking to that rascal, Peter Mink, I knew the reason. But I didn't dare speak while he was about."
"Are you going to spend the night here?" Nimble asked him.
"Yes!" said Mr. Grouse. "I shall besnug and warm after the snow covers me."
"Well, your head won't be covered for some time," Nimble told him. "Are you willing to keep an eye out for Cuffy Bear? I'm going down to Cedar Swamp to get help. And Cuffy Bear might come out of the cave while I'm gone."
"I'd be glad to watch," Mr. Grouse replied, "but it wouldn't be any use."
"Why not?" Nimble asked him. "Don't you think we'll see Cuffy again?"
"Oh, we'll see him," Mr. Grouse answered. "But it won't be till towards spring. For there's no doubt that Cuffy Bear has fallen into his winter's sleep."
And then Nimble exclaimed that Cuffy Bear had yawned as he turned away to enter the cave. He hadn't even begged pardon, nor covered his mouth with a paw.
"No doubt he was very, very sleepy," said Mr. Grouse.
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The winter after Nimble lost his spike horns was a mild one. The snowfall was light. And Nimble was able to roam up and down Pleasant Valley and about Blue Mountain as he pleased.
It happened that a certain bright day in early spring found him far up the side of the mountain, near the cave where he had waited for Cuffy Bear weeks before. And as that whole queer affair came back to his mind Nimble remembered how he had fed upon the green things under the snow.
That thought made him hungry. So hebegan to paw away the soft heavy snow, which wasn't more than a foot deep; and he was enjoying a good meal when he heard a suddenwoofbehind him.
Nimble wheeled instantly. And there, at the mouth of the cave, peering over the tangle which screened it, Cuffy Bear stood upon his hind legs, rubbing his eyes. Catching sight of Nimble, Cuffy blinked at him.
"Where's Nimble Deer, madam?" Cuffy Bear growled presently.
"I'm right here!" Nimble replied. "But please don't call me 'madam!'"
"You're not Nimble Deer. You're a Doe," Cuffy Bear insisted. "You have no horns."
"I'm a Deer," Nimble retorted. "I had horns; but I've shed them."
Cuffy Bearwoofeda bit more. He seemed to be somewhat ill-tempered.
"You can't fool me," he grunted. "Nimble Deer's horns were firm upon his head when I left him here and stepped inside this cave. He agreed to wait for me; and I'm surprised that he broke his promise."
"I am Nimble Deer," Nimble declared again. "You led me to this spot from the spring. You told me you wanted to take another look at this cave because you were thinking of making it your winter home."
Cuffy Bear eyed Nimble with astonishment. And he shambled up to Nimble and sniffed at him.
"Itisyou!" Cuffy cried at last. "So youdidwait for me!"
"No, I didn't," Nimble confessed.
"But here you are!" Cuffy Bear retorted. "Youmusthave been waiting for me. And if I've kept you a bit longer than I intended to, I'm sorry. I think Ifell asleep in that den and had a short nap."
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"A short nap!" Nimble repeated. "You've been asleep in there all winter! It's weeks and weeks since I last saw you. And I'm here now only because I happened to wander this way, when I heard old dog Spot baying."
Cuffy Bear was so surprised that he couldn't say another word. His mouth fell open. And he gazed blankly at Nimble.
But at last he spoke. "I must apologize to you," he said, "though it was really no wonder I called you 'madam.' You have changed a great deal since I left you here."
"And you—" Nimble told him—"you have changed too."
"I have?" Cuffy Bear cried. "How's that? How have I changed?"
"You look much hungrier," Nimble explained.
Cuffy Bear laid a paw across his waistcoat.
"Iamhungry," he admitted. "And if you're going down the mountain I think I'll stroll along with you and see what I can find to eat."
"Very well!" Nimble agreed.
"One moment!" Cuffy Bear said hastily. "Just one moment, please! Wait till I go inside my cave! I believe I left my cap in there."
"I'm not going to wait for you," Nimble replied firmly. "For all I know you might not come out again till haying time."
And then Nimble trotted off down the mountainside, heading for Cedar Swamp. For he didn't think old dog Spot would wander in that direction.
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Although Nimble had lost his horns he managed to go through the winter without missing them as much as he had expected. And in time he had almost forgotten the pair of spikes that he had worn on his head the summer before. Then, one day, he made a great discovery. He found that new horns were sprouting to take the place of those that he had lost!
"Now I can have some mock battles again—when my horns get long enough," he thought. And then he stopped short. What if the Spike Horns of the year before had no more horns? If they werehornless they certainly wouldn't care to take part in any mock battles.
Nimble's fears were soon set at rest. His old playmates soon let him know that they were all going to have new horns too.
And then, a little later, Nimble made another great discovery. He was looking into a pool one morning when he saw something that gave him huge delight. His new horns were not like last year's horns. He beheld, mirrored in the water, a handsome pair of Y-shaped antlers, each with two points!
"Hurrah!" he cried. "I'll make those Spike Horns feel like hiding themselves again."
He had expected to have a pleasant time showing his new antlers to his old friends. When he met Dodger the Deer, Nimble called to him: "See what I've got! Antlers! Two points!"
"Ho!" said Dodger. "So have I got antlers. And they have two points, too."
Nimble had been so interested in his own horns that he hadn't looked at Dodger's. And now when he gazed at them he saw that they were like his.
"What about the rest of the Spike Horns?" Nimble asked Dodger. "Have they——"
"Yes, they have!" Dodger interrupted. "I tell you, 'two-pointers' are common this season."
"So there aren't any more Spike Horns!" said Nimble somewhat sadly.
"Oh, yes! Plenty!" Dodger answered. "But they're an entirely new crop. They were fawns last year."
When he heard that bit of news Nimble felt happier. And as soon as he parted from Dodger the Deer he went and found some of the new Spike Horns and showed them his wonderful two-point antlers.
But somehow they didn't seem at all impressed. They were too much taken up with their own spikes to pay any attention to Nimble.
"Anyhow," he said to himself, "we 'two-pointers' can have some good mock battles together."
And they did. They had mock battles that became famous all around Blue Mountain. And of all the "two-pointers" that lived in that neighborhood, Nimble and his friend Dodger the Deer were known as the best sham-fighters. They could look fiercer and act angrier than any of their young friends. And the way they tore into each other was almost enough to frighten you, if you had seen them.
Old Mr. Crow said it was worth flying a mile to watch one of their set-tos.
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When Nimble had three-points on each of his antlers, in his fourth summer, he felt that he was at last grown up. He was now a "three-pointer." Some of the older bucks had no more points than he. Many of them were but "four-pointers." His own father had been a "five-pointer." So Nimble hoped, secretly, that he would have five-point antlers in another two years.
As soon as his new horns were ready Nimble and his friend Dodger the Deer began their mock battles again. And Nimble found them greater fun than ever.
Dodger was a spry fellow. He wasquick as a flash at dodging. When Nimble ran at him with head lowered and horns aimed straight at him Dodger could wait until Nimble all but struck him, before leaping aside. And then Nimble would go rushing past him.
But Dodger did not always dodge when attacked. Sometimes he stood his ground, with his own head lowered in a threatening fashion. And then Nimble checked his headlong rush and merely clashed his horns pleasantly against Dodger's.
There was something about the sound that sent a thrill through Nimble and started his coat to bristling along his backbone with a queer, creepy feeling.
One day in the fall Nimble's mother came upon them in the woods when they were having one of their sham fights.
"You'd better stop that!" she said to them severely. "Somebody will get hurtsooner or later if you're not careful."
Nimble and Dodger paid little heed to her warning, except to stop until the good lady had gone on and left them. Then, just as they were on the point of renewing their frolic, somebody spoke in a hoarse voice. It was old Mr. Crow. He sat on a low branch of a spreading pine, where he had been watching the contest for some time without being noticed.
"I'd have my fun if I wanted to," he croaked. "Ladies are too finicky. They don't know what a good time is."
Now, Mr. Crow's remarks pleased Nimble. And they pleased Dodger the Deer. They didn't know that the old gentleman was a famous trouble maker.
So Dodger and Nimble drew a little distance apart, as they always did when they were getting ready to clash.
"Go it!" squalled Mr. Crow.
And they started. And Mr. Crow jumped up and down in his excitement.
"Now there's going to be some real fun," he muttered.
But Dodger the Deer leaped aside just in time to avoid being hit. And that didn't please Mr. Crow at all.
"You fellows aren't half trying," he cried impatiently. "Anyone would think you were a pair of Spike Horns."
Now, all Spike Horns were two whole years younger than Dodger and Nimble. So it was no wonder that Mr. Crow's words stung them.
Nimble charged more fiercely than ever. And Dodger stood his ground. With his feet planted firmly beneath him he waited for the blow.
There was a crack and a thud.
"Ha!" Mr. Crow squawked. "That's a little more like it. Dodger didn't dodgethat time, to be sure. But he stood still. And only a Spike Horn would stand andwaitfor the enemy."
Of course Dodger couldn't help wanting to show Mr. Crow that he knew how to carry on a mock battle. So the next time Nimble rushed at him Dodger did not wait. He jumped to meet Nimble. They struck in the air with a frightful crash and fell sprawling upon the ground.
"Ha! That's more like it!" Mr. Crow applauded. "That's the sort of mock battle I like to see!"
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Nimble and his friend Dodger the Deer picked themselves up off the ground where they had fallen after their collision in the air. They did not feel any too pleasant. One of Dodger's sharp tines had given Nimble a good prick. And one of Nimble's points had stung Dodger like a hornet's sting.
If only one of them had been pricked the whole affair might have ended differently. For then perhaps only one of them would have lost his temper. As they drew apart they were growing more angry every instant. And when they wheeledand glared at each other old Mr. Crow, who was watching them from his perch in the pine tree, called out:"Don't stop! Make it lively, now!"
Nimble gritted his teeth and stamped upon the ground.
"I'll teach you not to prick me!" he muttered.
"I'll make you wish you'd left those new antlers at home!" cried Dodger the Deer.
"Don't stop!" old Mr. Crow urged them once more as he teetered on his perch. "Let the fun go on!"
He squalled so loudly that his cousin Jasper Jay heard him half a mile away and came hurrying up to see what was going on. He arrived just in time to see Nimble and Dodger stagger back from another mad charge.
"What's this? A mock battle?" JasperJay inquired as he settled down beside Mr. Crow.
"No!" Mr. Crow replied in muffled tones. "It is a real one—but they don't know it yet."
Next to quarreling himself, old Mr. Crow loved to look on while others wrangled. And though he had no taste himself for actual fighting, he liked to see his neighbors pummel and peck and buffet and bounce one another.
So Mr. Crow enjoyed watching the tilt between Nimble and Dodger the Deer. Neither Mr. Crow, nor his rowdy cousin Jasper Jay, had ever seen so furious a fracas as that one soon became. Sometimes Nimble and Dodger rushed together with such force that it seemed to Mr. Crow their horns must break off. Sometimes they reared and struck each other with their front hoofs.
At first, whenever he felt a hurt Nimble only fought the harder. When Dodger's horns gouged him and his hoofs cut him Nimble butted and thrust and struck all the faster. But for every buffet he repaid Dodger, Dodger gave him another that was heavier than ever.
It was no wonder that in time Nimble began to feel tired. But he didn't let Dodger the Deer know that.
"This was easy to start," Nimble thought, "but it seems hard to stop. I wish Dodger would run away."
In the meantime Mr. Crow and Jasper Jay agreed that the battle was growing tamer every moment.
"Hustle it up!" Mr. Crow called to Nimble and Dodger, while Jasper Jay jeered at them both and told them they were mollycoddles.
"I shouldn't call this a mock battlenow," Mr. Crow told them. "It's more like a game of tag."
"If only Dodger would run away!" Nimble said under his breath. "I'll stop a minute and see if he won't." So he stood still, with his nose all but touching the ground.
Dodger the Deer did not run. But he paused and stood exactly as Nimble was standing.
So they eyed each other for a while. And neither of them said a word.
"Come!" cried old Mr. Crow. "This will never do. Give us more action!"
And then Dodger the Deer looked up at Mr. Crow and Jasper Jay and spoke.
"If you want more action why don't you two furnish it?" he asked.
"That's a good idea!" Nimble exclaimed. "Let's see a mock battle up in the tree!"
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But Mr. Crow replied hoarsely that he had to meet a friend down the valley. "I must be flapping along," he said. And off he went.
Jasper Jay grinned and winked at Nimble and Dodger behind Mr. Crow's back. And then with a loud squall—which might have meant almost anything—he too flew away.
"That was the liveliest mock battle we ever had," Nimble remarked to his friend Dodger.
Dodger agreed with what he said.
Nimble's mother gasped when she saw her son a little later.
"You're a terrible sight!" she told him severely. "What have you been doing?"
"I've been having fun with Dodger the Deer," Nimble explained. "But to tell the truth, it wasn't as much fun as I had expected."