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diff --git a/old/51933-0.txt b/old/51933-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9fe8d4c..0000000 --- a/old/51933-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4892 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tommy Smith's Animals, by Edmund Selous - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Tommy Smith's Animals - -Author: Edmund Selous - -Illustrator: G. W. Ord - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51933] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMMY SMITH'S ANIMALS *** - - - - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: - -—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. - - - - - TOMMY SMITH’S ANIMALS - - - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR - - TOMMY SMITH’S OTHER ANIMALS - JACK’S INSECTS - -[Illustration: “_HE_ MAY HAVE FOUND _ANOTHER_ HARE”] - - - - - TOMMY SMITH’S - ANIMALS - - BY - EDMUND SELOUS - - WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY - G. W. ORD - - TWELFTH EDITION - - METHUEN & CO. LTD. - 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. - LONDON - - _First Published_ _October_ _1899_ - _Second Edition_ _December_ _1900_ - _Third Edition_ _December_ _1902_ - _Fourth Edition_ _September_ _1905_ - _Fifth Edition_ _April_ _1906_ - _Sixth Edition_ _September_ _1906_ - _Seventh Edition_ _January_ _1907_ - _Eighth Edition_ _April_ _1907_ - _Ninth Edition_ _November_ _1907_ - _Tenth Edition_ _May_ _1908_ - _Eleventh Edition_ _September_ _1909_ - _Twelfth Edition_ _September_ _1912_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. THE MEETING 1 - - II. THE FROG AND THE TOAD 11 - - III. THE ROOK 25 - - IV. THE RAT 39 - - V. THE HARE 54 - - VI. THE GRASS-SNAKE AND ADDER 74 - - VII. THE PEEWIT 96 - - VIII. THE MOLE 115 - - IX. THE WOODPIGEON 143 - - X. THE SQUIRREL 166 - - XI. THE BARN-OWL 187 - - XII. THE LEAVE-TAKING 205 - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PAGE - - “HE MAY HAVE FOUND ANOTHER HARE” _Frontispiece_ - - “THAT IS WHY I AM SO WISE” 9 - - “I SHALL KEEP AWAKE TILL THE RAT COMES” 39 - - PAT, PAT, PAT. “DO YOU HEAR?” 41 - - “BITE HIM!” 51 - - “ALL HAPPY (EXCEPT THE HARE)” 63 - - “THERE ARE THREE FROGS IN MY STOMACH AT THIS MOMENT” 79 - - “WE MOLES ARE VERY HEROIC” 141 - - - - - TOMMY SMITH’S ANIMALS - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE MEETING - - “_The owl calls a meeting, and has an idea: - They all think it good, though it SOUNDS rather queer._” - - -THERE was once a little boy, named Tommy Smith, who was very cruel to -animals, because nobody had taught him that it was wrong to be so. He -would throw stones at the birds as they sat in the trees or hedges; and -if he did not hit them, that was only because they were too quick for -him, and flew away as soon as they saw the stone coming. But he always -_meant_ to hit them—yes, and to kill them too,—which made it every -bit as bad as if he really had killed them. Then, if he saw a rat, he -would make his dog run after it, and if the poor thing tried to escape -by running down a hole, he and the dog together would dig it out, and -then the dog would bite it with his sharp teeth until it was quite -dead. It never seemed to occur to this boy that the poor rat had done -_him_ no harm, and that it might be the father or mother of some little -baby rats, who would now die of hunger. Even if the rat got away, he -would whip the dog for not catching it, yet the dog had done his best; -for, of course, dogs must do what their masters tell them, and cannot -know any better. It was just the same with hares or rabbits, squirrels, -rooks, or partridges. Indeed, this boy could not see any animal playing -about, and doing no harm, without trying to frighten it or to hurt it. - -When the spring came, and the birds began to build their nests, and to -lay their pretty eggs in them, then it is dreadful to think how cruel -this Tommy Smith was. He would look about amongst the trees and bushes, -and when he had found a nest, he would take all the eggs that were in -it, and not leave even one for the poor mother bird to sit on when she -came back. Indeed, he would often tear down the nest too, after he had -taken the eggs. Perhaps you will wonder what he did with these eggs. -Well, when he had brought them home and shown them to his father and -mother, who never thought of scolding him, or to his little brothers -and sisters (for he was the eldest of the family), he would throw them -away, and think no more about them. If he had left them in the nest, -then out of each pretty little egg would have come a pretty little -bird. But now, for every egg he had taken away, there was one bird less -to sing in the woods in the spring and summer. - -At last this boy became such a nuisance to all the animals round about, -that they determined to punish him in some way or other. They thought -the first thing to do was for all of them to meet together and have a -good talk about it. In a wood, not far off, there was a nice open space -where the ground was smooth and covered with moss. Here they all agreed -to come one fine night, for they thought it would be nice and quiet -then, and that nobody would disturb them, as, perhaps, they might do in -the daytime. - -So, as soon as the moon rose, they began to assemble, and I wish you -could have been there too, to see them all come, sometimes one at a -time, and sometimes two or three together. - -The rat was one of the first to arrive, and then came the hare and the -rabbit arm in arm, for they knew each other well, and were very good -friends. The frog was late, for he had had a good way to hop from the -nearest pond, where he lived, so that his cousin, the toad, who was -slower, but lived nearer, got there before him. The snake had no need -to make a journey at all, for he lived under a bush just on the edge -of the open space. All the little birds, too, had gone to roost in the -trees and bushes close by, so as to be ready in good time; and, when -the moon rose, they drew out their heads from under their wings, and -were wide awake in a moment. The rook and the partridge, and other -large birds, were there as well, and the squirrel sat with his tail -over his head, on the branch of a small fir tree. Then there were -weasels, and lizards, and hedgehogs, and slow-worms, and many other -animals besides. - -In fact, if you had seen them all together, you would have wondered -how one little boy could have found time to plague and worry so many -different creatures. But you must remember that even a very _little_ -boy can do a _great_ deal of mischief. Perhaps there were some animals -there that little Tommy Smith had not hurt, because he had not yet seen -them, but these came because they knew he _would_ hurt them as soon -as he could; and, besides, they were angry because their friends and -companions had been ill-treated by him. - -At last it seemed as if there was nobody else to come, and that -everything was ready. Still, they seemed waiting for something, and -all at once a great owl came swooping down, and settled on a large -mole-hill which was just in the middle of the open space. Now, the owl, -as perhaps you know, is a very wise bird, and, for this reason, all the -other animals had chosen him to be the chief at their meeting, and to -decide what was best to be done, in case they should not agree amongst -themselves. He at once showed _how_ wise he was, by saying that before -he gave his own opinion he would hear what everybody else had to say. -Then everybody began to talk at once, and there was a great hubbub, -until the owl said that only one should speak at a time, and that the -hare had better begin, because he was the largest of all the animals -there. - -So the hare stood up, and said he thought the best way to punish Tommy -Smith was for every one of them to do him what harm he could. For his -part, he was only a timid animal, and not at all accustomed to hurt -people. Still, he had very sharp teeth, and he thought he might be able -to jump as high as Tommy Smith’s face and give him a good bite on the -cheek or ear, and then run off so quickly that nobody could catch him. -The rabbit spoke next, and said that he was just as timid as the hare, -and not so strong or so swift. All _he_ could do was to go on digging -holes, and he hoped that some day Tommy Smith would fall into one of -them. The hedgehog then got up, and said he would hide himself in one -of these holes and put up his prickles for Tommy Smith to fall on. This -would be sure to hurt him, and perhaps it might even put one of his -eyes out. The rat thought it would be better if the hedgehog were to -get into Tommy Smith’s bed, so as to prick him all over when he was -undressed; but the hedgehog would not agree to this, as he did not -understand houses, and thought he would be sure to be caught if he went -into one. - -“Well, then,” said the rat, “if you are afraid I will go myself, for I -know the way about, and am not at all frightened. In the middle of the -night, when it is quite dark, and when Tommy Smith is fast asleep, I -will creep up the stairs and into his room, and then I can run up the -counterpane to the foot of his bed and bite his toes.” - -“Why his toes?” said the weasel. “_I_ can do much better than that, and -if you will only show me the way into his room, I will bite the veins -of his throat, and then he will soon bleed to death.” - -“That would be taking too much trouble,” said the adder, coming from -under his bush. “You all know that _my_ bite is poisonous. Well, I -know where this bad boy goes out walking, so I will just hide myself -somewhere near, and when he comes by I will spring out and bite his -ankle. Then he will soon die.” - -The birds, too, had different things to suggest. Some said they would -scratch Tommy Smith’s face with their claws, and others that they -would peck his eyes out. The frog wanted to hop down his throat and -choke him, and the lizard was ready to crawl up his back and tickle -him, if they thought _that_ would do any good. - -At length, when everyone else had spoken, the owl called for silence, -and then he gave his own opinion in these words:—“I have now heard -what every animal has had to say, and I have no doubt that we could -easily hurt this boy very much, or perhaps even kill him, if we really -tried to. But would it not be a better plan, first to see if we cannot -make little Tommy Smith a better boy? Many little boys are unkind to -animals because they know nothing about them, and think that they are -stupid and useless. If they knew how clever we all of us really are, -and what a lot of good we do, I do not think they would be unkind to -us any more. I am sure that they would then have quite a friendly -feeling towards us. But they cannot know this without being taught. -Tommy Smith’s father and mother _ought_, of course, to teach him, but -as they will not do so, why should not we teach him ourselves? To do -this, we shall have to speak to him in his own language, as he does not -understand ours; but that is not such a difficult matter to us animals. -I myself can speak it quite well when I want to, for I often sit on -the trees near old houses at night, or even on the houses themselves, -and I can hear the conversations coming up through the chimneys. That -is why I am so wise. So I can easily teach all of you enough of it to -make _you_ able to talk to a little boy. My idea, then, is to _teach_ -little Tommy Smith before we begin to _punish_ him, and it will be -quite as easy to do the one as the other. Only let the next animal that -he is going to kill or throw stones at, call out to him, and tell him -not to do so. This will surprise him so much that he will be sure to -leave off, and then each of us can tell him something about ourselves -in turn. In this way he will get such a high idea of all of us, that he -will never annoy us any more, but treat us with great respect for the -future.” - -[Illustration: “THAT IS WHY I AM SO WISE”] - -All the other animals thought this was a very clever idea of the owl’s, -and they agreed to do what he said, before trying anything else. So -they begged him to begin teaching them the little-boy language at once -(all except the rat, for he knew it too), so that they should lose no -time. This the owl was quite ready to do, and he taught them so well, -and they all learnt so quickly, that when little Tommy Smith got up -next morning to have his breakfast, there was hardly an animal in the -whole country that was not able to talk to him. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE FROG AND THE TOAD - - “_Tommy Smith takes a turn in the garden next day, - And he finds the frog ready with something to say._” - - -AS soon as he had had his breakfast, Tommy Smith went out into the -garden. It had been raining a little, and the first thing he saw was a -large yellow frog sitting on the wet grass. Tommy Smith had a stick in -his hand, and he at once lifted it up over his shoulder. - -“Don’t hit me,” said the frog. “That would be a _very_ wicked thing to -do.” - -Tommy Smith was so surprised to hear a frog speak that he dropped his -stick and stood with both his eyes wide open for several seconds. - -“Why do you want to kill me?” said the frog. - -Tommy Smith thought he must say something, so he answered, “Because you -are a nasty, stupid frog.” - -“I don’t know what you mean by calling me nasty,” said the frog. “Look -at my bright smooth skin, how nice and clean it is—cleaner than your -own face, I daresay, although it is not long since you have washed -it. As for my being stupid, you see that I can speak your language, -although you cannot speak mine; and there are lots of other things -which I am able to do, but you are not. I think I can catch a fly -better than you can.” - -By this time it seemed to Tommy Smith as if it was quite natural to be -talking to an animal, so he said, “I never thought that a frog could -catch a fly.” - -“You shall see,” said the frog. And as he spoke a fly settled on a -blade of grass just in front of him. Then all at once a pink streak -seemed to shoot out of the frog’s mouth; back it came again—snap! His -mouth, which had been wide open, was shut once more, and the fly was -nowhere to be seen. - -“Have you caught it?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes,” said the frog, “and swallowed it too.” - -“But how did you do it?” said Tommy Smith; “and what was that funny -pink thing that came out of your mouth?” - -“That was my tongue,” the frog answered. - -“Your tongue!” cried Tommy Smith. “But it looked so funny—not at all -like my own tongue.” - -“No,” said the frog. “My tongue is quite different to yours, and I do -not use it in the same way. Hold out your hand so that I can hop into -it, and then I will show you all about it.” - -Tommy Smith did as he was told, and—plop! there was the frog sitting -in his hand. He at once opened his mouth, which was a very wide one, -and allowed Tommy Smith to look at his tongue. What a funny tongue it -was! It seemed to be turned backwards, for the tip, which was forked, -instead of being just inside the lips as it is with us, was right down -the throat, whilst the root of it was where the tip of our tongue is. - -“But how do you use a tongue like that?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Put the tip of your forefinger against your thumb,” said the frog; -“only, first, you must turn your hand so that the back of it is towards -the ground, and the palm upwards.” Tommy Smith did so. “Now shoot your -finger back as hard as you can.” Tommy Smith did this too. “That,” said -the frog, “is the way I shoot my tongue out of my mouth when I want to -catch a fly. Like this”—and he shot it out again. “You see it flies -out like the lash of a whip, and my aim is so good that it always hits -what I want it to, whether it is a fly or any other insect. Then I -bring it back, just as you would bring your finger back to your thumb -again, or as the lash of a whip flies back when you jerk the handle. -The tip of it goes right down my throat where it was before, and the -fly goes down with it.” - -“But why does the fly stay on your tongue?” said Tommy Smith. “Why -doesn’t it fly away?” - -“It would if it could, of course,” said the frog; “but it can’t. My -tongue, you see, is sticky—just feel it,—and so whatever it touches -sticks to it, and comes back with it, if it isn’t too large.” - -“Well, it is very curious,” said Tommy Smith. “But when you said you -could catch a fly, I did not know that you were going to eat it too. -Then, do you like flies? and do you eat them every day?” - -“I eat them when I can get them,” said the frog; “but I like them -better at night than in the daytime, if only I can catch them asleep. -_You_ eat during the day, and go to sleep at night. That is because -you are a little boy. _I_ am a frog, and we frogs like to be quiet in -the daytime, and come out to feed when it is dark. We eat all sorts of -insects—beetles, and flies, and moths, and caterpillars, and we eat -slugs as well, and that is why we are so useful.” - -“Useful?” cried Tommy Smith. “Oh, I don’t believe that! I am sure that -a frog can be of no use to anybody.” - -“If you were a gardener you would think differently,” said the frog; -“at least, if you were not a very ignorant one. Have I not told you -that I eat slugs and insects, and do you not know that slugs and -insects eat the leaves of the flowers and vegetables in your garden? -Have you never seen your father or his gardener pouring something -over his rose-trees to kill the insects upon them? Now, I eat a great -many insects in a single night, and I am only _one_ of the frogs in -your garden. There are others there besides me. If we were all to be -killed, your father would find it much more difficult to have nice -roses, and he would lose other flowers too, for there are insects which -do harm to all of them. As for the slugs, if you will go out some night -with a lantern, you may see them feeding on some of the handsomest -plants, with your own eyes. That is to say, unless one of us frogs -has been there; for if we have, you will not see any. Then you have -seen caterpillars feeding on the cabbages. Well, _I_ feed on those -caterpillars. So always remember that the boy who kills a frog, does -harm to his father’s garden.” - -“I don’t want to do that,” said Tommy Smith; “so, if what you say is -true”— - -“You can find it in a natural history book, if you look,” said the -frog; “but I ought to know best myself. And I can tell you this, that -when a frog speaks to a little boy, he always speaks the truth.” - -“Well, then,” said Tommy Smith, “I will never hurt a frog again.” - -How pleased the poor frog was when he heard that. He gave a great hop -out of Tommy Smith’s hand, and came down upon the grass again, and then -he hopped about for a little while, jumping higher each time than the -time before. “Frogs always speak the truth,” he said,—“when they speak -to little boys. And now, perhaps, you would like to learn something -more about me. Ask me any question you like, and I will answer it, -because of what you have just promised.” - -This puzzled Tommy Smith a little, because he did not know where to -begin, but at last he said, “You seem to me a very big frog. Were you -always as big as you are now?” - -“Why, of course not,” said the frog, “a frog grows up just as much as -a little boy does. I was once so small that you would hardly have been -able to see me. But, besides being smaller, I was quite a different -shape to what I am now. I had no legs at all, but instead of them I -had a long tail, with which I used to swim about in the water, so that -I was much more like a fish than a frog, and many people would have -thought that I was a fish.” - -“That sounds very funny,” said Tommy Smith. - -“But were not you once much smaller than you are now?” said the frog. - -“Oh yes!” Tommy Smith answered, “but however small I was, I was always -a little boy, and had hands and feet, just as I have now.” - -“With you it is different,” said the frog; “but there are some animals -who are one thing when they are born, but change into another as they -grow older. It is so with us frogs, and, if you listen, I will tell you -all about it.” - -“Go on,” said Tommy Smith, “I should like to hear very much.” - -“In the nice warm weather,” the frog continued, “we hop about the -country, and then we like to come into gardens. But in the winter we -go to ponds and ditches and bury ourselves in the mud at the bottom, -and go to sleep there. In the early spring, when the weather begins to -get a little warmer, we come up again, and then the mother frog lays -a lot of eggs, which float about in the water, and look like a great -ball of jelly. After a time, out of each egg there comes a tiny little -brown thing, and directly it comes out, it begins to swim about in the -water, as well as if it had had swimming lessons, although, of course, -it has never had any. It soon grows bigger, and then you can see that -it has a large round head and a long tail, but you cannot see any legs. -But, as it goes on growing, a small pair of hind legs come out, one on -each side of the tail, and then every day the tail gets smaller and the -hind legs larger. Still there are no front legs yet, but at last these -come too. The tail is now quite short, and the head and body begin to -look like a frog’s head and body, which they did not do before, and -they go on looking more and more like one, until, at last, the little -brown thing with a tail, that swam about like a fish in the water, has -changed into a little baby frog, that hops about on the land. Then this -little baby frog grows larger and larger, until, at last, he becomes a -fine fat frog, as big and as handsome as I am.” - -“It all seems very curious,” said little Tommy Smith; “and I never knew -anything about it before.” - -“That is because nobody ever told you,” said the frog, “and you have -never thought of finding out for yourself. But have you not passed by -ponds in the spring time and seen those little brown things with tails -that I have been telling you about swimming about in them?” - -“Oh yes, I have!” said Tommy Smith; “but I always thought that those -were tadpoles.” - -“They are tadpoles,” said the frog, “but they are young frogs for all -that. A little tadpole grows into a big frog, just as a little boy -grows into a big man. So you see, what a funny life mine has been, and -what a lot of curious things have happened to me.” - -“Yes, you have had a funny life, Mr. Frog,” said Tommy Smith, “and I -think it is very interesting. But is there any other clever thing you -can do besides catching flies? I can catch flies myself, but I do it -with my hand instead of with my tongue.” - -“I can change my skin,” said the frog, “and _that_ is something which -_you_ cannot do.” - -“No,” said Tommy Smith; “and I do not believe you can do it either. I -think you are only laughing at me.” - -“Well,” said the frog, “as it happens, my skin fits me quite -comfortably now, and is not at all too tight, so I do not want to -change it yet. But I have a cousin—a toad—who is quite ready to have -a new one. He lives a little way off, in the shrubbery; so if you would -like to see how he does it, I can bring you to him. He is very good -natured, like myself, and if you will only promise to leave off hurting -him, as well as me, he will be very pleased to show you, I am sure. I -must tell you, too, that he is almost as useful in a garden as I am, -for he lives on the same things, and catches flies and slugs just as I -do.” - -“Then isn’t he _quite_ as useful?” said Tommy Smith; but as the frog -didn’t seem to hear, he went on with—“Then I will not hurt him any -more than I will you.” - -“Come along, then,” said the frog; and he began to hop in front of the -little boy until they came to the shrubbery, where, in the mould beside -a laurel bush, there sat a great, solemn-looking toad. - -“I have brought someone to see you,” said the frog. “This is little -Tommy Smith, who used to be such a bad boy, and kill every animal he -saw; but now he has promised not to hurt either of us.” - -“I am glad to hear it,” answered the toad, “and I hope he will soon -learn to leave other creatures alone too. Well, what is it he wants?” - -“He wants to see you change your skin,” said the frog. - -“He had better look at me, then,” said the toad, “for that is just what -I am doing.” - -Tommy Smith bent down to look, and then he saw that the toad was -wriggling about in rather a funny way, as if he was a little -uncomfortable. He noticed, too, that his skin had split along the -back, and it seemed to be wrinkling up and getting loose all over him, -although it had been too tight before. This loose skin was dirty and -old-looking, but underneath it, where it was split, Tommy Smith could -see a nice new one that looked ever so much better. The more the toad -wriggled, the looser the old skin got, and it was soon plain that he -was wriggling himself out of it, just as you might wriggle your hand -out of an old glove. At last he had got right out of it, and there lay -the old skin on the ground. - -“You see,” said the frog, “that is how we change our skin, just as you -would change a suit of clothes. Does he not look handsome in his new -one?” - -“Very handsome—for a toad,” said Tommy Smith. (The toad only heard the -first two words of this, so he was _very_ pleased.) “But what is he -doing with his old skin, now that he has got it off?” - -“If you wait a little, you will see,” said the frog. - -All this time the toad was pushing his old skin backwards and forwards -with his two front feet, and he kept on doing this until, at last, he -had rolled it up into a sort of ball. Then all at once he opened his -great wide mouth and swallowed the ball, just as if it had been a large -pill. - -Tommy Smith was so surprised that he could hardly believe his eyes. “He -has swallowed his own skin!” he cried. - -“Of course I have,” said the toad; “and the best thing to do with it, -_I_ think. I always like to be tidy, and not to leave things lying -about. Now, good-morning,” and he began to crawl away, for he was not -an _idle_ toad, but had business to attend to. - -“And I have something to see about,” said the frog, “so I will -say good-bye, too, for the present. But remember what you have -promised—never to hurt a frog or a toad;” and, with two or three great -hops, he was out of sight. - -Tommy Smith stood thinking about it all for some time, and then he ran -into the house to tell everybody all the wonderful things he had learnt -about frogs and toads, and to beg them never to kill any, because they -do good in the garden. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE ROOK - - “_The rook gives advice which we must not neglect. - I hope that his CAWS will produce an effect._” - - -IT was a nice, fine afternoon, and Tommy Smith was just going out for a -little walk. He thought he would take his little terrier dog with him, -so he called, “Pincher! Pincher!” But Pincher was not there, so he had -to go without him. He was very sorry for this, for when he had got a -little way from the house, what should run across the road but a rat, -which sat down just inside the hedge and looked at him. “What a pity,” -he said out loud. “It’s no use my trying to catch him alone, for he’s -sure to get away; but if Pincher had been with me, we would have hunted -him down together.” - -“Then you would have done very wrong,” said the rat, as he peeped at -little Tommy Smith through the hedge. “You are a naughty boy yourself, -and you teach Pincher to be a naughty dog.” - -“What!” said Tommy Smith; “then can you talk as well as the frog and -toad?” - -“Of course I can,” the rat answered; “and I think if I were to talk to -you for a little while as they did, you would not wish to hurt _me_ any -more either. I am sure I am just as clever as a frog or a toad.” - -“Can you change your skin like them?” said Tommy Smith. - -“_My_ skin never wants changing,” said the rat; “but there are many -other things I can do which are quite as clever as that.” - -“Well, do some of them,” said Tommy Smith. - -“I will,” said the rat, “but not now. I can do things much better at -night, and I prefer being indoors. To-night, when everybody is in bed -and asleep, and the house is quiet, I will come to your room and wake -you up. We can talk without being disturbed then, and I will soon teach -you what a clever animal I am.” - -“I wonder what you will have to tell me,” said Tommy Smith. “But say -what you will, I believe that rats were only made to be killed.” - -The rat looked _very_ angry. “They have as much right to be alive as -little boys have,” he said. “But good-bye for the present,” and he -scampered away. - -Tommy Smith walked on, and when he had gone some little way, he saw -a number of rooks walking about a field. There was a haystack in the -field, and he thought that perhaps if he were to get behind it and wait -there for a little while, some of the rooks would come near enough for -him to throw a stone at them. So he put several stones in his pocket, -and then, with one in his hand, he began to walk towards the haystack. -When he got there, he sat down behind it, and peeped cautiously round -the corner. Yes, the rooks were still there, and some of them were -coming nearer. “Oh,” thought Tommy Smith (but I think he must have -thought it aloud), “I have only to wait a little while, and then, -perhaps, I shall be able to kill one.” - -“For shame!” said a voice close to him. - -Tommy Smith looked all about, but he saw no one. “Who was that?” he -said. - -“Oh, fie!” said the voice. “What? kill a poor rook? What a wicked, -wicked thing to do!” - -Tommy Smith thought that there must be someone on the other side of the -haystack, so he went there to see; but he found no one. Then he walked -all round it, but nobody was there. But the rooks had seen him as he -went round the haystack, and they all flew away. Then the same voice -(it was rather a hoarse one) said, “Ah! now they are gone; so you will -not be able to kill any of them.” - -“Who are you?” said Tommy Smith. “I hear you, but I cannot see -anybody;” and, indeed, he began to feel rather frightened. - -“If I show myself, will you promise not to hurt me?” said the hoarse -voice. - -“Yes, I will,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Very well, then. Throw away that stone you have in your hand, and the -ones in your pocket as well.” - -Tommy Smith did this, and then, what should he see, standing on the -very top of the haystack, but a large black rook. “Why, where were -you?” he said. “I did not see you there when I looked.” - -“No,” the rook said; “I hid myself under a little loose hay, for I did -not want a stone thrown at me. I saw you coming, and I knew very well -what you wanted to do, so I thought I would wait till you came, and -then give you a good talking to. And, indeed, a naughty boy like you, -who wants to kill rooks, _ought_ to be scolded.” - -“I don’t see why it is so naughty,” answered Tommy Smith; “I have -always thrown stones at the rooks, and nobody has ever told me not to.” - -“That is just why _I_ have come to tell you how wrong it is,” said the -rook. “Would you like anybody to throw stones at you?” - -Tommy Smith had to confess that he would not like _that_ at all. - -“Then, do you not know,” the rook went on, looking very grave, “that -you ought to do the same to other people that you would like other -people to do to you? Have not your father and mother taught you that?” - -“Oh yes, they have,” said Tommy Smith; “but I don’t think they meant -animals.” - -“They ought to have meant them,” said the rook, “whether they did or -not, for animals have feelings as well as human beings. If you are kind -to them, they are happy; but if you are unkind to them and hurt them, -then they are unhappy. An animal, you know, is a living being like -yourself, and surely it is better to make any living being happy than -to make it unhappy.” - -Tommy Smith looked rather ashamed when he heard this, and did not quite -know what to say. He thought the rook spoke as if he were preaching a -sermon, and then he remembered having heard some old country people -talk of “Parson Rook.” Still, what he _said_ seemed to be sensible, and -all _he_ could say, at last, as an answer was, “Oh, it’s all very well, -but you know you rooks do a great deal of harm.” - -“That shows how little you know about us,” answered the rook. “We do -not do harm, but good; and if the farmers knew how much good we did -them, they would think us their best friends.” - -“Why, what good _do_ you do them?” said Tommy Smith. “I always thought -that you ate their corn.” - -“Perhaps we may eat a little of it,” the rook said; “that is only fair, -for if it were not for us, the farmer would have very little corn or -anything else. I am sure, at least, that he would have scarcely any -potatoes.” - -“Oh! but why wouldn’t he?” said Tommy Smith. - -“I will explain it to you,” said the rook. “So now listen, because you -are going to learn something. There is an insect which you must often -have seen, for it is very common in the springtime. It is about the -size of a very large humble-bee, and it has wings too, but you would -not think it had at first, for they are hidden under a pair of smooth, -brown covers, which are called shards. In the daytime it sits upon a -tree or a bush, or sometimes you may see it crawling along a dusty -road. But in the evening it begins to fly about with a humming noise. -This insect is called the cockchafer. The mother cockchafer lays her -eggs in the ground, and, after a few weeks, there comes out of each egg -something which you would not think was a cockchafer at all, because it -is so different. It has a yellow head and a long white body, which is -bent at the end in the shape of a hook. On the front part of its body -it has three pairs of legs, like a caterpillar’s, only they are very -small; but behind, it has no legs at all. It has a very strong pair of -jaws, and with these it cuts through the roots of the grass and corn -and wheat under which it lies, for these are the things on which it -feeds. There is hardly anything which the farmer plants, and would like -to see grow, that this grub or caterpillar (for that is what it is) -does not eat and destroy; but what it likes best of all is the potato. - -“The cockchafer-grub lies in the ground for four years before it turns -into a real cockchafer, and all this time it keeps growing larger and -larger; and, of course, the larger it grows, the more it eats and the -more harm it does. Now if there were no one to kill this great, greedy -thing, I don’t know what the farmers would do, for all their crops -would be spoilt. But we rooks kill them, and eat them too, for they -are very nice, and we like them very much. We eat them for breakfast, -and dinner, and supper, so you can think what a lot of them we eat in -the day. When you see us walking about over the fields, we are looking -for these great white things, and, whenever we give a dig into the -ground with our beaks, you may be almost sure that we have either -found one of them or something else which does harm too. When the -fields are ploughed, a great many grubs and worms are turned up by the -ploughshare, and then you may see us following the plough, and walking -along in the furrow it has made, so as to pick up all we can get. So -think what a lot of good we must do, and remember that the boy who -kills a rook is doing harm to somebody’s corn, or wheat, or potatoes.” - -“I do not want to do that,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Of course not,” said the rook; “so you must not throw stones at us any -more.” - -“I won’t, then,” said Tommy Smith. “But why do the farmers shoot you, -if you do them so much good?” - -“You may well ask,” the rook answered. “They ought to be ashamed of -themselves. I will tell you something about that. Once upon a time some -farmers thought they would kill us all because we stole their corn; so -they all went out together with their guns, and whenever they saw any -of us, they fired at us and killed us, until, at last, there was not a -rook left in the whole country; for all those that had not been shot -had flown away. The farmers were so glad, for they thought that next -year they would have a much better harvest. But they were quite wrong, -for, instead of having a better harvest, they had hardly any harvest -at all. The slugs and the caterpillars, and, above all, the great, -hungry cockchafer-grubs, had eaten almost everything up; for, you see, -there were no hungry rooks to eat _them_. The little corn we used -to take from the farmers they could very well have spared, but now, -without us, they found that they had lost much more than they could -spare. Then the farmers saw how foolish they had been, and they were -very sorry, and did all they could to get the rooks to come back again; -and when they did come back, they took care not to shoot them any more.” - -Tommy Smith was very interested in this story which the rook told him, -and he was just going to ask where it all happened, and whether it was -near where he lived or a long way away, when the rook said, “Well, I -must be flapping” (just as an old gentleman might say, “Well, I must be -jogging”); “there is a meeting this afternoon which I ought to attend.” - -“A meeting!” Tommy Smith said, feeling quite surprised. - -“Certainly,” replied the rook. “Why not? I belong to a civilised -community, so, of course, there are meetings. I should be sorry not to -go to _some_ of them.” - -It seemed very funny to Tommy Smith that birds should have meetings as -well as men. “But, perhaps,” he thought, “it is not quite the same kind -of thing.” Only he didn’t like to _say_ this, in case the rook should -be offended, so he only asked, “What sort of a meeting is it that you -are going to, Mr. Rook?” - -“A very important one,” the rook answered. “It is a meeting to try -someone who is accused of having done something wrong.” - -“Why, then, it is a trial,” said Tommy Smith. “But do rooks have -trials?” - -“Of course,” said the rook. “Have I not just said that we are a -civilised community? We are not _wild_ birds. Amongst civilised people, -when someone is accused of doing wrong, he is tried for it, is he not?” - -“Oh yes!” said Tommy Smith. “If he is a man, he is.” - -“If he is a man, men try him,” said the rook; “but if he is a rook, -rooks do.” - -“But what do you do if you find him guilty?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Why, we punish him, to be sure,” said the rook; “and if he has been -_very_ wicked, we peck him to death.” - -“Oh, but that is very cruel,” said Tommy Smith. He forgot that he had -seen _innocent_ rooks _shot_ without thinking it cruel at all. - -“Not more cruel than hanging a man,” the rook answered. “Do you think -it is?” and Tommy Smith couldn’t say that he did. He thought he would -very much like to see this trial that the rook was going to. “Oh, Mr. -Rook,” he said, “do let me go with you.” But the rook said, “Oh no! -that would never do. No men are allowed at our trials. There are no -rooks at yours, you know.” - -“No,” said Tommy Smith; “but that is because”— - -“Never mind why it is,” interrupted the rook; “no doubt there is some -good reason, and we have our reasons too. We could not try a rook -properly if we thought a man was watching us. It would make us nervous. -Sometimes (but not very often) a man has watched us without our knowing -it, and then he has told everybody about our wonderful trials. But -people have not believed him; and other men, who sit at home and see -very little, and only believe what they see, have written to say it was -all nonsense. But now, when they tell _you_ it is all nonsense, _you_ -will not believe _them_, because a rook himself has told you it is all -true.” - -“Oh yes, and I believe it,” said Tommy Smith. “But do tell me what the -rook you are going to try has done.” - -“I cannot tell you that till we have tried him,” said the rook, “for -perhaps it may not be true after all. As yet, I do not even know what -he is accused of. Perhaps it is of stealing the sticks from another -rook’s nest to make his own with. Perhaps it is of something even -worse than that. But this you may be sure of, that if we _do_ peck -him to death, it will be because he has behaved himself in a manner -totally unworthy of a rook. Now I really must go, or I shall be late. -Good-bye,—and, let me see, I think you promised never to throw stones -at rooks again.” - -“Oh no!” said Tommy Smith, “I promise not to.” - -“Or to shoot us when you grow up,” said the rook, just turning his head -round as he was preparing to fly. - -“Oh no! indeed, I won’t,” said Tommy Smith; and the rook flew away with -a loud caw of pleasure. - -[Illustration: “I SHALL KEEP AWAKE TILL THE RAT COMES”] - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE RAT - - “_The rat is a king. Tommy Smith has a peep - At his palace: but is he awake or asleep?_” - - -“I SEE you,” said the rat, as Tommy Smith passed through the yard of -his father’s house. “I see you, but it is not the right time yet. Wait -till to-night.” - -So all that day Tommy Smith kept thinking of what the rat had promised; -and when his bedtime came, instead of wanting to stay up longer, as -he usually did, he was quite pleased to go, and went upstairs without -making any fuss. “Now,” thought he, as he made himself nice and snug in -bed, “I shall keep awake till the rat comes. I am not at all sleepy. I -can see the branch of the cedar tree by the window shaking in the wind, -and I can hear the clock ticking on the staircase. ‘Tick, tick—tick, -tick,’—I wonder if it gets tired of saying that all day long, and all -night long, too, without ever once stopping,—unless they don’t wind -it up. ‘Tick, tick—tick, tick.’ If I keep on counting it, I shan’t go -to sleep. ‘Tick, tick—tick, tick—tick, tick—tick—squeak!’” - -“What was that?” said Tommy Smith, as he sat up in bed. “That wasn’t -the clock;” and then, all at once, the old clock on the stairs struck -one. “One? Then it must be wrong. When I got into bed it was only”— - -“It is quite right,” said a squeaky little voice close to Tommy Smith’s -ear, “I don’t know what time it was when you got into bed, but you have -been asleep for a good many hours; and now it is one in the morning, -which is what _I_ call a nice, comfortable time.” - -“I suppose you are the rat,” said Tommy Smith, rubbing his eyes. - -“Yes, I am,” the same voice answered. “But it is too dark for you to -see me here. Get up, and put on some of your clothes, and then we will -come down to the kitchen. The fire is not quite out, and you can put a -few more sticks on it. Then you will be able to see me as well as I can -see you now, and we can talk together comfortably.” - -[Illustration: PAT, PAT, PAT. “DO YOU HEAR?”] - -“But can you see in the dark?” said Tommy Smith, whilst he sat on the -bed and began to put on his stockings. - -“Oh yes,” the rat answered; “just as well as I can in the light.” - -“I wish I could,” said Tommy Smith, “for I can’t see _you_ at all.” - -“Of course not,” said the rat. “So, you see, it has not taken a _very_ -long time to find out something which I can do, but you can’t. Well, -you are ready now, so come along. You will be able to follow me, for -I will pat the floor just in front of you with my tail,—and that is -another thing which you couldn’t do, even if you were to try for a very -long time.” - -“Because _I_ haven’t got a tail,” said Tommy Smith. - -“That is one reason,” the rat answered; “but you can’t be sure you -could do it even if you had one. It might be too short, you know. Now, -come along.” Pat, pat, pat. “Do you hear?” - -Tommy Smith heard quite plainly, and he followed the rat through the -door, and down the stairs, and right into the kitchen. The fire was -still alight, as the rat had said. There were some sticks lying in the -fender, and Tommy Smith put some of them on to make it burn up. Then -there was a blaze of light, and he could see the rat sitting up on his -hind legs, and holding his front paws close to the bars so as to warm -them. - -“Now,” the rat said, “we will begin at once. I promised to show you -that I could do some clever things as well as the frog and toad. Do you -see that bottle of oil standing there on the dresser?” - -“Oh yes, I see it,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Well,” the rat went on, “I should like to taste a little of it. But -how do you suppose I am to get at it?” - -“Why, by knocking it over,” said Tommy Smith at once. “That is the only -way that I can see.” - -“Fie!” said the rat. “That may be _your_ way of drinking oil, but _I_ -should be ashamed to make such a mess. _I_ am a rat, and I like to do -things in a proper manner.” - -Tommy Smith felt a little offended at this, and he said, “I never knock -a bottle over when I want to get oil or anything else out of it, for -_I_ am a little boy, and have a pair of hands to lift it up with, and -pour what is in it out of it. But you have no hands, and you cannot get -your head into it, because the neck is too narrow, and your tongue is -not long enough to reach down to where the oil is. So I don’t see what -you can do, unless you knock it over.” - -“Fie!” said the rat again. “Well, you shall soon see what I can do.” -And almost as he said this, he was on the dresser, and from there he -gave a little jump on to the window-sill, and sat down, with his long -tail hanging over the edge of it. Now the neck of the bottle came -almost up to the edge of the window-sill, and the rat’s tail was as -long as the bottle. - -“Oh, I see!” cried Tommy Smith. - -“You will in a minute,” said the rat, and he drew up his tail, and -began to feel about with the tip of it till he had got it right inside -the mouth of the bottle. Then he let it down again until it was dipped -more than an inch deep into the oil at the bottom—for the bottle was -not quite half full. - -“Oh, how clever!” cried Tommy Smith, clapping his hands. - -“I should think so,” said the rat, as he drew out his tail, and then, -putting the end of it to his mouth, he began to lick off the delicious -oil. “You say that I have not a pair of hands,” he went on. “That is -true, but you see I have a tail, and I make it do just as well.” - -“So you do,” said Tommy Smith; “and I see that you are a very clever -animal indeed.” - -“We are clever in many other ways besides that,” said the rat. “Oil, -you know, is not the only thing which we care about. We like eggs for -breakfast, just as much as you do, and when we find any, we take them -to our holes, even if they are a long way off. Now, how do you think we -do that?” - -“Let me see,” said Tommy Smith. “You have no hands, and I don’t think -you could carry an egg in your tail. I think you must push it in front -of you with your nose and paws.” - -“Oh, we can do that, of course,” said the rat, “but it takes so long, -and, besides, the eggs might get broken. We have better ways than that. -Sometimes, if there are a great many of us, we all sit in a row, and -pass the eggs along from one to the other in our fore-paws. But we -have another way which is cleverer still, and as there is a basket of -eggs in that cupboard there, I don’t mind showing it you; for, between -ourselves, when we do _that_ trick, we like to have a little boy in the -kitchen at nights to look at us. But, first, I must call a friend of -mine.” The rat then gave rather a loud squeak, and out another rat came -running; but Tommy Smith didn’t see where it came from. - -“What is it?” said the second rat. - -“Oh, I want to show little Tommy Smith how we carry eggs about,” said -the first rat. - -“Very well,” said the second rat. “Come along.” And they both scampered -into the cupboard together. (The door of the cupboard was half open. -_I_ think it ought to have been shut.) - -Very soon the two rats came out again, but whatever do you think they -were doing? Why, one of them was on his back, and the other one was -dragging him along the floor by his tail, which he had in his mouth. -But what was that white thing which the rat who was being dragged -along was holding? Was it an egg? Yes, indeed it was; and he was -holding it very tightly with all his four feet, so that it was pressed -up against his body, and didn’t slip at all. - -Tommy Smith could hardly believe his eyes. “Is that how you do it?” he -cried. “I see. One rat holds the egg, and the other pulls him along by -the tail.” - -“Of course he does,” said the rat. “He pulls him and the egg too.” - -“_Well_,” Tommy Smith said, “of all the clever things I have _ever_ -seen, I think that is the cleverest. But where are you going with it?” - -Yes, it was easy to ask, but there was no one to answer him; for both -the little rats were gone all of a sudden,—and, what is more, the egg -was gone too. “That will be one egg less for breakfast,” thought Tommy -Smith to himself. “I wonder that I didn’t think of that before. Ah, Mr. -Rat,” he called out, “you may be very clever, but you are a thief, for -all that. That egg which you have just taken away belongs to me. I mean -it belongs to my father and mother. I call that stealing.” - -“Oh, do you?” said the rat, for he had come out of his hole again. -“Then just let me ask you one question. Who laid that egg?” - -“Why, the hen did, of course,” answered Tommy Smith. - -“Oh, did she?” said the rat. “Then I suppose your father, or someone -else, took it away from her, and _I_ call _that_ stealing.” - -“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith; “I don’t think it is.” - -“Don’t you?” said the rat. “Well, you had better ask the hen what _she_ -thinks. I feel sure she would agree with me.” - -Tommy Smith felt certain that the rat was wrong, and that the egg had -not been stolen. Still, he thought he had better not ask the hen; -and, whilst he was considering what he should say, the rat went on -with—“There are other things we rats do which are quite as clever as -what you have just seen. But, perhaps, if I were to show them you, you -would make some other rude remark about stealing.” - -“Perhaps I should,” Tommy Smith answered; “and, besides, I feel very -sleepy, and should like to go upstairs to bed again.” - -As he said this, he yawned, and looked straight into the fire; but, -dear me, what _was_ happening there? The coals in it seemed to be -getting larger and larger, till they looked like the sides of great red -mountains, and the spaces between them were like great caves, so deep -that Tommy Smith could not see to the bottom of them. In and out of -these caves, and all down the sides of the red mountains, hundreds of -rats were running, and they all met each other in the centre of—what? -Not of the fireplace. Of course not, for they would have been burnt. -Nor of the kitchen either. There was no kitchen now. It had all -disappeared. It was in the centre of a great hall, or amphitheatre, -that Tommy Smith stood now; and when he looked round him, he saw only -those great rugged mountains, which seemed to make its walls on every -side. He looked up but he could see nothing. There was neither sun, nor -moon, nor stars, yet everything was lit up with a strange light, which -seemed to Tommy Smith like the red glow of the fire, though he couldn’t -see the fire any more. It had gone with the kitchen. - -“Where am I?” he cried. - -“In the great underground store-cupboard of the rats,” said a voice -close beside him; and, looking round, he saw the same rat who had come -up into his bedroom, and taken him down to the kitchen, and shown him -his clever tricks. - -Yes, he was the same rat,—but how different he looked! On his head -was a yellow crown, which was either of gold, or _else_ it must have -been cut out of a cheese-paring; and in his right fore-paw he held -his sceptre, which looked _exactly_ like a delicate spring-onion. He -had a necklace of the finest peas round his neck, from which a lovely -green bean hung as a pendant upon his breast, and his tail was twisted -into beautiful _rings_. “I am the king of the rats,” he said, “and -all the other rats are my subjects. Those great caves which you see -in the sides of the mountains are so many passages that lead into all -the kitchens of the world. Through them we bring all the good things -that we find in the kitchens, and larders, and pantries, and then -we feast on them here in our own palace; for a rat’s palace is his -store-cupboard. See!” And with this the rat king struck his sceptre -on the ground, and at once all the rats left off scampering about, -and formed themselves into a great many long lines, which stretched -from the mouths of all the caves right into the very middle of that -wonderful place. There they all sat upright, side by side, waiting -to be told what to do. Then the king of the rats waved his sceptre -three times round his head, and called out, “Supper.” Immediately -all kinds of things that are good for rats to eat, such as bits of -cheese, scraps of bread or toast, beans, onions, bacon, potatoes, -apples, biscuits,—everything of that kind that you can possibly think -of (besides _some_ things that you _can’t_ possibly think of), began -to pour out from all the great caves, and to fly like lightning from -rat to rat down all the long lines. One rat seized something in his -fore-paws and passed it on to another, and that one to the next, so -quickly that it made Tommy Smith quite giddy to look at it; and he -hardly knew what was happening, till all at once there was an immense -heap of provisions piled up in the very centre of the floor. Then the -king of the rats climbed up to the top of the heap, and called out, -“Take your places,” and in a moment all the other rats came scampering -up, and sat in a large circle round the great heap of provisions. -“Begin!” said the king; and every rat made a leap forward, and fixed -his teeth into the first piece of bread, or cheese, or toast, or bacon, -that he could get hold of, and there was _such_ a noise of nibbling, -and gnawing, and scratching, and squeaking. Tommy Smith was quite -frightened, and put his fingers to his ears. - -[Illustration: “BITE HIM!”] - -“What are you doing that for?” said the king of the rats. “Didn’t you -hear me tell you to begin?” - -“But I don’t want to begin,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Why not?” said the king; and all the other rats stopped eating, and -said, “Why not?” - -“Because I don’t like eating in the night,” Tommy Smith answered; “and, -besides, I can’t eat what rats eat.” - -At this there was a great commotion, and the king of the rats cried -out, “Bite him!” in a very loud and shrill voice. - -Oh, how fast little Tommy Smith ran! “The caves!” he thought. “They -lead to all the kitchens of the world, so one of them must lead to -ours.” He got to one, but the rats were close behind him. He could see -their eyes shining in the dark as he looked back. “Oh dear!” he said; -“I shall be caught. It’s getting narrower and narrower, and, of course, -it must be a rat’s hole at the other end. Ah, there! I’m stuck, and -I shall be bitten all over.” As he said this, he kicked and squeezed -as hard as he could, and, to his great surprise, he found that the -sides of the rat-hole were quite soft—in fact, they felt very like -bedclothes; and the next moment his head was on his own pillow, and the -old clock on the staircase struck two. - -“Well, good-night,” said a squeaky little voice, that he seemed to have -heard before. “If you _will_ go to sleep, I can’t help it, but I think -the way in which little boys turn night into day is quite dreadful.” - -The next time Tommy Smith heard the old clock on the stairs, it was -striking eight, so, of course, it was broad daylight, and high time -to get up. “What a funny dream I have had,” he said, as he rubbed his -eyes; “or did the rat really come, as he said he would?” Then, after -thinking a little, he said to himself, “Rats are certainly very clever -animals, and I don’t think I’ll kill another, even if they do steal a -few things. At anyrate, _I_ won’t hurt _them_ until _they_ hurt _me_.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE HARE - - “_When you’ve read through this chapter, I’m sure you’ll declare - That you hate everybody who hunts the poor hare._” - - -WHAT a beautiful day it was! - -How bright the sun shone, and how pleasantly the birds were -singing,—for it was the lovely season of spring. All the air was full -of melody, so that it seemed to Tommy Smith as if he had somehow got -inside a very large musical box, which _would_ keep on playing. And so -he had, _really_, only it was Nature’s great musical box,—the music -was immortal, and the works were alive. - -Far up in the sky the lark was doing his very best to please little -Tommy Smith and everybody else, for he made whoever heard him feel -happier than they had felt before. But what was little Tommy Smith -doing to show how grateful he was to the bird that gave him so much -pleasure? Why, I am sorry to say that he was trying to find the -poor lark’s nest, so that he might take away the eggs which were in -it,—those eggs which the mother lark had been taking so much trouble -to keep warm, so that little baby larks might come out of them, which -she meant to feed and take care of till they were grown up, and could -fly and sing like herself. It was the thought of those eggs, and of -the mother bird sitting upon them, which made the lark himself sing so -gladly up in the air, for, when he looked down, he fancied he could -see them; and he knew that there was someone waiting for him there who -would be glad to see him again, when he came down to roost. But Tommy -Smith did not think of this, for nobody had talked to him about it. All -he thought of was how he could get the eggs, so that he could take them -away with him, and show them to other boys. - -Ah! what was that? How gracefully the cowslips waved, and up went a -lark into the sky; and as he rose he seemed to shake a song out of his -wings. Tommy Smith thought there was sure to be a nest close to where -he had risen, so he went to look; but before he had got to the place, -away went something—something brown like a lark, but ever so much -larger, and, instead of flying, it galloped along over the ground; so, -you see, it was not a bird at all. What was it? Tommy Smith knew well -enough, for he had often seen such an animal before. “Ha!” he cried. -“Puss! puss! A hare! a hare!” and he sent the stick which he had in his -hand whizzing after it; but, I am glad to say, he did not hit it. - -The hare did not seem so very frightened. Perhaps he knew that he could -run away faster than any stick thrown by a little boy could come after -him. At anyrate, before he had gone far, he stopped, and then he turned -round, and raised himself right up, almost on his hind legs, and looked -back at Tommy Smith. - -“Well,” he said, as Tommy Smith came up; “you see you cannot catch me.” - -“No,” said Tommy Smith—he was getting quite accustomed to having talks -with animals,—“you run too quickly.” - -“For my part,” said the hare, “I wonder how any little boy who has a -kind heart can like to tease and frighten a poor, timid animal who is -persecuted in so many ways as I am.” - -“What do you mean by ‘persecuted’?” said Tommy Smith. “That is a word -which I don’t understand. It is too long for me.” - -“It is a great pity,” the hare went on, “that a little boy should -always be _doing_ something which he does not know the word for. To -‘persecute’ people is to be very cruel to them, and whenever you hurt, -or annoy, or frighten, or ill-treat any of us animals, then you are -persecuting us.” - -“If I had known that,” said Tommy Smith, “I would not have done it.” - -“Then you mustn’t do it any more,” said the hare; “and especially not -to me, because I have so many enemies who are always trying to injure -me.” - -“Why, what enemies have you?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Plenty,” the hare said. “First, there is that wicked animal the fox, -who is always ready to kill and eat me whenever he has the chance. -He is very cunning, and, as he knows he cannot run fast enough to -catch me, he tries all sorts of ways to pounce upon me when I am not -expecting it. Sometimes he will wait by a hole in the hedge that he has -seen me go through, and when I come to it again, he springs out and -seizes me with his teeth and kills me, for he is much stronger than I -am. Then sometimes one fox will chase me past a place where another fox -is hiding, and then the fox that was hiding jumps out at me, and they -both eat me together.” - -“How wicked!” said Tommy Smith. - -“Is it not?” said the hare. “And then there is that horrid little -creature the weasel. He follows me about till he catches me, and then -he bites me in the throat, so that I bleed to death.” - -“That _is_ horrid of him,” said Tommy Smith. “But there is one thing -which I cannot understand. The weasel does not go so very fast, and you -can run faster than a horse. I am sure that if you were to run away, he -would never be able to catch you.” - -“You don’t know what it is,” said the hare. “That odious little animal -follows me about, and never leaves off. You see, wherever I go I leave -a smell behind me.” - -“Do you?” said Tommy Smith. “That seems very funny. Why, I am close to -you, and I don’t smell anything.” - -“Little boys cannot smell nearly as well as animals,” said the hare. -“However, I don’t _quite_ understand it myself, for I am sure I am as -clean as any animal can be, and there is nothing nasty about me; and -yet whenever my feet touch the ground, they leave a smell upon it. That -is my _scent_; but other animals have their scent too as well as I, so -I needn’t mind about it. Now the weasel has a very good nose, so that -he is able to follow the scent that I have left on the ground, until he -comes to where I am; and, besides, when I know that that cruel little -animal is following me, I get so frightened that I cannot run away, as -I would from you, or from a fox, or a dog. And so he comes up and kills -me.” - -“Poor hare!” said Tommy Smith. “I feel very sorry for you. I am afraid -that you are not clever like other animals, or else you would escape -and get away more often. The rat would run down a hole, I am sure, and -so would the rabbit. I have often seen him do it.” - -“Pray do not compare me to the rabbit,” said the hare. “I have twice -as much sense as he has, and I can tell you that you make a great -mistake if you think I am not clever, for I am very clever indeed, as -I will soon show you. If you will follow me a few steps, I will take -you to the place where I was lying when you frightened me out of it. -See, here it is. Look how nicely the grass is pressed downward and -bent back on each side, so that it makes a pretty little bower for me -to rest in when I am tired of running about. That is better, I think, -than a mere hole in the ground; and, for my part, I look upon burrowing -as a very foolish habit. _I_ prefer fresh air, and I think that it is -much nicer to see all about one than to live in the dark. This little -bower of mine is what people call my _form_, and I am so fond of it -that, however often I am driven away, I always come back to it again. -And now, how do you think I get into this form of mine? I have told you -that wherever I go I leave a scent upon the ground, so if I just came -to my form and walked into it, any animal that crossed my scent would -be able to follow it till he came to where I was. Now, what do you -think I do to prevent this?” - -“I don’t know,” said Tommy Smith, after he had thought a little; “I -don’t see how you can prevent it, for you must come to your form on -your feet,—you cannot fly.” - -“No,” said the hare; “but I can jump. Look!” And he gave several leaps -into the air, which made Tommy Smith clap his hands and call out, -“Bravo! how well you do it!” - -“Now,” said the hare, “when I am coming back to my form, I leap first -to this side and then to that side, and then I make a very big jump -indeed, and down I come in my own house. Of course, by doing this, I -make it much more difficult for a fox or a weasel to smell where I have -been, for it is only where my feet touch the ground that I leave my -scent upon it.” - -“Ah, I see,” cried Tommy Smith; “so, when you make long jumps, your -feet will not touch the ground at so many places as they would if you -only just ran along it.” - -“Of course not,” said the hare. - -“And then there will not be so many places for a dog or a fox to smell -where you have been,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Not nearly so many,” said the hare; “that is the reason why I do it. -I hope you think _that_ quite as clever as just running down a hole, -which is what the rat and the rabbit do.” - -“I think it very clever, indeed,” said Tommy Smith; “and I see now that -you are a clever animal.” - -“I have other ways of escaping when I am chased,” the hare went on; -“and I think, when you have heard them, you will confess they are quite -as clever as anything which that conceited animal, the rat, has shown -you. As to the rabbit, I say nothing. He is a relation of mine, and we -have always been friendly. But the brains are not on _his_ side of the -family.” - -“Please go on, Mr. Hare,” said Tommy Smith. “I should like to hear all -you can tell me.” - -[Illustration: ALL HAPPY (EXCEPT THE HARE)] - -“Well,” the hare said, “I have told you about the fox and the weasel, -but they are not my only enemies. I have others—horses and dogs, and, -worst of all, hard-hearted men and women, who ride the horses, and -teach the dogs to run after me, and to catch me. It is a pretty sight -to see them all meet together in some field or lane. First one rides -up, and then another, until there are quite a number. They laugh and -talk whilst they wait for the huntsman to come with his pack of hounds. -All are merry and light-hearted; even the horses neigh, they are in -such spirits. Does it not seem funny that one creature’s wretchedness -should make so many creatures happy? And there are women—ladies, -some of them quite young, and _so_ pretty—like angels. I have seen -them smile as if they could not hurt any living thing. You would have -thought that they had come to stroke me, instead of to hunt me to -death. But I know better. They are not to be trusted. They have soft -cheeks, and soft eyes, and soft looks, but their hearts are hard. - -“At last, up comes the huntsman, in his green coat and black velvet -cap. He cracks his whip, and the dogs leap and bark around him—_such_ -a noise! I hear it all as I lie crouched in my form, and my heart beats -with terror. But I cannot lie there long, for now they are coming -towards me. I start up, and run for my life. Away I go, one poor, timid -animal, who never hurt anyone, and after me come men and women, boys -and girls, horses and dogs, all happy, and all thinking it the finest -thing in the world to hunt and to kill—a hare.” - -“Are the dogs greyhounds?” said Tommy Smith. - -“No,” answered the hare; “the dogs I am talking about now are not -greyhounds, but beagles. They hunt me by scent, but the greyhound hunts -me by sight, for he runs so fast that he can always see me.” - -“Does he run as fast as you do?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Yes, indeed,” said the hare; “he runs much faster, but he does not -always catch me, for all that. When he is close behind me, I stop all -of a sudden, and crouch flat on the ground. The greyhound cannot stop -himself so quickly, for he is not so clever as I am. He runs right over -me, and it is several seconds before he can turn round again. But _I_ -turn round as soon as he has passed me, and then I run as fast as I can -the other way, so that, when he starts after me again, he is a good -way behind. When he catches up to me, I do the same thing again. This -clever trick of mine is called _doubling_, and I AM so proud of it, -for if it was not for that, the greyhound would catch me directly.” - -“Then does he never catch you?” said Tommy Smith. - -“He never has yet,” said the hare. “But I have other ways of getting -away from him, as well as from other dogs, and I will tell you some of -them. Sometimes I run under a gate. The dogs are too big to do this, so -they are obliged to jump over it. Then, when they are near me, on the -other side I double, in the way I told you, run as fast as I can back -to the gate, and go under it again. Of course they have to jump over it -a second time, and in this way I keep running under the gate and making -them jump over it until they are quite tired, for, of course, it is -more tiring to jump over anything than only to run under it. At last, -when they are too tired to run any more, I slip quietly through a hedge -and gallop away.” - -“Bravo!” cried Tommy Smith. - -The hare looked very pleased, and said, “I see that you are not at all -a stupid boy, so I will tell you something else. Now, supposing you -were being chased across the fields by a lot of dogs, and you were to -come to a flock of sheep, what would you do?” - -Tommy Smith thought a little, and then he said, “I think I should call -out to the shepherd and ask him to help me.” - -“Yes, and I daresay he _would_ help _you_,” said the hare, “for he -would remember the time when _he_ was a little boy, and he would feel -sorry for you. But he would not feel sorry for _me_, who am only a -little hare (he was never _that_, you know). He would throw his stick -at me, as you did, and then he would do all he could to help the dogs -to catch me. No, it is not the shepherd that I should ask to help me, -but the sheep—_they_ are so gentle,—and when I came to them I should -run right into the middle of them, and then the dogs would not be able -to find me.” - -“But would not the dogs follow you in amongst the sheep and catch you -there?” said Tommy Smith. - -“No,” said the hare, “they would not be able to; for the flock would -keep together, so that the dogs could only run round the outside of it. -But _I_ should keep right in the middle, and wherever the sheep went, -I should go with them; _I_ could run between their feet, you know. -Besides, the dogs would not be able to see me amongst so many sheep.” - -“No,” said Tommy Smith. “But could not they still follow you by your -scent?” - -“No, indeed, they could not,” said the hare; “for, you see, sheep have -a stronger scent than I have, and they would put down their feet just -in the very place where I had put down mine, and then their scent would -hide mine. So, you see, by hiding amongst a flock of sheep I should -save my life, for the dogs would not be able either to see me, or smell -me, or to follow me, even if they could.” - -“Have you ever done it?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh yes!” said the hare; “and there is something else which I have -done. Sometimes when the dogs were chasing me, I have run to where I -knew another hare was sitting, and I have pushed that hare out of his -place, so that the dogs have followed _him_ instead of _me_. _I_ sat -down where _he_ had been sitting, and they all went by without finding -it out.” - -“Well,” said Tommy Smith, “that may have been very clever, but I don’t -think it was at all kind to the other hare.” - -The hare looked a little surprised at this, as if he had not thought -of it before. “One hare should help another, you know,” he said; “and, -besides, I daresay the dogs did not catch him after all. _He_ may have -found _another_ hare.” - -Tommy Smith was just beginning with “Oh, but”—when the hare said, -“Never mind!” rather impatiently, and then he continued, “And now I am -going to tell you something which will show you that, although I am not -a large or a fierce animal, I can sometimes be revenged on those who -injure me, though they are larger and fiercer than myself.” - -“Oh, do tell me,” said Tommy Smith, for the hare had paused a little, -and seemed to be thinking. - -“Ah!” he began again; “how well I remember it. I was very nearly -caught that time. How fast the greyhounds ran, and how close behind -me they were! What could I do to get away? I had gone up steep hills -to tire them; and I _had_ tired them, but then I had tired myself -still more. I had run up one side of a hedge and down the other, so -that they should not see me, and then I had gone through the roughest -and thorniest part of that hedge, in hopes that they would not be -able to follow. But they had kept close after me all the time, and -now they were just at my heels. Then I doubled. Oh, how close I lay -on the ground as the greyhounds leaped over me! I saw their white -teeth, and their glaring eyes, and their red tongues lolling out of -their great open mouths. But they had missed me, and I was saved for -a little while. But where was I to run to next? There were no hedges -now; no woods, or hills, or rocky ground, nothing but smooth level -grass, which is just what greyhounds love to race over. Was there no -escape? Yes. What was that long line far away where the green grass -ended and the blue sky began? White birds were wheeling above it, -and, from beneath, came a sound as though a giant were whispering. -That was the sound of the sea, and the long line meeting the sky was -the line of the cliffs. Oh, if I could reach it! But, first, I had to -double—once—twice—three times; over me they flew, and off I darted -again. And now the line grew nearer, the white birds looked larger as -they sailed in the air, and the whispering sound was changing to a -moan—to a roar. Yes, I was close to it now, but the greyhounds were -just behind me, and their hot breath blew upon my fur. They had caught -me! No. On the very edge of the cliffs I doubled once more, and _once_ -more they went over me.” - -“And over the cliffs?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes,” said the hare; “over me, and over the cliffs as well. Something -hid the sky for a moment,—a dark cloud passed above me. Then the sky -was clear again; and there were no greyhounds now. Over and over, down, -down, down they went, and were dashed to pieces on the black rocks, and -drowned in the white waves. I know they were, for I peeped over the -edge and saw it. You may ask the seagulls, if you like. They saw it -too.” - -“Were they all drowned?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes, all,” said the hare. - -“And were you glad?” he asked, for it seemed to him very dreadful. - -“Well,” the hare said, “I was glad to escape, of course, and so would -you have been. But yet I could not help feeling sorry for the poor -dogs, because they had been _taught_ to chase me, and it was not their -fault. Do you know who I should have liked to see fall over the cliffs -instead of them?” - -“Who?” said Tommy Smith. - -“The cruel, hard-hearted men who taught them,” said the hare. “It is -they who ought to have been drowned, and I am very sorry that they were -not.” - -“You poor hare!” said Tommy Smith, as he stroked its soft fur, and -played with its long, pretty ears. “It is very hard that you should -always be hunted, and I do think that you are very badly treated. But -what clever ways you have of escaping! Do you know, I think you are the -cleverest animal I have had a talk with yet, and I like you very much.” - -“Ah! it is all very well to say that now,” said the hare. “But who was -it that threw a stick at me?” - -“I never will again,” said Tommy Smith. “You know you jumped up all of -a sudden, so that I had no time to think. But I did not come out on -purpose to throw it at you. I only wanted to find a lark’s nest, so as -to get the eggs.” - -When the hare heard that, I cannot tell you how sad and grieved he -looked. “What!” he said. “Would you take the poor lark’s eggs away, and -make it unhappy? No, no; if you really like me, as you say you do, you -must promise me not to do anything so cruel as that. The lark is the -best friend I have. He sings to me as I lie in my form, and consoles me -for all my troubles. His voice cheers me too, when I am being chased by -the dogs, for he always seems to be saying, ‘You will get away; I know -you will get away.’ Then sometimes he comes down to roost quite close -to me, and we talk to each other. _He_ tells _me_ what it is like up -above the clouds, and _I_ tell _him_ all that has been going on down -here. He has _his_ trials too, for there are hawks that try to catch -_him_, just as there are greyhounds that try to catch _me_; so we sit -and comfort each other. Promise me never to be unkind to my friend the -lark.” - -“I won’t hurt him,” said Tommy Smith. “And if ever I find his nest with -eggs in it, I will only just look at them and leave them there.” - -“Oh, thank you,” the hare said; “and you won’t hurt me either?” - -“No, indeed, I won’t,” said Tommy Smith. “Do you know, I begin to think -that it would be better not to hurt any animal.” - -“Oh, much better!” said the hare, as he skipped gladly away. “Except -the fox,—and the weasel, you may hurt _him_—if you can catch him.” -He said that, of course, because he _was_ a hare, and felt prejudiced. -You must not think _I_ agree with him. Only a critic or a silly person -would think _that_. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE GRASS-SNAKE AND ADDER - - “_Tommy Smith has a talk with the grass-snake, and then - With the adder: they’re both as conceited as men._” - - -WHEN Tommy Smith had said good-bye to the hare, he thought he would -walk home through some woods which were not far off. So off he set -towards them, and as he went along he said to himself, “I know there -are a great many animals that live in the woods. Now I wonder which of -them will be the first to have a talk with me. Let me see. The pigeon -and the squirrel both live there, for I have often seen them together -on the same tree. And then there is the—” Good gracious! What was -that just gliding out from under a bush? Tommy Smith gave a start and -a jump, and well he might, for it was a large snake, perhaps three -feet long. He was so surprised that, at first, he didn’t quite know -what to do, and before he had made up his mind, it was too late to do -anything, for the snake had wriggled away into another bush. “It was -an adder,” said Tommy Smith out loud. “That, at least, is an animal -which I _ought_ to kill, because it is poisonous.” - -“I beg your pardon,” said a sharp, hissing voice. “I am not an adder, -and I am _not_ poisonous.” - -Tommy Smith looked all about, but he could see nothing. Still, he felt -sure that it must be the snake who had spoken, because the voice came -from the very centre of the bush into which he had seen it go. So he -answered, “Of course it is very easy for you to say that, but everybody -knows that snakes are poisonous, and, if you are not a snake, I should -just like to know what you are.” - -“I did not say that I was not a _snake_,” said the voice again. -“Of course I am, but I am not an adder for all that. There are two -different kinds of snakes in this country. One is the adder, which is -poisonous, and the other is the grass-snake, which is quite harmless. -Now _I_ am the grass-snake, so if you had killed me, you would have -done something very wrong, for you would have killed a poor harmless -animal.” - -“Well,” said Tommy Smith, “if that is true, I am glad I didn’t kill -you. But are you quite sure?” - -“If you don’t believe _me_,” said the snake, “you must get some good -book of natural history, and there you will find it mentioned that we -grass-snakes are quite harmless. It is the great superiority which our -family have always had over that of the adder. People may call _him_ a -‘poisonous reptile,’ but they cannot speak of _us_ in that way. If they -were to, they would only show their ignorance.” - -“But how am I to know which is one and which is the other?” asked Tommy -Smith. - -“You will not find _that_ very difficult,” the grass-snake answered; -“and if you will promise not to hurt me, I will come out from where I -am and show you.” - -Of course Tommy Smith promised (you see he was getting a much better -boy to animals than he used to be), and directly he had, the snake -came gliding out from under the bush, and lay on the ground just at -his feet. “Now”, he said, “to begin with, I am a good deal longer than -an adder. I should just like to see the adder that was three feet -long, and _I_ am an inch longer than that. No, indeed! Whenever you -see such a fine, long snake as I am, you may be sure that it is a nice -grass-snake, and not a nasty adder.” - -“I won’t forget that,” said Tommy Smith. “But, I suppose, snakes grow -like other animals. How should I be able to tell you from an adder if I -were to meet you before you were three feet long?” - -“Why, by my skin, to be sure!” said the grass-snake. “Look how -beautifully it is marked, and what a fine greenish colour it is. I -may well be proud of it, for a very great poet indeed has called it -‘enamelled,’ and says that it is fit for a fairy to wrap herself up in. -Think of _that_! The adder’s is quite different, only a dull, dirty -brown, which I _might_ call ugly if I were ill-natured. But I am _not_, -so I will only say that it is plain. I don’t think any fairy would like -to wrap herself in _his_ skin.” - -“But are there fairies?” said Tommy Smith. - -“There are, as long as you are a little boy,” said the grass-snake; -“but as soon as you are grown up there will be none.” - -“How funny!” said Tommy Smith. “But do you know, Mr. Grass-Snake, -I should not like to wrap myself up in your skin, even if I could, -because it is so hard and covered with scales. And besides, how could -the fairies get into it without killing you first? I don’t suppose you -can change it as the frog and the toad do.” - -“Not change it!” said the grass-snake. “And why not, pray? I should -think myself a very stupid animal if I could not do _that_. Of course I -change it, and then it looks and feels quite different to what it did -when it was on me. You see, it is only just the outer part which comes -off. That is quite thin, and I don’t think you would find it _very_ -much harder than the petal of a flower. Some day, perhaps, you may -find it if you look about in the grass or the bushes; for I rub myself -against the grass or bushes to get it off.” - -[Illustration: “THERE ARE THREE FROGS IN MY STOMACH AT THE MOMENT”] - -“Then you do not swallow your skin as the toad does?” Tommy Smith asked. - -“I should not like to do anything so nasty,” said the grass-snake -angrily, “and I wish you wouldn’t keep talking to me about frogs and -toads. They are very low animals, and only fit to be eaten.” - -Tommy Smith was quite shocked when he heard this, and he said, “Take -care, Mr. Grass-Snake. Frogs and toads are very useful animals, and my -friends, too. So I won’t let you eat them.” - -“That is talking nonsense,” said the grass-snake. “You can’t help my -eating them, especially frogs. Why, there are three frogs in my stomach -at this moment.” - -Directly Tommy Smith heard that, he made a dart at the grass-snake, -and caught hold of him before he could get away. I don’t know what he -meant to do. Perhaps he meant to kill the poor snake, which would have -been very wrong, as you will see. But before he had time to do anything -at all, two curious things happened. One was that the snake opened his -mouth very wide indeed, and out of it came first one, then another, -and then a third frog. Yes; three large frogs came out of the snake’s -mouth, one after the other, and there they all lay on the grass. That -was one funny thing, and the other was that, as soon as Tommy Smith -caught hold of the snake, the snake began to smell in a way that was -not at all pleasant. Indeed, it was such a _very_ nasty smell that -Tommy Smith was glad to drop him, so that he got away into the bush -again. - -“Ah, ha!” the snake said, as soon as he was safe, “I thought you -wouldn’t hold me very long. Just look at your hand now.” - -Tommy Smith looked at his hand. It had a thick yellowish fluid on it, -which made it feel quite moist, and it was this fluid which had such -a disagreeable smell. He was very much offended with the grass-snake, -and he called out to him, “I think that is a very nasty trick to play, -indeed.” - -“I thought you wouldn’t like it,” replied the grass-snake, “and that is -just why I did it. I wanted you to let me go, and, you see, you very -soon had to. I always do that when anyone catches me; and, for my -part, I think it is a very clever idea of mine.” - -“But how do you do it?” asked Tommy Smith, whilst he stooped down and -wiped his hand on the grass. - -“Why, I hardly know,” said the grass-snake. “It comes naturally to me. -Nobody can be cleaner or more well-behaved than I am, as long as I am -treated properly. But when I am attacked, and my life is in danger, I -do the only thing which I can do to protect myself. It is just as if -you had a bottle of something which smelt so strongly that when you -took out the cork and sprinkled it about, nobody could stay in the -room. Now I have something which smells like that, only instead of -keeping it in a bottle, I carry it under my skin, and when I want to -use it, then, instead of taking out a cork, I just open my skin, and it -comes out in little drops all over me.” - -“Open your skin?” said Tommy Smith. “Why, how do you do that?” - -“I don’t know _how_ I do it,” said the grass-snake, “but I _do_ do it.” - -“Well,” Tommy Smith said, “however you do it, I think it is a very -nasty habit. And besides, I shouldn’t have caught hold of you if you -hadn’t told me that you had been eating frogs. I think it is very cruel -of you to eat them. Why do you do it?” - -“Why do I do it?” answered the grass-snake. “Why, because I feel -hungry, to be sure. Why do you eat sheep, and oxen, and pigs, and -ducks, and fowls, and turkeys?” - -“Oh! but everybody eats them,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Every _snake_ eats frogs,” said the grass-snake. “We were made to eat -them, and the frogs were made for us to eat. That is my theory. It is a -good one, I feel sure, for it explains _the facts_ and makes _me_ feel -comfortable.” - -“But they are so useful,” said Tommy Smith; “and they do so much good -in the garden.” - -“I don’t eat them all,” said the grass-snake, “and I don’t often go -into gardens. Frogs and toads may be very useful, but perhaps if I -didn’t eat some of them there would be too many of them in the world, -and then, instead of being useful, they would be a nuisance. You see, -I don’t eat them all. I leave just as many as are wanted, as long as -_you_ don’t kill them. But if _you_ were to kill them too, then there -would be too few.” - -Tommy Smith thought a little, and then he said, “Are you obliged to eat -them?” - -“Of course I am,” said the grass-snake, “just as much as you are -obliged to eat beef and mutton. You would think it very hard if you -were to be killed just for eating your dinner. Then why should you want -to kill me for eating mine? No, no; take my advice, and learn this -lesson. Never kill one animal for eating another animal.” - -Tommy Smith thought over this for a little, and it seemed to him to be -right. “After all,” he thought, “the frog and the toad eat insects, -and if no animal might eat any other animal, then a great many animals -would die of starvation, and that would be very dreadful.” So he said -to the grass-snake, “Well, Mr. Grass-Snake, I think you are right, and, -if you come out of your bush, I will not try to catch you any more.” So -the grass-snake came wriggling out again, and then Tommy Smith asked -him why he had brought the frogs out of his mouth after he had eaten -them. - -“It was because you frightened me,” said the grass-snake. “You see, -I wanted to get away, and, with three frogs inside me, I felt rather -heavy. But as soon as the frogs were gone I was much lighter, and could -go much quicker. Now don’t you think it was a _very_ clever idea?” - -“I don’t think it was a very _clean_ idea,” said Tommy Smith; “but -as you were frightened, perhaps you couldn’t help it. But now, Mr. -Grass-Snake, are there any other clever things which you can do, and -which are not quite so nasty? If there are, I should like to hear about -them.” - -“I can lay eggs,” said the grass-snake, “which is more than the adder -can do.” - -“But can you really lay them?” said Tommy Smith; “and do you make a -nest for them, like a bird?” - -“No,” said the grass-snake. “A bird makes a nest for her eggs because -she has to sit on them, and she wants a nice, comfortable place to sit -in. Now I don’t sit on my eggs, for that is not at all necessary. I -just find a nice, warm, moist place for them, and when I have laid them -there, I go away and leave them. I have no time to sit on them like a -bird. I am much too busy.” - -“But how are your eggs ever hatched?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh,” said the grass-snake, “I am so clever that I know the heat of the -place where they lie will be enough to hatch them. So when they are -once safely laid, I don’t bother about them any more.” - -“Yes,” said Tommy Smith; “but if you go away, who is there to look -after the young snakes when they come out of the egg?” - -“They look after themselves,” said the grass-snake. “Birds are like -little boys and girls. They are great babies, and want someone to take -care of them whilst they are young. But we snakes are so clever that as -soon as we come into the world we can take care of ourselves, and don’t -want anyone to help us.” - -“I should like to see some of your eggs,” said Tommy Smith. “What are -they like?” - -“They are white,” said the grass-snake, “and they are joined together -in a long string, sometimes as many as sixteen or even twenty. So you -may think how beautiful they look, like a necklace of very large -pearls. Only they are not hard like pearls. Their shell is soft, and -not at all like the shell of a bird’s egg.” - -“I _should_ like to see them,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Well,” said the grass-snake, “you must look about in manure-heaps, and -then, perhaps, you will find some. That is the sort of place that I -like to lay them in.” - -Tommy Smith thought that this was another nasty habit of the -grass-snake, but he didn’t like to say so, because he had said it twice -before; so, after a little while, he said, “And do you really like -being a snake, Mr. Grass-Snake?” You see he had to say something, and -he didn’t quite know what to say. - -“Like it?” said the grass-snake. “Of course I do. I should be very -sorry to be anything else. Yes, we snakes have a happy life. In summer -we crawl about and eat frogs, and in winter we find some nice place to -go to sleep in.” - -“Then do you sleep all the winter?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Of course,” said the grass-snake. “What else is there to do? There are -no frogs in winter, and it is cold and unpleasant. The best thing is -to go to sleep, and that is what I always do.” - -Now whilst Tommy Smith was talking to the grass-snake he kept looking -at the poor dead frogs that were lying on the grass, and you can think -how surprised he was when, all at once, one of them moved a little, -and then began to crawl away very slowly. Then the others moved, and -began to crawl away too. So they were not dead after all. You see, -when a snake eats a frog (or anything else), he does not chew it, as -we do, but just swallows it whole, and then sometimes the frog will -keep alive for some time inside the snake’s stomach. Tommy Smith spoke -to the frogs, but they were too faint to answer. So he took them up, -and washed them in a little ditch which was close by, and then laid -them in a nice long tuft of grass. When he had done that, he came back -to where he had left the grass-snake, but he did not find him there -again. “Where are you?” he called out. “Do you mean me?” said a voice -quite near him. It was a hissing voice, certainly, and sounded a good -deal like the grass-snake’s. But still it did not sound quite the -same, Tommy Smith thought. So he said, “I mean you, if you are the -grass-snake,” in rather a doubtful tone of voice. “No, indeed,” hissed -the voice again, “I am something better than a grass-snake. _I_ am an -adder.” And as the adder said this, he came crawling out from a little -clump of furze-bush, where he had lain hidden. - -Tommy Smith saw that what the grass-snake had said was true, for the -adder’s body was shorter and of a duller colour than the grass-snake’s. -His head, too, was different. It was flatter, and swelled out more on -each side where it joined the neck, so that the neck looked smaller in -proportion to the size of the head. Altogether, Tommy Smith felt sure -that the next time he went out for a walk and saw a snake, he would be -able to tell whether it was a grass-snake or an adder. “And if it is an -adder,” he said to himself, “why, I ought to kill it.” And then he said -out loud, “Mr. Adder, you don’t seem at all afraid of me; but, do you -know, I think I ought to kill you, because you are poisonous.” - -“_I_ think you ought to leave me alone because I am poisonous,” said -the adder. “For if you were to try to kill me, I should have to bite -you, and then, perhaps, _I_ should kill _you_.” - -Tommy Smith did not like this remark of the adder’s at all. He began -to feel afraid himself, and he would have liked to have run away. But -he thought that if he did, the adder might attack him when his back -was turned. So he stood quite still, and only said, “Why aren’t you -harmless like the grass-snake?” - -“That is not a very polite question!” said the adder in reply. “_I_ -belong to the poisonous branch of the family, and I am proud to belong -to it. The grass-snake is a poor creature, and I pity him. I should -like to see anyone catch _me_ in the same way that they catch _him_. I -would soon teach them the difference between us.” - -“But you do so much harm,” said Tommy Smith. - -“What harm have I ever done _you_?” said the adder. - -“You have not done me any harm,” said Tommy Smith, “but that is because -I have never seen you before now.” - -“_You_ may never have seen _me_,” said the adder, “but _I_ have seen -_you_ very often. Sometimes I have been quite near to where you were -walking, but when I have heard you coming, I have just crawled out of -the way, and let you go by without hurting you. Now don’t you think -that was very good of me? I should just like to know what you have to -complain of.” - -“You have never hurt me, I know,” said Tommy Smith. “But think how many -people you do hurt.” - -“Do you know anybody that I have hurt?” asked the adder. - -“No,” answered Tommy Smith, “I don’t know anybody; but I am sure you -must have hurt a great many people, because you are poisonous.” - -“Well,” said the adder, “I think you might walk about a long while -asking people before you found anyone that I had done any harm to. I -never interfere with people unless they interfere with me, so I think -the best thing they can do is just to let me alone. It is true that my -two front teeth are poisonous, and that I can kill some creatures by -biting them. But these creatures are not men or women, but only mice -or small birds or frogs. You know I have to eat them, so I may just as -well kill them before I begin. The grass-snake eats _his_ frogs alive. -That is much more cruel than if he killed them first, as I do.” - -“How do you kill them?” said Tommy Smith. “I suppose you sting them -with your forked tongue, and then they die.” - -“Did you not hear me say that I bit them,” said the adder; “and that I -had two poisonous teeth? My tongue is not poisonous at all. There is no -more harm in it than there is in yours.” - -“Oh! but, Mr. Adder,” cried Tommy Smith, “do you know I once went to -the Zoological Gardens in London, and I saw the snakes there, and -whenever one of them put out his tongue, as you do yours, the people -all said, ‘Look at its sting! Look at its sting!’” - -“That is only because they were ignorant people,” said the adder, “and -did not know any better. No; it is the two long teeth in my upper jaw -that are poisonous, and, if you will just kneel down, I will open my -mouth so that you can see them, and then I can explain all about it to -you.” - -Tommy Smith didn’t quite like the idea of kneeling down and putting -his face close to the mouth of the adder. He had heard of men who -put their heads inside a lion’s mouth, and he thought that this would -be almost as dangerous. However, the adder promised not to bite him, -and as he said he never _had_ bitten a little boy in the whole of -his life, and should not think of doing so without a proper reason, -he thought he might trust him. So he knelt down and looked. Then the -adder opened his mouth, and, as he did so, two little white things like -fish-bones seemed to shoot forward into the front part of it. “Those -are my two poison-fangs,” he said. “When my mouth is shut, they lie -back against my upper jaw, but as soon as I open it to bite anyone, -they shoot forward so as to be in the right place.” Tommy Smith looked -at the teeth. They were as sharp as needles and almost as thin, but -they were not straight like common needles, but curved backwards like -crochet-needles. “What curious teeth!” he said. - -“Perhaps they are more curious than you think,” said the adder; “just -look at the tips of them, and see if you notice anything.” - -Tommy Smith looked as the adder told him, and he was surprised to see -a tiny little hole at the tip of each tooth. “Why, Mr. Adder,” he said, -“it seems to me as if your teeth were hollow and wanted stopping.” - -“They _are_ hollow,” said the adder, “and I will tell you why. At the -root of each of them I have a little bag which is full of poison. You -cannot see it, of course, because it is hidden under the flesh of my -upper jaw. But things which cannot be seen are very often felt. Now, -when I bite an animal, these little bags open, and a drop or two of -poison runs down each tooth where it is hollow, so that it goes into -the flesh of that animal and mixes with its blood.” - -“And does that kill it?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Oh yes!” answered the adder; “because I only bite small animals. It -would not kill a horse, or a cow, or even a pig, unless it was very -young. But it kills field-mice, and shrew-mice, and things of that -sort.” - -“But there is one thing, Mr. Adder, which I don’t understand,” said -Tommy Smith. “I thought that one had to swallow poison for it to kill -one. But you say that this poison of yours goes into the blood.” - -“I don’t know anything about poisons that have to be swallowed,” said -the adder; “I only know about _my_ poison, and I use that in the way I -have told you. _My_ poison must go into the blood. If you were only to -swallow it, I daresay it would not hurt you at all.” - -“I should not like to try,” Tommy Smith said. “But are you going?” for -the adder had begun to crawl away. - -“Yes,” said the adder; “I am going now, for I have plenty to do. I -should not have wasted my time like this, only I heard that poor -creature, the grass-snake, talking about himself, so I thought I would -just show you what a much more important animal I am than he.” - -“I think that you are rather conceited, Mr. Adder,” said Tommy Smith. -“The grass-snake is very clever. He can lay eggs, and he says that is -more than you can do.” - -“_I_ should be ashamed to do such a thing,” said the adder. “A young -grass-snake _requires_ an egg, but a young adder knows how to do -without one. _We_ can crawl as soon as we come into the world. As for -my being conceited, perhaps I am, just a little. But that is natural. I -can _never_ forget that I have _poison_ flowing in my veins. Now I will -say good-bye, for I have plenty to do, and must not waste my time any -longer.” - -“Good-bye, Mr. Adder,” Tommy Smith called after him, for he thought he -had better be friendly with such an animal. “I hope that you will never -bite me.” But the adder merely gave a contemptuous hiss, and was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE PEEWIT - - “_To eat peewit’s eggs to a peewit seems wrong, - So a hen MAY think hen’s eggs to hens should belong._” - - -“PEE-WEE-EET! Pee-wee-eet!” That is what a bird kept saying as he flew -in circles round Tommy Smith. Sometimes he flew quite a long way off, -and sometimes he came so near him that it seemed as if he would settle -on his head. “Pee-wee-eet! Pee-wee-eet!” And what a pretty bird this -was! How his white breast glanced in the sun, and how the glossy green -feathers of his back shone in it. He kept turning about in the air as -he flew, so that Tommy Smith could see every part of him. - -In fact, this bird was playing the strangest antics. Sometimes he would -clap his wings together above his back, at least Tommy Smith thought -he did; and then he would make such a swishing and whizzing with them, -that really it was quite a loud noise—almost like a steam-engine. -Then, all at once, he would turn sideways and make a dive down towards -the ground, and sometimes (this was the funniest trick of all) he would -tumble right over in the air, as if he had lost his balance and was -really falling. If Tommy Smith had ever seen a tumbler pigeon it would -have reminded him of one, but he never had. And all the while this bird -kept on calling out, “Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!” as if he wanted Tommy -Smith to speak to him, as, perhaps, he did. - -“I know what bird _you_ are,” said Tommy Smith. “I have often seen you -flying over the fields, but you have never come so close to me before. -I think your name is”— - -“Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet! That is my name. They call me the peewit.” - -“Yes,” said Tommy Smith; “because you say”— - -“Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!” screamed the bird. “Yes, that is why. It -is because I say ‘Pee-wee-eet’”; and as the peewit said this, he made -a sweep down and settled on the ground just in front of Tommy Smith. -So close! Tommy Smith could almost have touched him with his hand. He -_was_ a handsome bird! _Now_ he could see that, besides his beautiful -green back and his white breast, he had a handsome black crest at the -back of his head, that stuck out a long way behind it—as if his hair -had been brushed up behind, Tommy Smith thought, only, of course, it -was not hair, but feathers. - -The peewit was not at all afraid, but looked up at Tommy Smith, with -his head on one side, and said, “Yes, that is my name. A name isn’t -sensible if it hasn’t a meaning. Some people call me the lapwing, but -I don’t know what _that_ means. I would rather _you_ called me the -peewit. I like that name best. Well, now you may ask me some questions -if you like.” Tommy Smith would rather have listened to what the peewit -had to tell him about himself first, and then asked him some questions -afterwards, for, just then, he didn’t quite know what questions to ask. -But, of course, he had to say something, or it would have seemed rude, -so he began with, “Please, Mr. Peewit, will you tell me why you say -‘pee-weet’ so often?” - -“Why shouldn’t I say it?” said the peewit. “It is my song, and I think -it is a very good one too.” - -“But I don’t call it a song at all,” said Tommy Smith. - -“_Don’t_ you?” said the peewit. - -“No,” said Tommy Smith. “It is not at all like what the lark or the -nightingale sings. That is what _I_ call singing.” - -“If all birds were to sing as well as each other,” the peewit said, -“perhaps you would not care to listen to any of them half so much. -_Now_ you say, ‘How sweetly the lark sings,’ or ‘How beautifully the -nightingale sings,’ because they sing better than other birds. But if -every bird was as clever at singing as they are, then to sing well -would be such a common thing, that you would hardly notice it at -all. As it is, you don’t think about the lark nearly so much as the -nightingale, because you hear him much oftener. So perhaps, after all, -it is better that some birds should sing more sweetly than other birds. -Don’t you agree with me?” - -“I don’t know,” said Tommy Smith. “I should never have thought of that, -myself.” - -“There are a number of things that little boys would never have -thought of,” said the peewit. “Besides,” he went on, “however well a -bird may sing, all he _means_ by his singing is that he is very happy. -That is what the lark means when he sings high up in the blue sky; -and it is what the nightingale means when he sings all night long by -his nest. And that is what I mean, too, when I sing, ‘Pee-wee-eet! -pee-wee-eet!’ So if you look at it in that way, my song is just as good -as theirs, or any other bird’s.” - -Tommy Smith did not think the peewit was right in this opinion of his, -but he thought that he had better not contradict him so early in the -conversation. So he only said, “Then, I suppose, you must always be -happy, Mr. Peewit, for you are always saying ‘Pee-wee-eet’?” - -“I am always happy as long as people don’t shoot me, or take away my -eggs,” said the peewit. “Why should I not be? It is very pleasant to be -alive.” - -“And the grass-snake said _he_ was happy too,” thought Tommy Smith. -“Then, are _all_ animals happy, Mr. Peewit?” he asked. - -“Oh yes,” the peewit answered, “they all enjoy their life. That is why -it is so wrong to kill them. For when you kill an animal, you take some -of the happiness that was in the world out of it, and you can never put -it back there again, however much you try.” - -“I never will kill animals any more,” said Tommy Smith. “But now, Mr. -Peewit, won’t you tell me something about yourself? Do _you_ do any -clever things as well as the other animals that I have spoken to?” - -“Why, haven’t you seen the way I tumble about in the air?” said the -peewit. “And don’t you think that _that_ is very clever? You couldn’t -do it yourself, however much you were to try.” - -“No,” said Tommy Smith, “but then _I_ have not got wings, you know. -Perhaps if I _had_ got wings, I would be able to do it as well as you.” - -“Do you think so?” said the peewit. “That is only because you are very -conceited. Why, even the swallow can’t do it. _He_ is a splendid flier, -and goes very fast. But, though you were to watch him for a whole day, -you would not see him do such funny things in the air as I do. As for -the other birds—well, look at the cuckoo. What do you think of the way -in which _he_ flies? Why, he just goes along without doing anything at -all. Do you think _he_ could turn head over heels or make the noise -with his wings that I do? If he can, then why doesn’t he? I should just -like to know that.” - -“Are you playing a game in the air when you fly like that, Mr. Peewit?” -asked Tommy Smith. - -“Yes,” answered the peewit; “that is just what I am doing. Sometimes -I play it by myself, but I like it better when there are some other -peewits to play it with me. We do it to amuse ourselves, and because -we are so happy and have such good spirits. But it is only in the -springtime that we play such games, for we are happier then than at -any other time of the year. In the autumn and winter we fly about in -great flocks over the fields and marshes, or come down upon them and -look for worms and slugs and caterpillars, for those are the things we -eat. We are happy then, too, but not quite so happy as we are in the -springtime, and you won’t see us playing such pranks then, although -there are a great many more of us together. Oh yes! it is a game, but -it is a very useful kind of game, I can tell you.” - -“How is it useful?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Why, it prevents people from finding our eggs,” answered the peewit. -“I have told you that we only fly like this in the spring. Well, that -is just the time when we lay our eggs. Now whilst the mother peewit -is sitting quietly on her eggs, the father peewit keeps flying and -tumbling about in the air. When you go for a walk over the fields, you -do not notice the mother peewit on her eggs, for she sits quite still -and never moves. But you can’t help noticing the father peewit, and -you only think of him. If you happen to go too near the place where -the eggs are, the father peewit comes quite close to you, and flies -round and round your head, as I did just now. You think that is very -funny, and so you keep looking at him up in the air, and never think of -looking on the ground where the eggs are.” - -“Are the eggs laid on the ground?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Of course,” said the peewit. “But let me go on. When the father peewit -sees you are looking at him, he flies a little farther away from the -eggs, and, of course, you follow him. Then he flies a little farther -off still, and in this way he keeps leading you farther and farther -away from the eggs, till he thinks they are safe, and then off he flies -altogether.” - -“That is very clever,” said Tommy Smith. “But supposing you didn’t -follow the father peewit, but kept walking towards where the eggs were, -what would the mother peewit do?” - -“Why, she would fly away before you got to her,” said the peewit. “And -you would find it very difficult to find the eggs even then.” - -“Then, is it only the father peewit that tumbles over in the air?” said -Tommy Smith. - -“It is he who does it most,” said the peewit. “He has more time, and -besides it would not be thought right for a mother peewit to throw -herself about in that way whilst she has a family to attend to. When -the mother peewit goes up from her eggs, she flies quietly away till -she is a long way off. Then she settles somewhere on the ground, and -waits for you to go away, and when you have gone away, she comes back -to her eggs again.” - -“Then I suppose _you_ are a father peewit?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh yes,” the peewit answered. “You have seen how _I_ can tumble. And -besides, look how long my crest is. The crest of the mother peewit is -not nearly so long.” - -“Where is the mother peewit?” asked Tommy Smith—for he thought he -would like to see her too. - -“She is not far off,” the peewit answered, “and she is sitting on her -eggs.” - -“Oh! I should so like to see them,” cried Tommy Smith. “May I?” - -“If I show you them,” said the peewit, “will you promise not to take -them away.” - -“Oh yes, I promise not to,” said Tommy Smith. “I will only look at -them—unless you would be so kind as to give me one,” he added. - -“_Give_ you one!” cried the peewit. “I would rather give you the bright -green feathers from my back, or the beautiful crest that is on my -head. Give you one, indeed! No, no; they are not things to be given -away. But come along. You have promised that you will not take them, -and I know you will not break your word.” Then the peewit spread his -wings, and rose into the air again, and began to fly along in front -of Tommy Smith, who had to run to keep up with him. “Pee-wee-eet! -pee-wee-eet!” he cried. “Come along. Come along.” - -“Oh, but you go so fast!” said Tommy Smith, panting. “I wish I had -wings like you.” - -“I don’t wonder at your wishing _that_,” the peewit said. “_I_ should -think it dreadful if I could only walk and run.” All at once the peewit -flew down on to the ground again. “Here they are,” he said, as Tommy -Smith came up; “and what do you think? Why, one of them has hatched -already; a day earlier than I expected.” - -“But where are the eggs?” asked Tommy Smith. “I don’t see them, and I -don’t see any nest either. But what—Oh! there is the mother peewit -sitting on the ground,” he cried out suddenly. And so she was, with -her eggs underneath her. This time she did not fly away, for the father -peewit had told her not to be uneasy. - -“Oh, but there is no nest,” said Tommy Smith. “She is sitting on the -bare ground.” - -“_Bare_, indeed!” exclaimed the mother peewit. “There is plenty of sand -on the ground, and what more can one want? Just look!” and as she spoke -she moved a little to one side, and there, in a slight hollow, Tommy -Smith saw four—no, three eggs, and something else, something that was -soft and fluffy, so it could not be an egg, although it was the same -size, and the same sort of colour, yellowish, with black spots. Why, -could that be a little baby peewit? Yes, indeed it was, for it moved a -little, and made a little chirping noise. - -“Don’t touch him,” cried the father peewit. “He is too young for that.” - -“And little boys are so rough,” said the mother peewit. - -“But you may look at him,” said the father peewit. - -“Oh yes, do,” said the mother peewit; “and tell me what you think of -him. Isn’t he the prettiest little fluffy thing in the whole world?” - -“Until the others are hatched,” said the father peewit. “Then there -will be three more, you know.” - -“To be sure there will,” said the mother peewit, looking _very_ proud; -“and they will all be as pretty as each other. But I think this one -will be the cleverest,” she added. “There was a certain something in -the way he chipped the shell, and he has lain in a thoughtful attitude -ever since he came out.” - -“I am glad to hear it,” said the father peewit. And then they both -looked up at Tommy Smith, as if they expected him to say something. - -But Tommy Smith was too busy to say anything just then. He had gone -down on his hands and knees, and was looking at the eggs, for they -interested him more even than the little peewit that had just been -hatched. They were such funny-shaped eggs, large at one end and pointed -at the other, something like a small pear, Tommy Smith thought, and -they lay in the little hollow with their pointed ends all meeting -together in the middle of it. They were of a greenish yellow colour, -with great black splotches upon them. Of course they were much smaller -than the eggs that a hen lays, but still, Tommy Smith thought, they -were large eggs for a peewit to lay. A peewit is hardly so large as a -pigeon, but these eggs were a good deal larger than a pigeon’s egg. -“Yes, they are very nice eggs,” he said at last, as he got up from his -hands and knees. “Are they good to eat?” - -“Yes,” said the father peewit, “they are”; and as he said this he -looked _very_, _very_ sad. - -“Yes, they _are_ good to eat,” said the mother peewit, as she nestled -down on her eggs again. “Oh, how I wish they were not!” - -“Why?” said Tommy Smith. (He was only a little boy, or he would not -have asked such questions.) - -“I will tell you why,” said the mother peewit. “There are bad men who -come and take our eggs _because_ they are so good to eat, and then they -sell them to greedy wretches, who are still worse than themselves. -Oh, how wicked men are! Just fancy! They eat our poor little children -whilst they are still in their cradles.” - -“Yes,” said the father peewit, “for the mere pleasure of eating, they -will ruin thousands of families.” - -“Is it so _very_ wicked to eat eggs?” asked Tommy Smith. “I have eaten -a great many myself.” - -“What! peewit’s eggs?” cried both the birds together. - -“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith feeling _very_ uncomfortable. “But I have -often eaten fowl’s eggs.” - -“That is different,” said the mother peewit. “We will say nothing about -that.” - -“No, no,” said the father peewit. “We do not wish to be censorious.” - -“What does that mean?” asked Tommy Smith, for it was a long word, and -he did not remember having heard it before. - -“I mean,” said the father peewit, “that if people _only_ ate fowl’s -eggs, peewit’s eggs would be let alone, and that would be a very good -thing. Fowls, you know, are accustomed to it, but we peewits have -finer feelings.” - -“Yes,” said the mother peewit; “we are more sensitive than common -poultry.” - -Tommy Smith couldn’t help remembering what the rat had said to him -about asking the hen, and he thought he _would_ ask her some day. But -now he was talking to peewits. “You told me it was very difficult to -find your eggs,” he said. - -“So it is,” said the father peewit; “but it is not impossible.” - -“I wish it were,” said the mother peewit. “But there are wicked men who -learn how to do it, and then they can find them quite easily. Oh, what -a wicked world it is!” - -Tommy Smith didn’t know what to say to comfort the poor peewits, until -all at once an idea occurred to him. “Why do you lay eggs at all?” he -said. “You know, if you didn’t lay them, nobody could take them away -from you.” - -“Not lay eggs?” cried the mother peewit. “Why, it is our duty to lay -them. We have our duties to perform, of course.” - -“If we did _not_ lay eggs,” said the father peewit (he looked _very_ -grave as he spoke), “there would soon be no more peewits in the world, -and what do you suppose would happen then?” - -Tommy Smith didn’t know, so he said, “What _would_ happen, Mr. Peewit?” - -“It is too dreadful to think about,” the peewit said. “The very idea of -it makes one shudder. A world without peewits! Oh dear! a nice sort of -world _that_ would be!” - -The mother peewit shook her head. “It could hardly go on, dear; could -it?” she said. - -“It _might_,” answered the father peewit, “but there would be very -little _meaning_ in it.” - -Tommy Smith certainly thought the world might go on without peewits, -but he didn’t _quite_ understand the last part of the sentence. “But -it seems to me,” he said to himself, “that _animals_ think themselves -very important.” “And are _you_ a useful animal?” he said aloud to the -father peewit,—for the mother peewit was busy again with her eggs and -the young one. - -“Useful!” exclaimed the peewit. “Why, we are sometimes put into -gardens to eat the slugs and the insects there. I suppose _that_ is -being useful.” - -“Oh yes,” said Tommy Smith; “if you don’t eat the cherries, or the -strawberries, or the asparagus, or”— - -“We are not vegetarians,” said the peewit, “we prefer an animal diet, -and we only eat things that do harm.” - -“But don’t you eat worms?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Of course we do,” said the peewit. - -“But I don’t think worms do harm.” - -“If they don’t, it is because we eat them,” the peewit retorted. “If we -didn’t eat them, there would be too many of them, and then, of course, -they would do harm.” - -“Well, when I grow up,” said Tommy Smith, “I will have peewits in my -garden as well as frogs, and—Oh! but do you agree with frogs?” he -asked, for this was an important point. - -“Young frogs agree very well with _us_,” said the peewit. “So it comes -to the same thing, doesn’t it?” - -“I don’t know,” said Tommy Smith. “Not if the old ones don’t.” - -“As for the old ones,” said the peewit, “we leave them alone. They are -too big to be interfered with. So, you see, that’s all right too.” - -Tommy Smith didn’t feel quite so sure about this. He couldn’t help -thinking that perhaps the peewits ate the little frogs. But, just as -he was going to ask them this, he remembered that if he didn’t make -haste home, he would be late for dinner. Of course, as soon as he began -to think about his own dinner, he forgot all about the peewit’s, and -said good-bye at once. So off he ran. The mother peewit just nodded to -him as she sat on her eggs, but the father peewit rose up into the air -again, and flew round him, and swished his wings, and tumbled about, -and cried, “Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!” and Tommy Smith felt quite sure -that he meant “Good-bye, good-bye.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE MOLE - - “_If we’re only contented, some cause we shall find - To be thankful: the mole thought it nice to be blind._” - - -THE next walk that Tommy Smith took was over some fields where there -were a great many mole-hills. Of course, Tommy Smith had often seen -mole-hills before, but I am not sure if he had ever seen a mole; for a -mole, as you know, lives underneath the ground, and does not often come -up to the top of it. So, when he saw a little black thing scrambling -about in the grass, he cried out, “Oh! whatever is that?” and ran to it -and picked it up. - -“You won’t _hurt_ me, I know,” said the mole (for it was one)—“and I -don’t mind your _looking_ at me.” You see Tommy Smith was getting a -much better boy to animals, now that they had told him something about -themselves, and the animals were beginning to find this out, and were -not so frightened of him as they used to be. - -Tommy Smith looked at the mole, and stroked it as it lay in his hand, -and then he said, “Why, what a funny little black thing you are.” - -“Little!” said the mole; “I don’t know what you mean by that. I am much -bigger than the mouse or the shrew-mouse. You don’t expect me to be as -big as the rat, do you?” - -“I don’t know,” said Tommy Smith, “but, you know, the rat is not so -very big.” - -“He is as big as he requires to be, I suppose,” said the mole, “and so -am I. I have never felt too small in all my life, and I wonder that you -should think me so. Why, look at those great hills of earth which I -have flung up all over the fields. I am big enough to have made those, -anyhow, and strong enough too. And look, how large and high they are.” - -“But are they so very high?” said Tommy Smith. “Why, I step over them -quite easily.” - -“Dear me, that seems very wonderful,” said the mole. “But I advise you -not to do it often, for it must be a great exertion, and you might hurt -yourself. But you must not think that because _you_ are very big, _I_ -am very small. That would be very conceited.” - -Tommy Smith saw that he had not said the right thing, so he tried to -think of something to say that the mole would like better. “Oh,” he -said at last, “what a very pretty, soft coat you have! I like it very -much, indeed.” - -“Yes; feel it,” said the mole. “It is a very handsome fur; and I can -tell you something about it which is curious.” - -“What is that?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Why, you may stroke it whichever way you like,” answered the mole, -“without hurting me. It is not every animal that has a coat like -_that_. There is the cat, poor thing! If you stroke her fur one way, -she is very pleased and begins to purr; but if you stroke it the other -way, it hurts her, and she does not like it at all. That is because her -hair is long and lies all one way. Now my hair is short, and it does -not lie any way.” - -“I suppose you mean that it does not point either towards your head or -your tail,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes, that is what I mean,” said the mole. “Instead of that, it sticks -straight up, and when you stroke it, it moves whichever way your hand -moves, without making me feel at all uncomfortable.” - -“That is a very nice fur to have,” said Tommy Smith. “Then, I suppose -that sometimes if you were burrowing, and you wanted to go backwards -for a little way, it would not hurt you to do so.” - -“Not at all,” said the mole. “Now the poor cat could not do that. She -could not go backwards in a burrow, because it would rub all her hair -up the wrong way.” - -“But cats don’t burrow,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Of course not,” said the mole. “They know that they would not be able -to, so they don’t try. They are poor things.” - -Tommy Smith could not see why cats should be poor things because they -didn’t burrow, but the mole seemed quite sure of it, and he did not -like to contradict him. “I suppose, Mr. Mole,” he said, “that you are -made for burrowing.” - -“Yes, I am,” said the mole, “and I can do it better than any other -animal in the world. You see, I have a pair of spades to help me, and I -dig with both of them at the same time.” - -“A pair of spades!” cried Tommy Smith in surprise. “Why, where are -they? I don’t see them.” - -“Where are they?” said the mole; “why, here they are, to be sure,” and -he stretched out his two little front feet, and moved them about. - -“Ah, now I see what you mean,” said Tommy Smith, and he bent down his -head and began to look at them more closely. - -The mole might well have called his feet spades, for they were shaped -something like them, and he used them to dig with,—which is what -spades are used for. They were short and broad, with five little toes, -and each toe had a very strong claw at the end of it. These funny -little feet stuck out on each side of the mole’s body, and they were -so very close to the body that they looked as if they had been sewn on -to it. There did not seem to be any leg belonging to them at all. Of -course there _were_ legs, and very strong ones too, but they were so -short, and so hidden under the skin, that Tommy Smith could not see -them, although he felt them directly. The hind legs and feet were much -smaller, and not nearly so strong, which, the mole said, was because -they had not so much work to do. Between them there was a very short -tail, just long enough, Tommy Smith thought, to take hold of and lift -the mole up by. But he did not do this, in case he should be offended. -“Well,” said the mole, after Tommy Smith had looked at him for a little -while, “what do you think of me? I hope you think me handsome.” - -“Yes, I think you are,” Tommy Smith answered, though he did not feel -quite sure of this. “At anyrate, your fur is handsome, for it is like -velvet.” - -“Yes,” said the mole; “and, do you know, I am sometimes called the -little gentleman in the black velvet coat.” - -“It is not quite black,” said Tommy Smith. “There is a greyish colour -in it too. I think it would look very pretty if it was made into -something. Oh, Mr. Mole,” he cried all of a sudden, “now I remember -that I have heard people talk about moleskin waistcoats!” - -At this the mole gave a little squeak, and jumped quite out of Tommy -Smith’s hand, and then he began to burrow into the ground as fast as -he could, and this was very fast indeed, so that before Tommy Smith -had got over his surprise, he was almost out of sight. “Oh, Mr. Mole,” -he cried, “do come back!” but the mole was very angry, and would not -consent to for some time. - -“If I do,” he said at last, “you must promise me never to talk in that -way again.” - -“Oh, I never will,” said Tommy Smith. “I quite forgot who I was talking -to.” - -“Moleskin waistcoats, indeed!” said the mole. “I think the people who -wear them are very wicked people. They never think how many poor little -moles must be killed only to make one. I hope _you_ have never worn a -waistcoat like that?” - -“Oh no,” answered Tommy Smith, “I never have. Nobody has ever given me -one.” - -“I hope you never will,” said the mole; “for if you do, you will be -almost as wicked a man as a mole-catcher, and he is the wickedest -person I know of.” - -“A mole-catcher!” cried Tommy Smith; “then are there men who catch -moles?” - -“Oh yes, indeed there are,” said the mole. “There are men who do that -and nothing else.” - -“How do they do it?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“They have traps,” answered the mole, “which they put in the passages -and corridors of our great underground palaces.” - -“Your houses, I suppose, you mean,” said Tommy Smith. - -“I mean what I say,” said the mole. “You may live in a house, I -daresay, but I think the place that I live in is quite large and fine -enough to be called a palace, so I call it one.” - -“Oh! but it cannot be so big as the house that I live in,” said Tommy -Smith. - -“Well,” said the mole, “I should just like to know how long the longest -corridor in your house is.” - -Tommy Smith thought to himself a little. The house he lived in was not -a very large one, for his father was not a _very_ rich man. There were -not many passages in it, and he did not think the longest of them was -long enough to be called a corridor. Still, he thought that they must -be longer than the passages of a mole’s house, and he couldn’t help -feeling rather proud as he said, “Oh! I don’t know exactly, because I -have never measured it, but perhaps it is six yards long.” - -“Six yards?” cried the mole. “Do you call _that_ a corridor? Why, some -of mine are more than twenty times as long as that. You might walk over -a whole field without coming to the end of them. And how many corridors -has your house got, then?” - -“Oh, I think there are three,” said Tommy Smith; but this time he -didn’t feel nearly so proud. - -“Good gracious!” cried the mole. “Why, yours must be a very poor place -to live in. I wish I could show you over my palace, but you are such an -awkward size that you would never be able to get into it. My corridors -are longer than yours, but they are not nearly so high. However, -perhaps it is just as well that you can’t get into it, for if you were -once there, I am sure you would never want to go back again.” - -“Perhaps, Mr. Mole,” said Tommy Smith, “as you can’t show me over it, -you will tell me what it is like.” - -“Well,” said the mole, “I will; and perhaps, if you are always a good -boy, and _never_ think of wearing a moleskin waistcoat, I will show it -you some day from the outside; but that can only be when I have done -with it, and am going to build a new one, for I should have to break -open the roof for you to see into it. Well, then, the principal part of -my palace is called the keep, or fortress,—_I_ call it the fortress. -It is very large, and the roof goes up into a beautiful, high dome. You -know what a dome is, I suppose?” - -“Oh yes,” said Tommy Smith; for once he had been to London, and he -remembered the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. - -“I wish you could see how high and stately it is,” said the mole. “It -goes right up into the bush ever so high.” - -“You mean ‘into the air,’ I think,” said Tommy Smith. - -“I mean what I say,” said the mole; “into the bush. That is why you -can’t see it.” - -“Oh, but I can see it,” said Tommy Smith. “I can always find your -fortresses, Mr. Mole. I see lots of them every time I go out walking. -They are not hidden at all. Why, there they are all over the field, -and you know you told me to look at them yourself.” - -The mole gave a little choky laugh. “Oh dear!” he cried, “and do you -_really_ think that _those_ are my fortresses? You are _very_ much -mistaken if you do. Why, they are only the hills that I throw up when I -am making my tunnels and corridors. All you will find if you open them -is a hole going down into one of those. Oh no; my fortress is not built -there. It is carefully hidden under a bush or the root of a tree, so -that you can’t see it, however high it is. Only the wicked mole-catcher -is able to find it, and I am very sorry he can.” - -This was a great surprise to Tommy Smith, for he had always thought -that the mole lived under those little brown heaps of earth. But he -had only thought so because he had never taken any trouble to find out -about it. “I see you are cleverer than I thought, Mr. Mole,” he said; -“but I should like you to tell me something more about your palace and -fortress.” - -“I told you that it was very large,” said the mole, “and that it went -up into a high dome outside. Inside, it is not nearly so high, but it -is very nice and comfortable; and the floor and the sides and ceiling -are always quite smooth and polished, for I polish them myself, and -never leave it to the servants.” - -“But how do you polish them?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Why, with my fur to be sure,” said the mole. “I prefer that to a piece -of wash-leather.” (He laughed again as he said this, but Tommy Smith -didn’t know what for.) “My fur, as you see, is smooth too. If you -were to walk down one of my corridors, you would be surprised to find -how hard and smooth the sides of it are. That is because I am always -running up and down them, and rubbing them with my fur.” - -“But doesn’t that make you very dirty?” said Tommy Smith. “Surely the -earth must get into your fur and stay there.” - -“It _never_ stays there,” said the mole with great pride. “I have a -very strong muscle which runs all along my back just under the skin, -and when I twitch that, every little piece of mould or earth that is in -my fur flies out of it again. There! now I have twitched it. Look at -me and see how clean I am, although I have only just come out of the -ground. Oh no; there is never anything in _my_ coat! It is a saying in -our family that a mole _may_ live in the dirt, but he is never _dirty_.” - -“That seems very funny,” said Tommy Smith. “But tell me some more about -the fortress that you live in.” - -“That is just what I was going to do,” said the mole, “but you ask so -many questions, that I am not able to get on. Now I will begin again, -and perhaps it would be better if you were to say nothing till I have -done.” - -So Tommy Smith sat down on the ground to listen, and the mole went on -in these words: - -“Inside my fortress there is a large room which is quite round. I call -it my bedroom or dormitory, because sometimes I go to sleep there. -There are two different ways of getting into it. One of them is by the -floor, and that is easy. But the second way is by the ceiling, and that -is much more difficult.” - -“By the floor and the ceiling?” cried Tommy Smith, quite forgetting -what the mole had said. “How very funny! I get into _my_ room through -a door in one of the sides.” - -“Dear me!” said the mole. “Well, I should not like to enter a room in -that way.” - -“Why not?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“The idea of such a thing!” said the mole. “As for doors, they are -things I don’t understand. Galleries and tunnels are what I use, and I -think them much grander.” - -“But”—Tommy Smith was beginning. - -“Let me get on,” said the mole. “I have two galleries inside my -fortress, an upper one and a lower one. The lower one is the largest. -It runs all round the ceiling of my bedroom. From it there are five -little passages which run up into the upper one. That goes round in a -circle too, but it is high up inside the dome of my fortress, and a -long way above the ceiling of my bedroom. So what do you think I have -done? I have made three little tunnels, which go from my upper gallery -right into the top of my bedroom. I just run down one of them, and -tumble into it through the ceiling.” - -“But can’t you get into your bedroom from the lower gallery too?” asked -Tommy Smith. - -“Oh no,” said the mole; “that would never do. It would be so easy; -and a mole likes to do things that are difficult. I go into my lower -gallery first, and then I go from that into my upper gallery. I can go -by five different passages, and choose which I like.” - -“Five different passages! That is a lot,” cried Tommy Smith. - -“Yes; and there are three more from the upper gallery into the -bedroom!” said the mole. “How many doors are there into _your_ rooms?” - -“Oh, one,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Only one!” said the mole. “That is very sad. Why, if I had only one -tunnel into my room I should be almost ashamed to go through it. But -then you have only a house to live in, and not a palace, as I have.” - -Tommy Smith thought that this was rather a grand way of talking, and he -was just beginning, “Perhaps, if you were to see my house”—when the -mole went on with, “Of course, such a fine palace as mine ought to -have a good many fine roads leading up to it.” - -“Ought it?” said Tommy Smith; “and how many has it?” - -“Seven,” said the mole. - -“Seven!” exclaimed Tommy Smith. - -“Yes,” said the mole, “and I make them all myself. Why, how many has -yours?” - -“It has only one,” said Tommy Smith, “but I think that is quite enough.” - -“For a house, perhaps, it may be,” said the mole; “but _I_ should be -sorry to have to put up with it. _My palace_ has seven, and I know -some very rich moles who have eight. These are the great corridors -which some people call the high roads. Some of them run through fine -avenues of tree-roots, and, you know, a fine avenue of tree-roots has a -splendid appearance. They wind all about, and go for ever such a way, -and there are smaller corridors which run out of them on each side, and -spread all over the fields.” - -“You mean _under_ the fields, Mr. Mole,” said Tommy Smith; “for, you -know, the grass grows over your corridors, and nobody can see them.” - -“I am very glad they can’t,” said the mole, “or my bedroom, or my -nursery either.” - -“What, have you a nursery too?” said Tommy Smith. “Why, that is just as -if you were a person.” - -“Of course I have a nursery,” said the mole. “What should I do with my -children if I had not? I could not have them always in the fortress, or -playing about in the corridors. They would be quite out of place there, -and very much in the way. So I have a nursery for them, and they lie -there upon a nice warm bed, which I make myself, of young grass and -other soft things.” - -“Oh, then I suppose that you are the mother mole,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes, I am,” said the mole; “and you should call me Mrs. Mole, and not -Mr. as you have been doing; and as for my being like a person, why, I -am one, of course, and an important person too, _I_ think. Why, do you -know that I drain the land?” - -“Do you really, Mrs. Mole?” said Tommy Smith; “but is not that very -difficult?” - -“You would find it so, I daresay,” answered the mole, “but to me it is -quite easy.” - -“How do you do it?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Why, by digging to be sure,” the mole said. “I just make my tunnels, -and my trenches, and my corridors, and then when the rain comes it runs -off into them, and doesn’t lie on the ground so long as it would if -they were not there.” - -“Oh, but if the water runs into your tunnels,” said Tommy Smith, “how -is it that you are not drowned?” - -“Oh, it does not stay there long enough for that,” said the mole; “and, -besides, I am a very good swimmer. Just take me up again and put me -into that little pond there, and I will show you,”—for there was a -pond not far off where some ducks and geese were swimming about. “Drive -those rude things away first,” said the mother mole, as Tommy Smith -stood with her in his hand, at the edge of the pond, just ready to drop -her in. “If they see me, they will be sure to make some rude remark, -and, indeed, there is no saying what liberties they might take.” - -So Tommy Smith drove away the ducks and geese, and then dropped the -mother mole into the water, and,—would you believe it?—she swam -almost as well as if she had been a duck or a goose herself, moving all -her four little feet at a great rate, and going along very quickly. She -_did_ look so funny. She went across the pond, and then turned round -and came back again, and, as she scuttled out on to the bank, she said, -“So now you see that a mole can swim. Can _you_?” - -“No,” answered Tommy Smith; for he had not learnt to, yet. - -“Dear me,” said the mother mole, “you cannot swim, or dig, or drain the -ground, and I am so much smaller and can do all three, besides a great -many other things. But then _I_ am a mole.” - -“I didn’t say that I couldn’t dig,” Tommy Smith said. “I can, a little, -only _I_ do it with a spade. I mean a real spade,” he added. “Of -course, I can’t do it with my hands.” - -“What stupid hands!” said the mole. “Why, what _can_ they be good for? -But are you sure you could dig properly, even if you had a spade? Do -you think you could do anything useful now? For instance, could you dig -a well?” - -“I shouldn’t like to do it all by myself,” said Tommy Smith; “it would -take me a very long time. But I don’t suppose _you_ dig wells either.” - -“Oh, don’t you!” said the mole; “then how do you think we get our water -to drink when the weather is dry? Of course, if we have a pond or a -ditch near us we can easily make a tunnel to the edge of it, but it is -not every mole who is so fortunate as to live by the waterside. Those -who do not, have to dig deep pits for the water to run into; for I must -tell you that there is always water to be found in the earth, if only -you dig deep enough for it. If you make a hole which goes right down -into the ground, very soon the water will begin to trickle into it -through the sides and the bottom, and then, of course, it is a well. -I wish you could see some of our wells. They are so nicely made, and -sometimes they are brim full.” - -“So you have real wells with water in them!” cried Tommy Smith; for it -seemed to him so very funny that moles should have wells as well as men. - -“To be sure, we have,” said the mole; “and I think it is very clever of -us to have thought of it.” - -“Yes, it is indeed,” said Tommy Smith; “and I begin to think that all -the animals are clever.” - -“I don’t know about _that_,” said the mole; “but _we_ are.” - -“Oh yes; and so is the rat, and the frog, and the peewit, and”— - -“I am glad to hear it,” said the mole. “_I_ should not have thought so.” - -“Oh! but they are really,” Tommy Smith went on eagerly. “Do let me tell -you how the peewit”— - -“I have nothing to learn from _him_, I hope,” said the mole; “a poor -foolish bird who wastes all his time in the air.” - -“Oh, but if you only knew how the mother peewit”—Tommy Smith was -beginning again. - -“I should be sorry to take _her_ as an example,” said the mole sharply; -“she is a flighty thing, without solid qualities. Other animals may be -all very well in their way,” she went on, after a pause, “but they are -not _moles_, and they none of them know how to dig.” - -“Oh, but the rabbit”— - -“The rabbit, indeed!” cried the mole very indignantly. “Why, what can -_he_ do? He can just make a clumsy hole, and that is all. He is a mere -labourer; and I hope you do not compare him with a real artist like -myself.” - -“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith; but he thought the mole was very conceited. - -“Not that it is his fault,” the mole continued. “Of course, he cannot -be expected to make such wonderful places as I do. After all, what has -he got to dig with? His feet are only paws, they are not spades, as -mine are; and then he has two great big eyes for the dirt to get into, -which must be a great inconvenience to him.” - -“But haven’t you eyes, too, Mrs. Mole?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Would you like to try and find them?” answered the mole. “You may, if -you like.” - -So Tommy Smith knelt down on the ground and began to look all about -where he thought the mole’s eyes were likely to be, and to feel with -his fingers in the fur. But look and feel as he might, it was no use, -he couldn’t find the eyes anywhere. But, just as he was going to give -up trying, all at once he thought he saw two little black things -hardly so big as the head of a small black pin. Could those be eyes? -Tommy Smith hardly believed that they could be, for some time; they -were so _very_ small. “Are those your eyes, Mrs. Mole?” he asked at -last. - -“Yes, indeed they are,” the mother mole answered; “and are they not a -beautiful pair? How difficult they are to find, and how well my fur -hides them! It would not be easy for the mould to get into _them_; -_they_ are not like those great staring things of the rabbit.” - -“They are very small,” said Tommy Smith. - -“I should think so!” said the mole; “and what an advantage it is to -have small eyes.” - -“But can you see with them?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh no,” said the mole; “and what an advantage it is not to be able to -see.” - -Tommy Smith did not understand this at all. “The rabbit can see,” he -said, “and so can all the other animals.” - -“_They_ are obliged to,” answered the mole, “and so they have to put -up with it; but a mole lives in the dark, and therefore it does not -require to see.” - -“But what are eyes for, if they are not to see with?” Tommy Smith -asked. He felt sure it was a sensible question, and it seemed to him -that the mole was talking nonsense. - -“They are for not getting in the way when you make tunnels in the -ground,” said the mole. “Mine never get in the way, so I know that they -are the best eyes that anyone can have.” - -This was quite a new idea to Tommy Smith, and he tried to think what it -would be like to live in the ground, and to have eyes that you couldn’t -see with, and that didn’t get in the way. At last he said, “It seems to -me, Mrs. Mole, that it would be much better if you had not any eyes at -all.” - -“That is a strange idea, to be sure!” said the mole. “Not have eyes, -indeed! That would be a fine thing.” - -“But if you can’t see with them,” said Tommy Smith. - -“What of that?” said the mole; “we have them, and so we are proud of -them. It is a saying in our family that a mole _may_ be blind, but he -has _eyes_ for all that.” - -“Poor little mole,” said Tommy Smith, for though the animal seemed to -be quite happy itself, he couldn’t help feeling very sorry for it. “But -are you _quite_ blind?” - -“If I am not quite, I am very nearly,” the mole answered, “and I am -thankful for _that_. I just know when it is light and when it isn’t, -which is all a mole requires to know.” - -“But can’t you see me?” Tommy Smith asked. - -“You, indeed!” answered the mole. “And why should I want to see you?” - -“I’m afraid you _are_ blind,” Tommy Smith said quite sadly. - -“At anyrate,” said the mole, “I have less seeing to do than almost any -other animal, and, when I think of that, I can’t _help_ feeling proud, -though I know I oughtn’t to be. But I think you have talked enough -about my eyes,” the mole continued. “Perhaps you would like to know -something about my teeth now. Look! there they are,” and she opened her -mouth as wide as she could, which was not very wide, for her mouth was -so small. What funny little white teeth they were, and how sharp,—as -sharp and as pointed as needles. - -“Why are they so pointed?” asked Tommy Smith. “The rabbit’s teeth are -not at all like that, and the rat’s are not either.” - -“It is because we eat different things,” said the mole. “Different -kinds of animals have different food, and so they have different kinds -of teeth to eat it with. Mine are nice and sharp, because they have to -bite and kill whatever they catch hold of.” - -“But what is it that they have to bite and kill?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Ah, you would never guess,” answered the mole. “You must know that we -moles are very brave animals, and we fight a great deal; sometimes with -each other, but mostly with great serpents which live in the ground, -although it really belongs to us.” - -“Serpents?” said Tommy Smith. “Why, do you mean snakes?” - -“Of course I do,” said the mole. - -[Illustration: “WE MOLES ARE VERY HEROIC”] - -“Snakes that live in the ground!” Tommy Smith cried. “Why, I don’t know -of any that do. The grass-snake doesn’t, or the adder either. What are -these snakes like, Mrs. Mole?” - -“They are smooth and slimy,” said the mole. “They have no head, or, if -they have, it looks like another tail, and they are always crawling -through the ground, which is ours, of course, and trying to break into -our palaces.” - -“Oh, but I call those worms!” said Tommy Smith. - -“You may call them so if you like,” said the mole, “but _I_ call them -snakes. You should see the way I fight with them! How they writhe and -twist about when I seize them between my sharp teeth. They try hard to -get away, and they would kill me if only they could. But I am too brave -and too strong for them, so I kill _them_ instead, and eat them as -well. We moles are very heroic.” - -“Do you eat anything else?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Caterpillars sometimes, and a beetle or two,” answered the mole. “But -I like snakes best of all.” - -“Worms,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Snakes,” said the mole. But Tommy Smith was right, the mole’s snakes -were harmless worms; but it is nice to think oneself a hero. - -“Good-bye,” said the mole rather suddenly. “I am tired of talking, and -I want to have a little sleep.” - -“Oh, but it is the middle of the day,” said Tommy Smith. - -“What of that?” said the mole. “I feel tired, so I shall go to sleep.” - -“Then do you always sleep in the daytime?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“I know nothing about daytime or nighttime,” the mole answered, “and -perhaps if you lived under the ground, as I do, you would not either. I -feel tired _now_, so I shall go to sleep now. Good-bye”; and the mother -mole began to sink into the earth, and all at once she was gone,—just -as Tommy Smith was going to ask her what was the use of having such a -grand palace to live in if she was blind and couldn’t see it. - -One sometimes thinks of a good question just too late to ask it. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE WOODPIGEON - - “_The woodpigeon greets Tommy Smith with a coo, - Which he modifies slightly to ‘How do you do?’_” - - -WHAT could be more beautiful than the woods that fine spring morning -on which Tommy Smith walked through them? The sky was blue, and the -air was soft, and the birds were singing everywhere. There was a -concert, surely; the trees had given it. That is what came into Tommy -Smith’s head, and perhaps he was right. It is in spring that the season -begins. Then ladies and gentlemen dress themselves finely, and come -and stand together in a crowd, and there is talking, and laughing, -and singing. And here in the woods the trees had all put on fine new -dresses of bright green, for _their_ season of spring had come, and -green was the fashionable colour. _They_ stood together too,—ever so -many of them,—and bent their heads towards each other, and seemed to -be whispering. Then their leaves rustled, which was a much pleasanter -sound than ladies’ and gentlemen’s talking and laughing (though perhaps -it did not mean _quite_ as much); and, oh! what beautiful sounds came -from their midst. Tommy Smith knew that it was not the trees who were -singing, but the birds in them. “But it seems as if it were the trees,” -he thought, “because I can’t see the birds. But perhaps the trees ask -the birds to sing for them, as we ask people to play and sing for us. -That is how they give their concerts and parties, perhaps. The large -ones are like rich people who can afford to hire a whole band, but the -little ones and the bushes are the people who are not so well off, and -_they_ can only have a bird or two.” Tommy Smith thought all this, -because he was a little boy, and liked to pretend things, but a long -time afterwards, when he was much wiser, he used to remember those -walks of his in the woods, and sometimes he would say to himself, “Yes, -those were the best seasons; those were the concerts and parties most -worth going to.” - -A fallen tree lay across Tommy Smith’s path. It had once been a tall, -stately oak, now it made a nice mossy seat for a little boy. We are not -all of us so useful when we grow old. “I will sit down on it,” thought -Tommy Smith, “and listen to the birds singing, and pretend they are -people, and not birds at all.” So Tommy Smith sat down and listened. A -thrush was sitting on the very tip-top of a high fir tree, and soon he -began to fill the whole air with his beautiful, clear, joyous notes. -“I like that as well as the piano,” said Tommy Smith, “and I don’t -think I know any lady who could sing such a beautiful song.” Then the -robin began. “That is lower and sweeter,” he thought. “_People_ make -a great deal more noise when they sing, but it doesn’t seem to mean -so much, or, if it does, I don’t like the meaning so well. Then a jay -screamed, and some starlings began to chatter. “Oh, there!” cried Tommy -Smith, clapping his hands. “That is much more like people. Ladies -talk and sing just like that. But not like _that_,” he continued; for -now another sound began to mingle with the rest, such a pretty, such -a _very_ pretty sound, _so_ soft, and so tender and sleepy, “like a -lullaby,” Tommy Smith thought. And, as he listened to it, all the woods -seemed to grow hushed and still, as if they were listening too. “Oh,” -said Tommy Smith, “it is no use pretending any more. That couldn’t be -people. No men, and no women either, have such a pretty voice as that.” - -“Coo-oo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo-oo,” said the voice. It had been some way off -before, but now it sounded much nearer. “Coo-oo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo-oo.” -Why, surely it was in that tree, only just a little way from where -Tommy Smith was sitting. “I will go and look,” he thought. “I know who -it is. It is the woodpigeon. Perhaps he will stay and talk to me.” - -So he got up, and walked towards the tree. But—was it not strange?—as -he came to it the voice seemed to change just a little. Only just a -little; it had still the same pretty, soft sound, and the end part was -just the same, but, instead of “Coo-oo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo-oo,” which it -had been saying before, now it was saying—yes, and quite distinctly -too—“How do you do-oo-oo-oo? How do you do-oo-oo-oo?” Yes, there -could be no doubt of it, and as Tommy Smith came quite up to the tree, -there was the woodpigeon sitting on one of the lowest branches, bowing -to him quite politely, and asking him how he was. - -“Oh, I am quite well, Mr. Woodpigeon,” answered Tommy Smith. “I hope -you are.” - -“Oh, I am quite well too-oo-oo-oo,” cooed the woodpigeon, bobbing his -head up and down all the while. - -“Why do you move your head up and down like that whilst you speak?” -asked Tommy Smith. - -“Why, because it is the proper thing to do-oo-oo-oo,” replied the -woodpigeon. - -“But _I_ don’t do it when _I_ speak,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh no; but then _I_ am not you-oo-oo-oo,” said the woodpigeon. - -Tommy Smith didn’t know how to answer this, so he thought he would -change the subject. “What have you been doing this morning, Mr. -Woodpigeon?” he said. - -“Why, sitting here in the woo-oo-oo-oods and coo-oo-oo-ing,” the -woodpigeon answered. - -“Oh, but not all the morning, have you?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh no,” said the woodpigeon. “From about six to nine I was having my -breakfast in the fields.” - -Tommy Smith thought that three hours was a very long time to take over -one’s breakfast, and he said so. “I don’t take half an hour over mine,” -he added. - -“That is all very well,” said the woodpigeon; “but your breakfast is -brought to you, whilst I have to find mine for myself. What you eat is -put down before you on a table, but _my_ table is the whole country, -and it is so large and broad that it takes me a long while to find what -is on it, and to eat as much of it as I want.” - -“I wonder what your breakfast is like, Mr. Woodpigeon,” said Tommy -Smith. “I suppose it is very different to mine.” - -“Let me see,” cooed the woodpigeon. “This morning I had a few peas and -beans, besides some oats and barley. I got those in the fields, and I -found some green clover there too, as well as some wild mustard, and -some ragweed and charlock, and a few other seeds and roo-oo-oo-oots.” - -“Oh dear, Mr. Woodpigeon,” said Tommy Smith; “why, what a lot you do -eat.” - -“I don’t call that much,” said the woodpigeon. “When I was tired of -looking about in the fields, I went to the woods again, and got a few -acorns, and some beechnuts, and”— - -“Oh! but look here, Mr. Woodpigeon,” said Tommy Smith. “You couldn’t -have eaten all those this morning, because they are not all ripe now, -and”— - -“I didn’t say they were ripe,” said the woodpigeon; “and if I didn’t -eat them this morning, then I did on some other morning, so it’s -all the same. Those are the things I eat, at anyrate, and I can’t -be expected to remember exactly when I eat them. I had a few stones -though, of course. They are always to be had, whatever time of year it -is. _Stones_ are _always_ in season.” - -“Stones!” cried Tommy Smith in great surprise. “Oh, come now; I know -you don’t eat them.” - -“Oh, don’t I?” said the woodpigeon. “I should be very sorry if I -couldn’t get any,—I know that. It would be a nice thing, indeed, if -one couldn’t have a few stones to eat with one’s meals. That would be a -good joke.” - -Tommy Smith thought that _he_ wouldn’t think it a joke to _have_ to eat -stones, and he could hardly believe that the woodpigeon was speaking -the truth. But he was such an innocent-looking bird, and seemed so -_very_ respectable, that he thought he must be. “Are they very large -stones?” he asked at last. - -“Oh no,” answered the woodpigeon. “They are not large, but very -small—just the right size to go into my mill.” - -“Into your mill?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes,” said the woodpigeon; “the little mill which is inside me.” - -Tommy Smith was getting more and more puzzled. What could the -woodpigeon mean? “And yet he is such a nice bird,” he said to himself. -“I don’t think he would tell stories.” - -“I see that you don’t understand me,” said the woodpigeon; “so, if you -like, I will explain it all to you.” - -“Oh, I should so like to know!” said Tommy Smith. - -So the woodpigeon gave a gentle coo, and began to tell him all about -it. “Yes,” he said, “I have a mill inside me, and everything that I eat -goes into it to get ground up.” - -“Why, then, you are a miller,” said Tommy Smith. - -“In a way, I am,” said the woodpigeon; “for I own a mill. But then, you -know, a miller lives inside _his_ mill, but _my_ mill is inside me.” - -“I should so like to see it,” said Tommy Smith. - -“You never can do that,” said the woodpigeon in an alarmed tone of -voice; “for you would have to kill me first, and that would be a most -shocking thing to do. But it is there, all the same, though you can’t -see it, and it is called the gizzard.” - -“Oh, the gizzard!” said Tommy Smith. “I know what that is, because I -have”—and then he stopped all of a sudden. He had been going to say -that he had tasted it sometimes when there was fowl for dinner, but he -thought he had better not. It didn’t seem quite delicate to talk to a -woodpigeon about eating a fowl. - -“The gizzard is the mill that I am talking about,” said the -woodpigeon. “All the food that we eat goes into it, and then it is -ground up, just as corn is ground between two hard stones. But though -our gizzard is very hard, it is not quite so hard as stones are, so we -swallow some small sharp stones, which go into our gizzard, and are -rolled about with the grain and seeds there, and help to crush them. -Then, when they are nice and soft, they are ready to go on into the -stomach. So now you know what sort of thing a gizzard is, and why we -swallow stones.” - -“But don’t the stones hurt you?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Do you think we would swallow them if they did?” answered the -woodpigeon. “What a foolish question to ask!” - -Tommy Smith stood for a little while thinking about it, and wondering -if _he_ had a mill inside _him_, till at last the woodpigeon said, -“Perhaps you would like to ask me a _sensible_ question.” - -“Oh yes,” said Tommy Smith, and he tried to think what was a sensible -question. He had thought of a good many questions to ask, and they had -seemed sensible at the time, but now he began to feel afraid that the -woodpigeon would think them foolish. At last he said, “Please, Mr. -Woodpigeon, where do you live?” - -“Oh, in this tree,” said the woodpigeon, “half-way up on the -seventeenth storey.” - -“I suppose you mean the seventeenth branch,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Of course I do,” said the woodpigeon. “I have my nest there, and my -wife is sitting on the eggs now.” - -“Oh, do let me see them,” cried Tommy Smith. - -“Oh no,” said the woodpigeon. “They are too high up for that. You would -not be able to climb so far, and you cannot fly as we birds do, for you -are only a poor boy, and have no wings.” - -“I wish I had wings,” said Tommy Smith. “Is it very nice to fly, Mr. -Woodpigeon?” - -“It is nicer than anything else in the whole world,” the woodpigeon -answered. “Just fancy floating along high above everything, as if the -air were water, and you were a boat. Only you go much quicker than a -boat does, and sometimes you need not use the oars at all.” - -“Your wings are the oars, I suppose,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes, indeed,” said the woodpigeon, “and how fast they row me along. -Swish! swish! swish! and when I am tired I just spread them out and -float along without using them. That is delightful. I call it resting -on my wings.” - -“It must be something like swinging, I think,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes,” said the woodpigeon; “only you swing upon nothing, and you only -swing forwards. Oh, how cool and fresh the air is, even on the hottest -day in summer! The sun seems shining quite near to me, and the sky is -like a great blue sea that I am swimming through; but oh, so quickly! -quicker than any fish can swim. When I look up, I see great white ships -with all their sails set. They are the clouds, and sometimes I am quite -near them. How fast we go! We seem to be chasing each other. And when -I look down, I see green islands far below me. Those are the tops of -trees that I am flying over. My nest is in one of them, and I always -know which one it is. When I am above it, I pause as a boat pauses on -the crest of a wave, and then down, down, down I go, such a deep, -cool, delicious plunge, till at last the leaves rustle round me, and I -am sitting amongst the branches again, and cooing.” - -“By your nest?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Oh yes; when I have one,” said the woodpigeon. “I have now, you know, -because it is the springtime.” - -“I wish I could see it with the eggs in it,” said Tommy Smith. But it -was no use wishing, he hadn’t wings, and he couldn’t climb the tree. -“How many eggs are there?” he asked. - -“Two-oo-oo-oo,” said a voice, higher up amongst the foliage; and Tommy -Smith knew that the mother woodpigeon was sitting there on her nest, -and looking down at him all the while. - -“Only two eggs!” he said. “I don’t call that many.” - -“It may not be _many_,” said the mother woodpigeon, “but it is the -right quantity. Three would be _too_ many, and one would not be enough. -Two is the only possible number.” - -“Oh no, indeed it isn’t,” said Tommy Smith eagerly. “Fowls lay a dozen -eggs sometimes, and pheasants”— - -“Possible for a woodpigeon, _I_ meant,” said the mother woodpigeon. -“With fowls, no doubt, anything may take place, but large families are -considered vulgar amongst _us_.” - -“Fowls may do what they please,” said the father woodpigeon. “They are -lazy birds, and don’t feed their young ones.” - -“That is why they lay so many eggs,” said the mother woodpigeon. “They -don’t mind having a herd of children, because they know they won’t have -to support them.” - -Tommy Smith was surprised to hear the woodpigeons talk like this of the -poor fowls, for he had often seen the good mother hen walking about -with her brood of children, calling to them when she found a worm, and -taking care of them so nicely. “It seems to me,” he thought, “that -every animal thinks itself better than every other animal; and they all -think whatever they do right, just because they do it, and the others -don’t. But I suppose _that_ is because they _are_ animals, and not -human beings.” Then he said out loud, “But I am sure the mother hen -feeds her chickens, because I have seen her scratching up worms for -them out of the ground, and”— - -“Yes, that is a nice way to feed one’s little ones,” said the mother -woodpigeon. “A raw, live worm! Why, what could be nastier? No wonder -they are forced to pick up things for themselves.” - -“If they waited till their parents put a worm into their mouths, they -would starve,” said the father woodpigeon. “It is quite dreadful to -think of.” - -“But I think the little chickens like picking up their own food,” said -Tommy Smith. “They look so pretty running about.” - -“They would look much prettier sitting in a warm nest, as ours do,” -said the mother woodpigeon. - -“And they would feel much more comfortable with you feeding them, my -dear,” said the father. - -“And with you helping me, you know,” said the mother bird, and she -stretched her neck over the branch, and cooed softly to her husband, -who looked up at her, and cooed again. - -“Then do you both feed them?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Yes,” said the father woodpigeon; “and we take it in turns. You would -not find many cocks who would do that, I think.” - -“No; or help to hatch the eggs,” said the mother woodpigeon. “He does -that too. Oh, he _is_ so good!” - -“Nonsense!” said the father woodpigeon. “It is what all birds ought to -do-oo-oo-oo.” - -“Yes; but it isn’t what they all do do-oo-oo-oo,” said the mother -woodpigeon. - -“More shame for those who do not,” said the father woodpigeon; “but I -hope there are not many.” And then they both waited for Tommy Smith to -ask them another question. - -“Please, Mrs. Woodpigeon,” said Tommy Smith, “what do you feed your -young ones with?” - -“We feed them with whatever we eat ourselves,” said the mother -woodpigeon, “and we always swallow it first, to be sure that it is -quite good.” - -This surprised Tommy Smith very much indeed, for it seemed to him -almost as wonderful as eating stones. “Oh! but if you swallow the food -yourselves,” he said, “how can your young ones have it?” - -“They don’t have it till we bring it up again,” said the father -woodpigeon. “They put their beaks inside ours, and then it comes up -into our mouths all ready for them to swallow.” - -“Isn’t that rather nasty?” said Tommy Smith. - -“You had better ask _them_ about _that_,” said the mother woodpigeon. -“_They_ will tell you whether it is nasty or not.” - -“_They_ think it _nice_,” said the father woodpigeon. - -“And no wonder,” said the mother woodpigeon. “When _we_ swallow it, it -is hard and cold, but when it comes up again for _them_ to swallow, it -is soft and warm, and very like milk. It is not every bird who feeds -its young ones like _that_.” - -“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith; “most birds fly to them with a worm or a -caterpillar in their beaks, and give it to them just as it is.” - -“That is the old-fashioned way,” said the mother woodpigeon; “but we -are more civilised, and have learnt to _prepare_ our children’s food.” - -“Besides,” said the father woodpigeon, “we eat seeds and grains, and -little things like that, and it would take us a very long time to carry -a sufficient number of them to the nest. Our young ones would be so -hungry, and we should not be able to bring them enough to satisfy them, -and then they would starve. So we have thought of this way of managing -it, and I think it is one of the cleverest things in the whole world.” - -“Yes, indeed,” cooed the mother woodpigeon, as she looked down from the -branch where she sat on her nest; “one of the cleverest things in the -whole world.” - -“Is it only pigeons that do that?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“I won’t say that,” answered the mother woodpigeon. “There are some -other birds, I believe, who have followed our example.” - -“Yes, they imitate us,” said the father woodpigeon; “but they can never -be pigeons, however much they try to be.” - -“Never,” said the mother woodpigeon. “They don’t drink water as we do. -That is the test.” - -“Why, how do you drink water?” asked Tommy Smith. “Don’t you drink it -like other birds?” - -“I should think not,” said the father woodpigeon. “Other birds take a -little in their bills, and then lift their heads up and let it run down -their throats, but we pigeons would be ashamed to drink in such a way -as that. We keep our beaks in the water all the time, and suck it up -into our throats. That is how _we_ drink, and nothing could make us do -it differently. We don’t lift _our_ heads up.” - -“But why shouldn’t you lift them up?” said Tommy Smith; for he thought -to himself, “If all the other birds drink like that, it ought to be the -right way.” - -“Why shouldn’t we?” said the father woodpigeon. “Why, because it would -be stupid,—and wrong too,” he added after a pause, during which he -seemed to be thinking. - -“There is a still stronger reason,” said the mother woodpigeon, “the -strongest of _all_ reasons; at least, _I_ cannot imagine one stronger. -It would be _unpigeonly_.” And from the tone in which she said this, -Tommy Smith felt that it would be no use to say anything more on the -subject. - -“If there was any water here,” said the father woodpigeon, “I would -drink a little just to show you, but the nearest is some way off. -However, you can watch some tame pigeons the next time they are -drinking, for we all belong to one great family, and have the same -ideas upon important points. Now I am going for a short fly, but if you -like to stay and talk to my wife, I shall be back again in an hour.” - -But Tommy Smith had to go too, for his lessons began at eleven o’clock, -and of course it would not do to miss them, though it seemed to him -that he was getting a much better lesson from the woodpigeons. “But I -wish,” he said, “before you fly away, Mr. Woodpigeon, you would just -tell me what you do all day.” But as Tommy Smith said this, there was a -rustle and a clapping of wings, and the father woodpigeon was gone. - -“He is so impetuous,” said the mother woodpigeon. “There is no stopping -him when he wants to do anything. But _I_ will tell you what we do all -day, so listen. We rise early, of course, and fly down to breakfast at -about six. After three or four hours we come back to the woods again, -and coo and talk to each other there for about an hour. Then we go off -to drink and to bathe, which is the nicest part of the whole day. After -that we feel a little tired and sleepy, so we sit quietly in the woods -till about two. Then it is quite time for dinner, so off we go again -and feed till about five. After dinner it is best to sit quiet and coo -a little. A quiet coo aids digestion. Then we have a nice refreshing -drink in the cool of the evening, and after that we go straight to -tree.” - -“Do you mean to bed?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Of course I do,” said the mother woodpigeon. “We sleep in trees. They -are the only beds we should care to trust ourselves to.” - -“Aren’t they rather hard?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Not at all,” said the woodpigeon. “You see, we have our own feathers, -so that makes them feather-beds. They are soft enough and warm enough -for us, you may be quite sure.” - -“But it must be very windy up in the trees,” said Tommy Smith. - -“That is the great advantage of the situation,” said the mother -woodpigeon. “Our beds are always well aired, so we need never feel -anxious about that. However much it rains they can never be damp, for -how can a bed be damp and well-aired at the same time?” - -Tommy Smith couldn’t think of the right answer to this, and the -woodpigeon went on, “So, now, I have told you how we pass the day. What -a happy, happy life! He must have a cruel heart who could put an end to -it.” (And Tommy Smith thought so too.) - -“But is that what you always do?” he asked. - -“Of course, when there are eggs and young ones it makes a difference,” -said the mother woodpigeon; “and in winter we keep different hours. But -that is our usual summer life, and _I_ think it a very pleasant one.” - -“Oh, so do I!” said Tommy Smith. “Thank you, Mrs. Woodpigeon, for -telling me. Now I must go to my lessons, and I will tell them all about -it at home.” - -“If you come back afterwards, I will tell you some more,” said the -mother woodpigeon. - -Tommy Smith said he would, and then he ran away as fast as he could to -his lessons, for he was a little late. And as he ran, he could hear -the mother woodpigeon saying, “Come back soo-oo-oo-oon! come back -soo-oo-oo-oon!” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE SQUIRREL - - “_The pert little squirrel’s as brisk as can be; - He calls his house ‘Tree-tops,’ and lives in a tree._” - - -SO Tommy Smith went home to his lessons, and when he had finished them, -he put on his hat and came out again, and began to walk through the -woods to where the mother woodpigeon was waiting for him on her nest. -“Tommy Smith! Tommy Smith! Where are you going to, Tommy Smith?” said -a voice which he had not heard before. At any rate, he had not heard -it talk before. Such a funny little voice it was, something between -a cough and a sob, and if it had not said all those words so _very_ -distinctly, it would have sounded like “sug, sug,—sug, sug,—sug, sug, -sug, sug, sug.” Now I come to think of it, Tommy Smith must have heard -it before, for he had often been for walks in the woods. But when a -voice which has only said “sug, sug” before, begins to talk and say -whole sentences, it is not so easy to recognise it. “Who can that be?” -said Tommy Smith; and then he looked all about, but he could see no -one. “Who are you?” he called out; “and where are you calling me from?” - -“From here, Tommy Smith, from here,” answered the voice. “Can’t you see -me? Why here I am.” - -“Are you the rabbit?” said Tommy Smith; but he thought directly, “Oh -no, it can’t be the rabbit, because it comes from a tree, and no rabbit -could burrow up a tree.” - -“The rabbit, indeed!” said the voice. “Oh no, I am not the rabbit. That -_is_ a funny sug, sug, sug, sug-gestion.” - -“Oh, I know!” cried Tommy Smith. “It is the”— - -“Look!” said the voice. And all at once there was a red streak down -the trunk of a beech tree and along the ground, and there was a little -squirrel sitting at Tommy Smith’s feet, with his tail cocked up over -his head. “Oh!” cried Tommy Smith,—and before he could say anything -else the squirrel said “Look!” again, and there was another red streak, -up the trunk of a pine tree this time,—and there he was sitting on a -branch of it, with his tail cocked up over his head, just the same as -before. - -“Oh dear, Mr. Squirrel,” said Tommy Smith—the branch was not a very -high one, and they could talk to each other comfortably—“how fast you -do go!” - -“Oh, I like to do things quickly,” said the squirrel. “Mine is an -active nature during three-parts of the year.” - -“And what is it during the other part?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Oh, I don’t know anything about it then,” the squirrel answered. - -This puzzled Tommy Smith a little. “Why not?” he said. - -“Oh, because I’m asleep,” said the squirrel. “One can’t know much about -oneself when one’s asleep, you know; and, besides, it doesn’t matter.” - -“But do you go to sleep for such a long time?” said Tommy Smith. “I -know that the frogs and the snakes go to sleep all the winter, but I -didn’t know any regular animal did.” - -“Why, doesn’t the dormouse?” said the squirrel. “He’s a much harder -sleeper than I am. I suppose you call _him_ a regular animal.” - -“Oh yes,” said Tommy Smith. He had forgotten the dormouse, and, of -course, _he was_ a regular animal. By a “regular animal,” I suppose -Tommy Smith meant one that wasn’t an insect, or a reptile, or a worm, -or something of that sort. Perhaps he couldn’t have said exactly _what_ -he meant, but whatever he did mean, you may be sure that it was not -very sensible, because all living creatures are animals, and one is -just as regular as another, if you look at it in the right way. - -“Well,” said the squirrel, “I think we are to have a little chat, are -we not? It’s you that must ask the questions, you know.” - -“Oh, I should so like to,” said Tommy Smith, “but I promised the mother -woodpigeon to go back and talk to her, and I am going there now.” - -“The mother woodpigeon will be on her nest for another hour or two,” -said the squirrel, “so you will have time to talk to her and to me too. -And let me tell you, it is not every little boy who can have a talk -with a squirrel.” - -Tommy Smith thought that it was not every little boy who could have -a talk with a woodpigeon either. But he wanted to have both, so he -said, “Very well, Mr. Squirrel, and I hope you will tell me something -interesting about yourself.” - -The squirrel only nodded, and said nothing; and then Tommy Smith -remembered that he had to ask the questions, so he said, “Why is it, -Mr. Squirrel, that you go to sleep in the winter? It seems so funny -that you should. I stay awake all the time, you know—except at night, -of course,—so why can’t you?” - -“That is easily answered,” said the squirrel. “You have food in the -winter, don’t you?” - -“Oh yes,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Of course you do,” said the squirrel. “It is all got for you, so you -have no trouble. _I_ have to find mine myself, but in the winter there -is none to find. So if I didn’t go to sleep, I should starve.” - -Tommy Smith remembered, then, that the grass-snake had told him that -_he_ went to sleep in the winter, because he could get no frogs to eat; -and the frog had said _he_ did, because he could find no insects. So -he saw that there was the same reason for all these three animals, who -were so different from each other, doing the same thing. “And that’s -why the dormouse goes to sleep too, I suppose,” he said to himself, and -then he began to think that if any other animals went to sleep all the -winter, it must be because _they_ could get no food. - -“But I don’t think _I could_ go to sleep if I was very hungry,” he said -to the squirrel; “and if I did, I’m sure I should wake up again very -soon and want my dinner.” - -“I daresay you would,” said the squirrel; “and if you couldn’t get it, -you would soon die.” - -“But do _you_ never wake up and want _your_ dinner, Mr. Squirrel?” said -Tommy Smith. - -“Oh yes,” said the squirrel, “I often wake up, but whenever I do, I can -always get it. Do you know why? Because I am such a clever animal, that -I hide away food in the autumn, so that I can find it in the winter.” - -“But you _said_ you couldn’t find food in the winter,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh, I meant that I couldn’t find it growing on the trees and bushes,” -said the squirrel. “Of course I can find what I have stored away, and -that is enough for all the time I am awake. But it wouldn’t be enough -for the whole winter, so I sleep or doze most of the time, and then I -don’t require anything.” - -“But why don’t you store away enough food for the whole winter?” said -Tommy Smith. “Then you needn’t go to sleep at all, you know.” - -“Good gracious!” said the squirrel, “that would take a great deal too -much time. It is all very well to put a few things aside, so as to have -something to eat on sunny days—for those are the days I like to wake -up on,—but just fancy having to find dinners beforehand for every day -all through the winter. I could never do that, you know. One dinner to -think about is quite enough as a rule. How should you like to have to -cook two dinners every day, and always put one of them in a cupboard?” - -“But you don’t _cook your_ dinners, Mr. Squirrel,” said Tommy Smith. - -“And _you_ don’t _look_ for _yours_,” said the squirrel. “_I_ do. You -see,” he went on, “I only begin hiding things away towards the end of -autumn, so there isn’t so very much time.” - -“But you have the rest of the year to do it in too,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh no,” said the squirrel; “that’s quite a mistake. In the spring and -summer I have something else to think about. Besides, there is nothing -worth hiding away then—no acorns, or beechnuts, or filberts, and, of -course, one wants to have something really nice to eat when one wakes -up in the winter. But in the autumn all those things are ripe. The -autumn is the great eating-time. That is the time of the year that I -like best of all.” - -“What! better than the spring or the summer?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Well, in the spring there are buds on the trees,” the squirrel -reflected; “and the birds’ nests have got eggs inside them. They are -both very nice, though I like nuts better still. But, you see, buds and -birds’ eggs don’t keep, and so”— - -“Oh but, Mr. Squirrel,” cried Tommy Smith, “you surely don’t eat the -eggs of the poor birds! Oh, I hope you don’t!” (You see he was not -at all the same Tommy Smith now that he used to be, and he didn’t go -birds’-nesting any more.) - -The squirrel looked just a little bit ashamed. “I wouldn’t, you know,” -he said, “if they didn’t make their nests in the trees.” - -“Of course they make their nests in the trees!” said Tommy Smith -indignantly. “They have just as much right to the trees as you have, -and I think it is very wicked of you to eat their eggs.” - -“Perhaps it is,” said the squirrel; “but, you see, I get so hungry, -and fresh eggs are so nice. By the bye, on what tree did you say the -woodpigeon was sitting? I think I will go there with you.” - -“_Indeed_, you shan’t!” said Tommy Smith (and he was _very_ angry). “I -won’t take you there. You want to eat her eggs, I know; and I think you -are a very naughty animal.” - -The squirrel looked at Tommy Smith for a little while without speaking, -and then he said, “You know, _I_ never eat hen’s eggs.” - -“Don’t you?” said Tommy Smith. It was all he could think of to say, for -he remembered that _he did_ eat hen’s eggs. Of course he knew that that -was different—the peewit had told him that it was—but just at that -moment he couldn’t think of _why_ it was different, and he couldn’t -help wishing that he hadn’t been _quite_ so angry with the squirrel. -“Perhaps you don’t eat too many eggs,” he said in a milder tone. - -“Of course not,” said the squirrel. “Wherever there are plenty of -squirrels, there are plenty of birds too, as long as people with guns -don’t shoot them. That shows that we don’t eat too many. And then, as -for our killing trees”— - -“Oh, but _do_ you kill trees?” said Tommy Smith. “I didn’t know that -you did that.” - -“Why, sometimes when we are very hungry,” said the squirrel, “we gnaw -the bark all round the trunk of a small tree, and then it dies. So -those people who are always finding out reasons for killing animals say -we do harm to the forests. But I can tell them this, that no forest -was ever cut down by the squirrels that lived in it. Men cut down the -forests, and shoot the birds and the squirrels; but if they left them -all three alone, they would all get on very well together. Once, you -know, almost the whole of England was covered with forests. Do you -think it was the squirrels who cut them all down?” - -“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith. “It was men with axes, I should think.” - -“Yes,” said the squirrel. “It is that great axe of theirs that does -the mischief, not these poor little teeth of mine. It is axes, not -squirrels, that they should keep out of the woods.” - -Tommy Smith thought the squirrel might be right, but he wanted to hear -something more about what he did and the way he lived, so he said, “Oh, -Mr. Squirrel, you haven’t told me where you hide the nuts and acorns -that you eat when you wake up in the winter.” - -“Oh, in all sorts of places,” said the squirrel. “Sometimes I scrape a -hole in the ground and bury them in it, and sometimes I put them into -holes in the trunks of trees, or under their roots, if they run along -the ground, or into any other little nook or crevice near where I live. -In fact, I put them anywhere where it is convenient, but _not_ where it -is _in_convenient. That is another of my clever notions.” - -“But isn’t it rather difficult to find them again when you wake up a -long time afterwards?” said Tommy Smith. - -“It would be to you, I daresay,” said the squirrel; “but it is quite -easy to me. You see, I have a wonderful memory, and never forget where -I once put a thing. Even when the snow is on the ground, I know where -my dinner is. It is _under_ a white tablecloth then, instead of being -_upon_ one. I have only to lift up the tablecloth, and there it is.” - -“Do you mean that you scrape the snow away, Mr. Squirrel?” said Tommy -Smith. - -“Yes, that is what I mean,” said the squirrel; “but I like to talk -prettily. Well, have you anything else to ask me? You had better make -haste if you have, because we squirrels can never stay still for very -long, and I shall soon have to jump away. Look how my tail is whisking. -I always go very soon after that begins.” - -Tommy Smith thought that, as the squirrel had proposed having a chat -himself, and had prevented him from going on to the woodpigeon, it was -not quite polite of him to be so very impatient. But he thought _he_ -would be polite, at anyrate, so he went on, all in a hurry, “I suppose, -Mr. Squirrel, as you go to sleep in the winter, you have to come out -of the trees and find a place on the ground to”— - -“Out of the trees!” exclaimed the squirrel. “I should think not, -indeed. That would be very unsafe. Besides, I should never feel -comfortable if I did not rock with the wind when I was asleep. I should -have a nasty fixed feeling, which would wake me up every minute.” - -This surprised Tommy Smith a good deal. He knew that squirrels lived in -the trees all day, but he did not know before that they slept in them -at night too. “Then do you make a nest like a bird, Mr. Squirrel?” he -asked. - -“Like a bird, indeed!” said the squirrel. “No; I make one like a -squirrel. It is not necessary for me to imitate a bird. We squirrels -can make nests a great deal better than birds can.” - -Tommy Smith did not quite believe this. At anyrate, he felt sure that -a squirrel could not make a better nest than some birds can. But he -remembered that some other birds make only slight nests, or none at -all. “And perhaps,” he thought, “he only means those kinds of birds.” -But he thought he had better not ask the squirrel this, in case he -should be offended, so he only said, “Oh, Mr. Squirrel, will you please -tell me all about your nest, and how you make it, and what it looks -like.” - -“Well,” the squirrel began, “it is very large; much larger than you -would ever think, to look at _me_. I could get inside the cap you have -on your head. But how large do you think the house I make, and go to -sleep in, is?” - -“Perhaps it is a little larger than my cap,” said Tommy Smith. He did -not think it could be _much_ larger. - -“Why,” said the squirrel, “it is larger than you sometimes. You know -those great heaps of hay that stand in the fields—haycocks I think -they call them,—well, if you were to take my house to pieces, it would -sometimes make a heap almost as big as one of them.” - -“Would it, really?” said Tommy Smith. “But why is it so large?” - -“You see,” said the squirrel, “if the walls were not nice and thick, -they would not keep out the cold properly, and so I have to find a -great deal of moss and grass, and a great many sticks and leaves, to -make it with. Then I have to repair it every year—it would be too -much trouble, you know, to build a new one,—and so it keeps on getting -bigger, because of the fresh sticks and things I bring to it. That is -why my house is so large.” - -“And are you always quite comfortable inside it?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh yes,” said the squirrel; “always comfortable, and always dry. I -knit everything so closely together, that neither the rain nor the snow -can get through.” - -“I suppose your house has a door to get in and out by,” said Tommy -Smith. - -“It has _two_ doors,” said the squirrel, “a large one and a small one. -Why, what a question to ask! You will be asking if it has a roof to it -next.” - -“_Has_ it a roof?” said Tommy Smith. (So, you see, the squirrel was -quite right.) - -“Of course it has,” said the squirrel. “The idea of living in a house -without a roof to it! I build it high up in the fork of a tree,” he -went on; “and I lie curled up inside it, as snug and as warm as can be.” - -“But isn’t it too warm in the summer?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Oh, I don’t go into it then,” said the squirrel. “The house I have -been telling you about is for the winter, but in the summer I have my -summer-house to go into.” - -“Oh, then you have two houses!” said Tommy Smith. “That is cleverer -than a bird, for they have only one nest.” - -“_I_ have two,” said the squirrel, “and they are not at all the same.” - -“Oh, do tell me what the summer-house is like,” said Tommy Smith. - -“It is more lightly built than the winter-house,” said the squirrel, -“and not nearly so large. That is how summer-houses are always built, -you know. Perhaps you have one in your garden.” - -“Oh yes, we have,” said Tommy Smith. - -“And isn’t it much smaller than the other one?” said the squirrel. - -“Oh yes, it is,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Well,” said the squirrel, “my summer-house is constructed on the same -principle. I will show it you, if you like, for I really can’t sit -still any longer. Just _look_ at my tail! It will whisk itself off soon -if I don’t jump about.” - -“Oh, I should so like to see it, Mr. Squirrel!” cried Tommy Smith. -“Yes, do come down, and”— - -“Oh, I’m not coming down,” said the squirrel. “I shouldn’t think of -doing that. I shall go home by the treeway, and you can walk underneath -me. Now then!” And as the squirrel said this, he gave his tail _such_ -a whisking, and away he ran along the branch he had been sitting on, -right to the end of it, and then gave _such_ a jump on to the branch of -another tree, and then out of that tree into another one, and so from -tree to tree, so fast that Tommy Smith could hardly keep up with him as -he ran along the ground underneath. - -It was not always that the squirrel had to jump from one tree to -another, because their branches often touched each other, and then he -would run along them without jumping at all. Sometimes they would be -very near together without quite touching, and then when he came to -the end of the branch he was on, he would lean forward, and, with his -little fore-paws, catch hold of the tips of several of those belonging -to another tree, and draw them all together, and then give a little -spring amongst them, and away he would go again. This was when he was -in the fir trees. But to see him run down the long, drooping branch of -a beech tree, right to the very end, and then drop off it on to another -one far below—that was the finest sight of all. He did it so very -gracefully. His tail was not turned up over his back now, as it had -been whilst he was sitting up, but went streaming out behind him like a -flag. And sometimes he would whisk it from side to side, and say, “Sug, -sug,—sug, sug,—sug, sug, sug, sug, sug!” - -“Here it is!” cried the squirrel at last, from one of the very top -branches of the tree he was on (it was a large beech tree). “Here is -‘Tree-tops.’ Can you see it?” - -“Oh yes, I can see the top of the tree you are on,” said Tommy Smith; -“but”— - -“Oh, I don’t mean that!” said the squirrel. “‘Tree-tops’ is the name of -my residence. You know, houses have usually a name of some sort. So I -call mine ‘Tree-tops.’ That describes it very well, because it is in a -tree-top, and there are tree-tops all round it.” - -“But aren’t all squirrels’ nests like that?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Oh yes,” said the squirrel; “and they can all be called ‘Tree-tops.’ -I daresay you’ve seen more than one house that was named ‘The Elms,’ or -‘The Firs,’ or ‘The Beeches.’ But now look about, and see if you can -see my summer-house.” - -Tommy Smith looked all about near where the squirrel was sitting high -up in the tree, and at last he saw something that looked like a little -black ball. “Is that it?” he said. - -“Yes,” said the squirrel, “that’s it. Look! Now I am in it,” and he -made a little spring at the ball of sticks, and disappeared inside -it. The jump made the thin end of the branch swing about, and the -squirrel’s summer-house swung with it, so that it looked as if it might -be shaken off. - -“Oh, do come out,” Tommy Smith cried. “I’m sure it can’t be safe in -there.” - -“Not safe!” said the squirrel, as he poked his little head out, and -looked down at Tommy Smith. “Do you think I would live with all my -family in a house that was not safe? I have a wife and five children, -you know, and we all live here together.” - -“Do you really, Mr. Squirrel?” said Tommy Smith, for he could hardly -believe it. - -“Why, of course we do,” said the squirrel; “and great fun it is, too. -You should see how we swing about in a high wind. Delightful!” - -Tommy Smith thought that it would make _him_ giddy. “It _must_ be -dangerous,” he said. “Suppose you were all to be swung out, or the -branch were to be blown off, or”— - -“Oh, we never think of such things,” said the squirrel. “They are sure -not to happen; and even if they did, we should be all right, somehow, I -daresay.” - -“I don’t think you would,” said Tommy Smith. “The woodpigeon might, -perhaps, but, you see, you can’t fly, and so”— - -“Oh, can’t I?” said the squirrel. “Why, how did I get here then, from -tree to tree? Didn’t you see me?” - -“Oh, but that was jumping,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Jumping? Nonsense!” said the squirrel. “Why, I went through the air, -you know, and that is just what one does when one flies, isn’t it?” - -“Oh yes, of course,” said Tommy Smith, “but”— - -“Very well,” said the squirrel; “then when _I_ jump, I fly.” - -“But you haven’t got wings,” said Tommy Smith. He knew he was right, -but he didn’t know how to prove it. - -“That makes it all the more clever of me,” said the squirrel. “It is -easy enough to fly if you have wings, but very difficult indeed if you -haven’t. But we squirrels are a clever family, and can do anything. -Why, one of us is called the ‘Flying Squirrel,’ you know; and why -should he be called a flying squirrel if he can’t fly? Not fly? Why, -look here!—look here!—look here!”—and at each “look here!” the -squirrel was in a different tree, and still he went on jumping, or -flying (which do _you_ think it was?), from one to another, until very -soon he was quite out of sight. - -And he never came back—at least not whilst Tommy Smith was there. I -think he must have come back at _some_ time or other, to sit in his -little summer-house again with his wife and children. But Tommy Smith -had not time enough to wait for him; so, as soon as he was sure that he -was really gone, he walked away to his friend the woodpigeon. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE BARN-OWL - - “_In at Tommy Smith’s window the owl has a peep; - He talks to him wisely, and leaves him asleep._” - - -IT was just the very exact time for a little boy like Tommy Smith to -have been in bed for about five minutes (your mother will know _what_ -time it was); so, of course, he _had_ been in bed for about five -minutes, and he wasn’t asleep yet. It was a beautiful night, the window -was open a little at the top, and Tommy Smith was looking through it, -right away to where the moon and the stars were shining. All at once -a great white bird flitted across the window—so silently!—without -making any noise at all. Most birds, you know, make a swishing with -their wings, which you can hear when you are close to them (sometimes -when a good way off too, like the peewit), but this bird made none at -all. - -“Oh!” cried Tommy Smith, “whatever was that?” As he said this, the -great white bird flew back again, but—just fancy!—instead of passing -by the window as it did before, it flew up on to it, and sat with its -head inside the room, looking at Tommy Smith. “Oh, who are you?” said -Tommy Smith. And yet he knew quite well that it was an owl. No other -bird could have such great, round eyes, and such a funny wise-looking -face. - -The owl sat looking at Tommy Smith for a little while, and then he said -in a very wise tone of voice, “Guess who I am.” - -“I think you are the owl,” said Tommy Smith. - -“That is right,” said the owl. “But what kind of owl do you think I am?” - -“Oh,” said Tommy Smith, “I suppose you are the owl that says ‘Tu whit, -tu whoo.’” - -“I am _not_,” said the owl very decisively. “I have never said anything -so absurd in the whole of my life. Why, what does it mean? Nothing, -_I_ should say. It has simply _no_ meaning. What I _do_ say is -‘Shrirr-r-r-r,’ which is very different, is it not now?” - -“Yes,” said Tommy Smith, “it is very _different_, but”— - -“Of course it is,” said the owl; “when I say _that_, I feel that I am -making a sensible remark.” - -Tommy Smith didn’t think that “shrirr-r-r-r” was a _much_ more sensible -remark than “tu whit, tu whoo,” but he thought he had better not say -so, as the owl spoke so positively. - -“There are a great many different kinds of owls in the world, you -know,” the barn-owl continued. “Some are very large, as large as an -eagle, and others are a good deal smaller than I am. Here, in England, -there are three kinds,—the wood-owl, the tawny owl (I can’t answer -for what _they_ say), and the barn-owl. Now _I_, thank goodness, am -a barn-owl. I must ask you to remember that, because, naturally, I -shouldn’t like to be mistaken for one of the others.” - -“Oh, I’m sure I shall remember it,” said Tommy Smith, “because”— - -“Never mind saying why,” said the owl, “it would take too long. Well, -and were you surprised to see me?” - -“Oh yes, I was a little,” said Tommy Smith. “I just looked up, and I -saw a great white thing going past the window.” - -“I suppose I looked white to you,” said the owl; “but that is because -_you_ are not nocturnal, as I am. But, if you were an owl, like me, -you would see that I am not really white. At anyrate, there is more of -me that isn’t white, than that is. My face is white, I know,—these -beautiful, soft, silky feathers that make two circles round my fine -dark eyes,—my face-discs they are called (what a pity you can’t see -them better!), _they_ are white, and very handsome they look. I am very -proud of them, for I am the only owl in England that has them. But, -after all, my face, though it is beautiful, is only a small part of me. -My back, which is much larger, is not white at all, but a light reddish -yellow. There, now you get the moonlight on it nicely. Such pretty, -delicate colouring. What a pity you are not nocturnal! Then, even my -breast is not quite white. It has some very pretty grey tints about -it. And yet I am called the ‘white owl,’ as well as the ‘barn-owl,’ -and often that name is put first in books. It is very annoying. The -barn-owl is a good sensible name; for I do know something about barns, -and I am very fond of catching the mice that live in them. But why -should I be called white, when I have such pretty colours? It is one -of my grievances. You know I have a good many grievances.” - -“Have you?” said Tommy Smith. (He knew what a grievance was; one of -those things that ought never to be made out of anything.) - -“Yes,” said the owl; “and do you know what I do with them?” - -“No,” said Tommy Smith. He didn’t _quite_ understand what the owl meant. - -“Well,” said the owl—“mind, I’m going to say something very wise now -(you know I’m an owl),—I put up with them.” - -“Oh!” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes,” said the owl. “It will take you a very long time to find out -what a wise remark that was. _You_ couldn’t have made it, you know; I -mean, of course, with the proper expression. I couldn’t myself _once_, -when I was only a young owl, but now that I am grown up, and have a -wife and family to assist me, I can.” - -“Oh yes,” said Tommy Smith. (It was all he could think of to say.) - -“You’ve no idea,” the owl went on, “what a time it takes one to make -_some_ remarks properly. Now take, for instance, the one, ‘It’s a -sad world!’ It _seems_ very easy, but even if you were to repeat it a -hundred times a day for the next fortnight, you wouldn’t be able to say -it in the way it ought to be said—like this,” and the owl snapped his -beak, and said it again. “_That_ sounds _convincing_,” he remarked; -“but as for a little boy saying it in _that_ way,—no, no.” - -“Is it so _very_ difficult,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Well, it wants help,” said the owl; “that’s the principal thing. -If you were left to yourself, you’d never manage it; but first one -person helps you, and then another, until at last—after a good many -years, you know—you get into the way of it. It’s like shrugging one’s -shoulders. It takes one half a lifetime to do _that_—_well_.” - -“Does it?” said Tommy Smith. - -“Ask your father,” said the owl; “only you mustn’t expect him to make -such a wise answer as I should, because, of course, he isn’t an owl, -like me.” - -Tommy Smith didn’t think the owl had said anything so _very_ wise, but -he had used a word twice which he didn’t know the meaning of, and so -he said, “Please, Mr. Owl, what does being ‘nocturnal’ mean?” - -“To be nocturnal,” said the owl, “is to wake up and see at night, and -go to bed in the daytime, which is what we owls do.” - -“Oh yes, I know,” said Tommy Smith; “and if an owl ever _does_ come out -in the daytime, a lot of little birds fly after him and”— - -“Yes,” said the owl. “It is very grand, is it not, to be attended in -that way? Common birds have to fly about by themselves, but, of course, -when one is a great owl, it is natural that people should make a fuss -about one.” - -“But, Mr. Owl,” said Tommy Smith (he really couldn’t help saying this, -though he was afraid the owl might be angry), “don’t the little birds -fly after you because they don’t like you, and”— - -“Dear, dear!” said the owl, “what funny notions little boys do get into -their heads. Not like me, don’t they? That is very ungrateful of them, -because _I_ like _them_ very much. Sometimes I like them almost as much -as a mouse, you know. But, after all, what does it matter whether they -like me or not? The important thing is to have a retinue, all the rest -is of no consequence. Why do you suppose”—The owl stopped all of a -sudden, as if he had just thought of something, and then he said, “But, -perhaps, hearing so many wise things, one after the other, in such a -short time, may be bad for you,—too much strain on the brain, you -know. What do you think?” - -“Oh, I don’t think it will do me any harm,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Very well,” said the owl; “in the cool of the night, perhaps, it may -not, but I wouldn’t answer for it in the daytime, if the sun was at all -hot. Well, now do you suppose that if all the people in the world who -had retinues were to know what their retinues thought about them, they -would be any the happier for it?” - -“I don’t know,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Well,” said the owl (I really cannot tell you how wise he looked as he -said this), “_I do_.” - -“But what _is_ a retinue?” asked Tommy Smith. - -“Oh dear,” said the owl, “I have been forgetting that I am a wise owl, -and that you are only a little boy who doesn’t know long words. A -retinue is an _entourage_, you know, and”— - -“But I don’t know what that word means either,” said Tommy Smith (and, -indeed, he thought it was rather a more difficult one than the other). - -“Oh dear,” said the owl, “I am forgetting again. Why, when there are a -lot of little birds, who fly round you and twitter whenever you come -out and show yourself, that is what I call having a retinue or an -_entourage_; and, depend upon it, it is a very grand thing to have. The -more birds there are to twitter about you, the grander bird _you_ are. -But it doesn’t so much matter _what_ they twitter, and as for what they -_think_, you had better know nothing at all about _that_.” - -It was all very well for the owl to talk in this very wise way, but -Tommy Smith felt sure that the little birds didn’t like him at all, and -only flew round him to annoy him when he happened to come out in the -daytime. And he didn’t think it was such a very grand thing to have -a retinue like that. “They would peck at him too, I daresay, if they -weren’t afraid,” he said to himself; “and no wonder, if he eats them.” -But he wasn’t quite sure whether the owl did this or not, so he thought -he had better ask him before feeling angry with him. - -“_Do_ you eat the little birds, Mr. Owl?” he said. - -“Not very often,” the owl answered. “The fact is, I don’t so _very_ -much care about them. Only, sometimes, when I want a change of diet, -or if they happen to get in my way, I like to try them. They can’t -complain of _that_, you know.” - -“Why not?” said Tommy Smith. - -“They haven’t time,” said the owl. “You see, I catch them asleep, and -by the time they wake up, they’ve been eaten.” - -“I think it’s a great _shame_,” said Tommy Smith; “and I think you’re a -_wicked_ bird to do it. You ought to be shot for doing such things, and -when I am grown up, and have a gun”— - -“Wait a bit,” said the owl. “Do you know what you would be doing if you -were to shoot me? Why, you would be shooting the most useful bird in -the whole country. You wouldn’t want to do _that_, I suppose?” - -Tommy Smith didn’t quite know what to say to this. “Of course, if you -really _are_ very useful,” he began— - -“Well, if you were a farmer,” the owl went on, “I don’t suppose you -would like to have all your corn, and wheat, and hay, and everything -eaten up by rats and mice, would you?” - -“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith. - -“That is what would happen, though, if it wasn’t for me,” said the -owl. “You see, _I_ eat the rats and mice. They are my proper food, -especially the mice. A full-grown rat is rather large for me—too large -to swallow whole, at anyrate; and I like to swallow things whole if -I can. But the mice and the young rats are just the right size, and -you’ve no idea what a lot of them I eat. I have a very good appetite, I -can tell you, and so have my children. Of course, I have to feed them -as well as myself, so there is plenty of work for me to do. Every night -I fly round the fields and farmyards, and when I see a mouse, or a -rat, or a mole, or a shrew-mouse, down I pounce upon it. Now think how -many owls there are all over the country, and think what thousands and -thousands of rats and mice they must catch every night, and then think -what a lot of good they must do. Or, here is another way. Think how -many rats and mice there are even now, although there are so many owls -to catch them, and think how much harm they do, and think how many more -there would be, and how much more harm they would do if there were no -owls to catch them. That is a lot of thinking is it not? Well, have you -thought of it all?” - -“I’ve tried to,” said Tommy Smith. - -“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” said the owl. “It’s all very well to say -‘think,’ but the fact is, you _can’t_ think what a useful bird an owl -is—and especially a barn-owl. But, perhaps, you don’t believe me.” - -“Oh yes, I do,” said Tommy Smith. “I always thought that owls killed -rats and mice.” - -“You can prove it, if you like,” said the owl, “and I’ll tell you -how. I told you that I liked to swallow animals whole, so, of course, -everything goes down—fur, bones, feathers (if it does happen to be a -bird), and all. But I can’t be expected to digest such things as that, -so I have to get rid of them in some way or other. Well, what do I do? -Why, I bring them all up again in pellets about the size and shape of a -potato.” - -“Oh, but potatoes are of different sizes and shapes,” said Tommy Smith. - -“_I_ mean a smallish-sized oblong potato,” said the owl. “That is -what my pellets look like, only they are of a greyish sort of colour. -Sometimes they are quite silvery.” - -“How funny!” said Tommy Smith. - -“How pretty, I suppose you mean,” said the owl. “Yes, they _are_ -pretty. Now, if you look about under the trees in the fields where I -have been sitting, you will see these pretty pellets of mine lying on -the grass. Pick them up and pull them to pieces, and you will find -that they are nothing but the fur, and skulls, and bones of mice, and -shrew-mice, and young rats. Sometimes the skull and beak of a bird -will be there, and then it will almost always be a sparrow’s. Sparrows -are a nuisance, you know, because there are too many of them. But, as -for mice, there will be three or four of them in every pellet (you can -count them by the skulls), and you know what a nuisance _they_ are. -Let anyone who is not quite sure whether I am a useful bird or not look -at my pellets. Then he’ll know, and if he shoots me after that, he must -either be very stupid, or very wicked, or both. Well, do you still mean -to shoot me when you grow up?” - -“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith, “I never will, now that I know how useful -you are, and what a lot of good you do.” - -The owl looked very pleased at this, so Tommy Smith thought he would -take the opportunity to ask his advice about something which had been -puzzling him a good deal. “Please, Mr. Owl,” he said, “I promised the -rat not to kill him any more. But, if rats and mice do such a lot of -harm, oughtn’t I to kill them whenever I can?” - -“Certainly not,” said the owl. “A little boy should be kind to animals, -and not trouble his head about anything else. No, no; be kind to -animals and leave the rats and mice to _me_.” That was the wise owl’s -advice to Tommy Smith, and _I_ think it was very good advice. - -“Where do you live, Mr. Owl?” (that was the next question that Tommy -Smith asked). “I suppose it is in the woods.” - -“No,” the owl answered. “Barn-owls do not live in the woods. The -tawny-owls and the wood-owls do. Woods are good enough for them, but we -like to have more comfortable surroundings. We don’t object to trees, -of course. A nice hollow tree is a great comfort, and I, for one, could -not do without it. But it must be within a reasonable distance of a -village, and the closer it is to a church, the better I like it.” - -“Do you, Mr. Owl,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes,” said the owl. “I don’t mind how far I am from a railway station -or even a post office, but the church _must_ be near.” - -“I suppose you like to sit in the tower, Mr. Owl,” said Tommy Smith. - -“I should think so,” said the owl; “the belfry is there, you know, and -I am so fond of that. It is so nice to sit in one’s belfry and think -of one’s barns, and farms, and haystacks. And then, when the bells -ring, you can’t think what fun that is—especially on the first day of -January when they ring in the New Year. I get quite excited then, and -I give a scream, and throw myself off the old tower, and fly round it, -and whoop and shriek until I seem to be one of the mad bells myself. -For they _are_ mad then, you know. They go mad once every year—on New -Year’s day. People come out to listen sometimes. They look up into the -air, and say, ‘Hark! There they go. It is the New Year now. They are -ringing it in.’ Then all at once the bells stop ringing, and it is -all over; the New Year has been rung in. But what there is new about -it is more than _I_ can say, wise as I am. It all seems to go on just -the same as before, and sometimes I wonder what all the fuss has been -about. I have never been able to see any difference myself between the -last minute of the thirty-first of December and the first minute of -the first of January. On a cold rainy night especially, they seem very -much alike. But, of course, there must _be_ a difference, or the bells -wouldn’t ring as they do.” - -“Oh, they ring because it’s the new year, Mr. Owl,” said Tommy Smith. - -“Yes, that’s it,” said the owl; “but I should never have found it out -without them.” - -Tommy Smith began to think that the owl couldn’t be so _very_ wise -after all, or surely he would have known the difference between -the old year and the new year. He was going to explain it to him -thoroughly, but he was getting rather sleepy by this time, and it is -difficult to explain things when one is sleepy. - -So he didn’t, and the owl went on with, “Oh yes, we love churches, -we owls do. We have our nests there, you know, and we could not find -a safer place to make them in. Anywhere else we might be disturbed -and rudely treated, for people are not nearly so polite to us as they -ought to be. But we are always safe in a church, for no one would be so -wicked as to annoy us there. Besides, a church is a wonderful place to -hide in. People pass by it, and come into it, and sit down and go out -again, without having any idea that we are there, and have been there -all the time. They never think of that.” - -“What part of the church do you build your nest in, Mr. Owl?” said -Tommy Smith. - -“Oh, that is in the belfry too,” said the owl. “The belfry is my part -of the church. I think it must have been built for me, it suits me so -well. I am called the belfry-owl sometimes, and that is a very good -name for me too. But now don’t ask me any more questions, because you -are getting sleepy, and I have something to tell you before you go to -sleep.” - -And then the owl told all about the grand meeting that the animals -had held in the woods, and all that they had said to each other, and -what they had decided to do to try and make Tommy Smith a better boy -to animals, and how, at first, they had wanted to hurt him (or even -to kill him), because they were so angry with him, until the owl had -persuaded them not to. It was all the wise owl’s doing. _He_ knew that -the best way to make a little boy kind to animals was to teach him -something about them; and who could teach him so well as the animals -themselves? - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE LEAVE-TAKING - - “_All ‘Tommy Smith’s Animals’ take leave with joy_, - _For they know Tommy Smith is a different boy_.” - - -WHEN Tommy Smith had gone to sleep, the owl flew away, and he flew to -the same place where he had met the other animals before, and found -them all there again waiting for him (of course, it had been arranged). -Then all the animals began to tell each other about the conversations -they had had with Tommy Smith, and what a very much better boy he had -become. They were all so glad; and, of course, they all thanked the -owl, because it had been his idea. - -Then the owl thanked all the animals for thanking _him_, and he said -that it _was_ his idea, but that it might just as well have been the -idea of any other animal there, and he wished that it _had_ been, -because, _then_, he could have called it clever, but _now_, of course, -he couldn’t, for _that_ would be praising himself,—which would -_never_ do. You see, he wanted to be modest. One ought always to be -modest when one makes a speech. And now (the owl said) he was quite -sure that Tommy Smith would never be unkind to animals any more as long -as he lived, because, just before he flew away, he had asked him to -promise that he wouldn’t. But Tommy Smith had just gone off to sleep -then, and so he had had to promise it in his sleep. “And, you know,” -said the owl, “that when a promise is made in _that_ way, it is always -kept.” Then all the animals clapped their—well, whatever they could -clap, and said “Hurrah!” and the meeting broke up. - -And the owl was right. As Tommy Smith grew older, and became a big boy, -he found that animals did not talk to him any more in the way they -used to do. It seemed as if they only cared to talk to _little_ boys -or girls. But there was one way of having conversations with them, -which he got to like better and better, and that was to go out into the -woods and fields and watch what they were doing. He soon found that -that was quite as interesting as really talking to them. In fact, it -_was_ talking to them in another kind of way, for they kept telling him -all about themselves, only without speaking. And the more Tommy Smith -learnt about them, the more he liked them, until the animals became his -very best friends. Of course, one is never unkind to one’s very best -friends, and, besides, Tommy Smith had given the owl a promise—in his -sleep. - - - _Printed by_ - MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED - _Edinburgh_ - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tommy Smith's Animals, by Edmund Selous - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOMMY SMITH'S ANIMALS *** - -***** This file should be named 51933-0.txt or 51933-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/3/51933/ - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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