Queer Little Folks
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Harriet Beecher Stowe >> Queer Little Folks
So it proved. It was evident they were all out merely to do their
spring shopping, or something that serves with them the same purpose
that spring shopping does with us; and where they went afterwards we
do not know. People speak of snakes' holes, and we have seen them
disappearing into such subterranean chambers; but we never opened one
to see what sort of underground housekeeping went on there. After
the first few days of spring, a snake was a rare visitor, though now
and then one appeared.
One was discovered taking his noontide repast one day in a manner
which excited much prejudice. He was, in fact, regaling himself by
sucking down into his maw a small frog, which he had begun to swallow
at the toes, and had drawn about half down. The frog, it must be
confessed, seemed to view this arrangement with great indifference,
making no struggle, and sitting solemnly, with his great unwinking
eyes, to be sucked in at the leisure of his captor. There was
immense sympathy, however, excited for him in the family circle; and
it was voted that a snake which indulged in such very disagreeable
modes of eating his dinner was not to be tolerated in our vicinity.
So I have reason to believe that that was his last meal.
Another of our wild woodland neighbours made us some trouble. It was
no other than a veritable woodchuck, whose hole we had often wondered
at when we were scrambling through the underbrush after spring
flowers. The hole was about the size of a peck-measure, and had two
openings about six feet apart. The occupant was a gentleman we never
had had the pleasure of seeing, but we soon learned his existence
from his ravages in our garden. He had a taste, it appears, for the
very kind of things we wanted to eat ourselves, and helped himself
without asking. We had a row of fine, crisp heads of lettuce, which
were the pride of our gardening, and out of which he would from day
to day select for his table just the plants we had marked for ours.
He also nibbled our young beans; and so at last we were reluctantly
obliged to let John Gardiner set a trap for him. Poor old simple-
minded hermit, he was too artless for this world! He was caught at
the very first snap, and found dead in the trap,--the agitation and
distress having broken his poor woodland heart, and killed him. We
were grieved to the very soul when the poor fat old fellow was
dragged out, with his useless paws standing up stiff and imploring.
As it was, he was given to Denis, our pig, which, without a single
scruple of delicacy, ate him up as thoroughly as he ate up the
lettuce.
This business of eating, it appears, must go on all through creation.
We eat ducks, turkeys, and chickens, though we don't swallow them
whole, feathers and all. Our four-footed friends, less civilized,
take things with more directness and simplicity, and chew each other
up without ceremony, or swallow each other alive. Of these
unceremonious habits we had other instances.
Our house had a central court on the southern side, into which looked
the library, dining-room, and front hall, as well as several of the
upper chambers. It was designed to be closed in with glass, to serve
as a conservatory in winter; and meanwhile we had filled it with
splendid plumy ferns, taken up out of the neighbouring wood. In the
centre was a fountain surrounded by stones, shells, mosses, and
various water-plants. We had bought three little goldfish to swim in
our basin; and the spray of it, as it rose in the air and rippled
back into the water, was the pleasantest possible sound of a hot day.
We used to lie on the sofa in the hall, and look into the court, and
fancy we saw some scene of fairy-land, and water-sprites coming up
from the fountain. Suddenly a new-comer presented himself,--no other
than an immense bull-frog, that had hopped up from the neighbouring
river, apparently with a view to making a permanent settlement in and
about our fountain. He was to be seen, often for hours, sitting
reflectively on the edge of it, beneath the broad shadow of the
calla-leaves. When sometimes missed thence, he would be found under
the ample shield of a great bignonia, whose striped leaves grew hard
by.
The family were prejudiced against him. What did he want there? It
was surely some sinister motive impelled him. He was probably
watching for an opportunity to gobble up the goldfish. We took his
part, however, and strenuously defended his moral character, and
patronized him in all ways. We gave him the name of Unke, and
maintained that he was a well-conducted, philosophical old water-
sprite, who showed his good taste in wanting to take up his abode in
our conservatory. We even defended his personal appearance, praised
the invisible-green coat which he wore on his back, and his gray
vest, and solemn gold spectacles; and though he always felt
remarkably slimy when we touched him, yet, as he would sit still and
allow us to stroke his head and pat his back, we concluded his social
feelings might be warm, notwithstanding a cold exterior. Who knew,
after all, but he might be a beautiful young prince, enchanted there
till the princess should come to drop the golden ball into the
fountain, and so give him a chance to marry her and turn into a man
again? Such things, we are credibly informed, are matters of
frequent occurrence in Germany. Why not here?
By-and-by there came to our fountain another visitor,--a frisky,
green young frog of the identical kind spoken of by the poet
"There was a frog lived in a well,
Rig dum pully metakimo."
This thoughtless, dapper individual, with his bright green coat, his
faultless white vest, and sea-green tights, became rather the popular
favourite. He seemed just rakish and gallant enough to fulfil the
conditions of the song
"The frog he would a-courting ride,
With sword and pistol by his side."
This lively young fellow, whom we shall call Cri-Cri, like other
frisky and gay young people, carried the day quite over the head of
the solemn old philosopher under the calla-leaves. At night, when
all was still, he would trill a joyous little note in his throat,
while old Unke would answer only with a cracked guttural more
singular than agreeable; and to all outward appearance the two were
as good friends as their different natures would allow.
One day, however, the conservatory became the scene of a tragedy of
the deepest dye. We were summoned below by shrieks and howls of
horror. "Do pray come down and see what this vile, nasty, horrid old
frog has been doing!" Down we came; and there sat our virtuous old
philosopher, with his poor little brother's hind legs still sticking
out of the corner of his mouth, as if he were smoking them for a
cigar, all helplessly palpitating as they were. In fact, our solemn
old friend had done what many a solemn hypocrite before has done,--
swallowed his poor brother, neck and crop,--and sat there with the
most brazen indifference, looking as if he had done the most proper
and virtuous thing in the world.
Immediately he was marched out of the conservatory at the point of a
walking-stick, and made to hop down to the river, into whose waters
he splashed, and we saw him no more. We regret to say that the
popular indignation was so precipitate in its results; otherwise the
special artist who sketched Hum, the son of Buz, intended to have
made a sketch of the old villain, as he sat with his luckless
victim's hind legs projecting from his solemn mouth. With all his
moral faults, he was a good sitter, and would probably have sat
immovable any length of time that could be desired.
Of other woodland neighbours there were some which we saw
occasionally. The shores of the river were lined here and there with
the holes of the muskrats; and in rowing by their settlements, we
were sometimes strongly reminded of them by the overpowering odour of
the perfume from which they get their name. There were also owls,
whose nests were high up in some of the old chestnut-trees. Often in
the lonely hours of the night we could hear them gibbering with a
sort of wild, hollow laugh among the distant trees. But one tenant
of the woods made us some trouble in the autumn. It was a little
flying-squirrel, who took to making excursions into our house in the
night season, coming down the chimney into the chambers, rustling
about among the clothes, cracking nuts or nibbling at any morsels of
anything that suited his fancy. For a long time the inmates of the
rooms were awakened in the night by mysterious noises, thumps, and
rappings, and so lighted candles, and searched in vain to find whence
they came; for the moment any movement was made, the rogue whipped up
the chimney, and left us a prey to the most mysterious alarms. What
could it be?
But one night our fine gentleman bounced in at the window of another
room, which had no fireplace; and the fair occupant, rising in the
night, shut the window, without suspecting that she had cut off the
retreat of any of her woodland neighbours. The next morning she was
startled by what she thought a gray rat running past her bed. She
rose to pursue him, when he ran up the wall, and clung against the
plastering, showing himself very plainly a gray flying-squirrel, with
large, soft eyes, and wings which consisted of a membrane uniting the
fore paws to the hind ones, like those of a bat. He was chased into
the conservatory, and a window being opened, out he flew upon the
ground, and made away for his native woods, and thus put an end to
many fears as to the nature of our nocturnal rappings.
So you see how many neighbours we found by living in the woods, and,
after all, no worse ones than are found in the great world.
THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF LITTLE WHISKEY
And now, at the last, I am going to tell you something of the ways
and doings of one of the queer little people, whom I shall call
Whiskey.
You cannot imagine how pretty he is. His back has the most beautiful
smooth shining stripes of reddish brown and black, his eyes shine
like bright glass beads, and he sits up jauntily on his hind
quarters, with his little tail thrown over his back like a ruffle.
And where does he live? Well, "that is telling," as we children say.
It was somewhere up in the mountains of Berkshire, in a queer,
quaint, old-fashioned garden, that I made Mr. Whiskey's acquaintance.
Here there lives a young parson, who preaches every Sunday in a
little brown church, and during week-days goes through all these
hills and valleys, visiting the poor, and gathering children into
Sunday schools.
His wife is a very small-sized lady--not much bigger than you, my
little Mary--but very fond of all sorts of dumb animals; and by
constantly watching their actions and ways, she has come to have
quite a strange power over them, as I shall relate.
The little lady fixed her mind on Whiskey, and gave him his name
without consulting him upon the subject. She admired his bright
eyes, and resolved to cultivate his acquaintance.
By constant watching, she discovered that he had a small hole of his
own in the grass-plot a few paces from her back-door. So she used to
fill her pocket with hazel-nuts, and go out and sit in the back
porch, and make a little noise, such as squirrels make to each other,
to attract his attention.
In a minute or two up would pop the little head with the bright eyes,
in the grass-plot, and Master Whiskey would sit on his haunches and
listen, with one small ear cocked towards her. Then she would throw
him a hazel-nut, and he would slip instantly down into his hole
again. In a minute or two, however, his curiosity would get the
better of his prudence; and she, sitting quiet, would see the little
brown-striped head slowly, slowly coming up again, over the tiny
green spikes of the grass-plot. Quick as a flash he would dart at
the nut, whisk it into a little bag on one side of his jaws, which
Madam Nature has furnished him with for his provision-pouch, and down
into his hole again. An ungrateful, suspicious little brute he was
too; for though in this way he bagged and carried off nut after nut,
until the patient little woman had used up a pound of hazelnuts,
still he seemed to have the same wild fright at sight of her, and
would whisk off and hide himself in his hole the moment she appeared.
In vain she called, "Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey," in the most
flattering tones; in vain she coaxed and cajoled. No, no; he was not
to be caught napping. He had no objection to accepting her nuts, as
many as she chose to throw to him; but as to her taking any personal
liberty with him, you see, it was by no means to be thought of.
But at last patience and perseverance began to have their reward.
Little Master Whiskey said to himself, "Surely this is a nice, kind
lady, to take so much pains to give me nuts; she is certainly very
considerate;" and with that he edged a little nearer and nearer every
day, until, quite to the delight of the small lady, he would come and
climb into her lap and seize the nuts, when she rattled them there,
and after that he seemed to make exploring voyages all over her
person. He would climb up and sit on her shoulder; he would mount
and perch himself on her head; and when she held a nut for him
between her teeth, he would take it out of her mouth.
After a while he began to make tours of discovery in the house. He
would suddenly appear on the minister's writing-table when he was
composing his Sunday sermon, and sit cocking his little pert head at
him, seeming to wonder what he was about. But in all his
explorations he proved himself a true Yankee squirrel, having always
a shrewd eye on the main chance. If the parson dropped a nut on the
floor, down went Whiskey after it, and into his provision-bag it
went, and then he would look up as if he expected another; for he had
a wallet on each side of his jaws, and he always wanted both sides
handsomely filled before he made for his hole. So busy and active
and always intent on this one object was he, that before long the
little lady found he had made way with six pounds of hazel-nuts. His
general rule was to carry off four nuts at a time--three being
stuffed into the side-pockets of his jaws, and the fourth held in his
teeth. When he had furnished himself in this way, he would dart like
lightning for his hole, and disappear in a moment; but in a short
time up he would come, brisk and wide-awake, and ready for the next
supply.
Once a person who had the curiosity to dig open a chipping squirrel's
hole found in it two quarts of buckwheat, a quantity of grass-seed,
nearly a peck of acorns, some Indian corn, and a quart of walnuts; a
pretty handsome supply for a squirrel's winter store-room--don't you
think so?
Whiskey learned in time to work for his living in many artful ways
that his young mistress devised. Sometimes she would tie his nuts up
in a paper package, which he would attack with great energy, gnawing
the strings, and rustling the nuts out of the paper in wonderfully
quick time. Sometimes she would tie a nut to the end of a bit of
twine and swing it backward and forward over his head; and after a
succession of spry jumps, he would pounce upon it, and hang swinging
on the twine, till he had gnawed the nut away.
Another squirrel, doubtless hearing of Whiskey's good luck, began to
haunt the same yard; but Whiskey would by no means allow him to
cultivate his young mistress's acquaintance. No indeed! he evidently
considered that the institution would not support two. Sometimes he
would appear to be conversing with the stranger on the most familiar
and amicable terms in the back-yard; but if his mistress called his
name, he would immediately start and chase his companion quite out of
sight, before he came back to her.
So you see that self-seeking is not confined to men alone, and that
Whiskey's fine little fur coat covers a very selfish heart.
As winter comes on, Whiskey will go down into his hole, which has
many long galleries and winding passages, and a snug little bedroom
well lined with leaves. Here he will doze and dream away his long
winter months, and nibble out the inside of his store of nuts.
If I hear any more of his cunning tricks, I will tell you of them.