Kitabı oku: «The Hollow Tree Snowed-In Book», sayfa 8

Then Mr. Crow felt a little chilly, for he happened to think that if Mr. Rabbit went out into their garden and then saw the fine things which were going to be on the table he'd wonder where they came from. So he said right away that dinner was all ready, and they'd better sit down while things were hot and fresh.

Then they all sat down, and first had the mussels which Mr. Turtle had brought, and there were some fine sliced tomatoes with them, and Mr. Rabbit said he hadn't supposed that such fine big tomatoes as those could come out of a new garden that had been planted late, and that he certainly must see the vines they came off of before he went home, because they were just as big as his tomatoes, if not bigger, and he wanted to see just how they could do so well.

And Mr. Crow felt real chilly, and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum both said they hadn't supposed their tomatoes were so big and ripe, though they hadn't looked at them since yesterday. But Mr. Rabbit said that a good many things could happen over night, and Mr. Crow changed the subject as quick as he could, and said that things always looked bigger and better on the table than they did in the garden, but that he'd picked all the real big, ripe tomatoes and he didn't think there'd be any more.

Then after the mussels they had the chicken-pie, and when Mr. Rabbit saw the vegetables that Mr. Crow served with it he looked at them and said:

"My, what fine pease and beans, and what splendid corn! I am sure your vegetables are as good as anything in my garden, if not better. I certainly must see just the spot where they grew. I would never have believed you could have done it, never, if I hadn't seen them right here on your table with my own eyes."

Then Mr. Turtle said they were the finest he ever tasted, and Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon both said they wouldn't have believed it themselves yesterday, and it was wonderful how much everything had grown over night. Then the Old Black Crow choked a little and coughed, and said he didn't seem to relish his food, and pretty soon he said that of course their garden had done pretty well, but that it was about through now, as these were things he had been saving for this dinner, and he had gathered all the biggest and best of them this morning before Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon were up.

When Mr. Crow said that, Jack Rabbit looked the other way and made a very queer face, and you might have thought he was trying to keep from laughing if you had seen him, but maybe he was only trying to keep from coughing, for pretty soon he did cough a little and said that the early morning was the proper time to gather vegetables; that one could always pick out the best things then, and do it quietly before folks were up.

Then Mr. Crow felt a cold, shaky chill that went all the way up and down, and he was afraid to look up, though of course he didn't believe Mr. Rabbit knew anything about what he had done, only he was afraid that he would look so guilty that everybody would see it. He said that his head was a little dizzy with being over the hot stove so much, and he hoped they wouldn't think of going out until the cool of the evening, as the sun would be too much for him, and of course he wanted to be with them.

Poor Mr. Crow was almost afraid to bring on the salad, but he was just as afraid not to. Only he did wish he had picked out Mr. Rabbit's smallest bunches instead of his biggest ones, for he knew there were no such other salads anywhere as those very ones he had borrowed from Mr. Rabbit's garden. But he put it off as long as he could, and by-and-by Jack Rabbit said that there was one thing he was sure the Hollow Tree couldn't beat him on, and that was salad. He said he had never had such fine heads as he had this year, and that there were a few heads especially that he had been saving to show his friends. Then the 'Coon and 'Possum said "No," their salads were not very much, unless they had grown a great deal over night, like the other things – and when Mr. Crow got up to bring them he walked wobbly, and everybody said it was too bad that Mr. Crow would always go to so much trouble for company.

Well, when he came in with that bowl of salad and set it down, Mr. Turtle and Jack Rabbit said, "Did you ever in your life!" But Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon just sat and looked at it, for they thought it couldn't be true.

Then pretty soon Mr. Rabbit said that he would take back everything he had told them about his salad, and that he was coming over to take some lessons from the Hollow Tree People, and especially from Mr. Crow, on how to raise vegetables. He said that there were a good many ways to raise vegetables – some raised them in a garden; some raised them in a hothouse; some raised them in the market; but that Mr. Crow's way was the best way there was, and he was coming over to learn it. He said they must finish their dinner before dark, for he certainly must see just where all Mr. Crow's wonderful things came from.

Then Mr. Crow felt the gray spot on his head getting a good deal grayer, and he dropped his knife and fork, and swallowed two or three times, and tried to smile, though it was a sickly smile. He said that Mr. Rabbit was very kind, but that Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon had done a good deal of the work, too.

But Jack Rabbit said "No," that nobody but an industrious person like Mr. Crow could have raised those vegetables – a person who got up early, he said, and was used to taking a little trouble to get the best things.

Then Mr. Crow went after the dessert, and was glad enough that there were no more vegetables to come, especially of that kind.

And Mr. Rabbit seemed to forget about looking at the garden until they were all through, and then he said that before they went outside he would read a little poem he had composed that morning lying in bed and looking at the sunrise across his own garden. He said he called it:

ME AND MY GARDEN

 
Oh, it's nice to have a garden
On which to put my labors.
It's nice to have a garden
Especially for my neighbors.
 
 
I like to see it growing
When skies are blue above me;
I like to see it gathered
By those who really love me.
 
 
I like to think in winter
Of pleasant summer labors;
Oh, it's nice to have a garden
Especially for my neighbors.
 

Everybody said that was a nice poem and sounded just like Mr. Rabbit, who was always so free-hearted – all except Mr. Crow, who tried to say it was nice, and couldn't. Then Mr. Rabbit said they'd better go out now to see the Hollow Tree garden, but Mr. Crow said really he couldn't stand it yet, and they could see by his looks that he was feeling pretty sick, and Mr. Turtle said it was too bad to think of taking Mr. Crow out in the sun when he had worked so hard.

So then they all sat around and smoked and told stories, and whenever they stopped Mr. Crow thought of something else to do and seemed to get better toward night, and got a great deal better when it got dark, and Mr. Jack Rabbit said all at once that now it was too late to see the Hollow Tree garden, and that he was so sorry, for he knew he could have learned something if he could just have one look at it, for nobody could see those vegetables and that garden without learning a great deal.

Then he said he must go, and Mr. Turtle said he guessed he must go too, so they both set out for home, and when Jack Rabbit got out of sight of the Hollow Tree and into a little open moonlight place, he just laid down on the ground and rolled over and laughed and kicked his feet, and sat up and rocked and looked at the moon and laughed; and he capered and laughed all the way home at the good joke he had all to himself on Mr. Crow.

For Mr. Rabbit had been lying awake in bed that morning when Mr. Crow was in his garden, and he had seen Mr. Crow all the time.

WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY

A STORY OF A VERY LONG TIME AGO

The Little Lady skips first on one foot and then on the other foot, around and around, until pretty soon she tumbles backward into twelve flower-pots.

That, of course, makes a great damage, and though the Little Lady herself isn't hurt to speak of, she is frightened very much and has to be comforted by everybody, including the Story Teller, who comes last, and finishes up by telling about something that happened to Jack Rabbit when he was little.

Once upon a time, it begins, when Mr. Jack Rabbit was quite small, his mother left him all alone one afternoon while she went across the Wide Grass Lands to visit an old aunt of hers and take her some of the nice blackberries she had been putting up that morning. Mrs. Rabbit had been very busy all the forenoon, and little Jack had been watching her and making believe he was putting up berries too.

And when Mrs. Rabbit got through she had cleaned her stove and polished it as nice as could be; then she gave little Jack Rabbit his dinner, with some of the berries that were left over, and afterward she washed his face and hands and found his blocks for him to play with, besides a new stick of red sealing-wax – the kind she used to seal her cans with; for they did not have patent screw-top cans in those days, but always sealed the covers on with red sealing-wax.

Then Mrs. Rabbit told little Jack that he could play with his blocks, and build houses, with the red stick for a chimney, and to be a good boy until she came home. So little Jack Rabbit promised, and Mrs. Rabbit kissed him twice and took her parasol and her reticule and a can of berries, and started. Little Jack would have gone with her, only it was too far.

Well, after she had left, little Jack played with his blocks and built houses and set the stick of sealing-wax up for a brick chimney, and by-and-by he played he was canning fruit, and he wished he could have a little stove and little cans and a little stick of sealing-wax, so he could really do it all just as she did.

Then little Jack Rabbit looked at the nice polished stove and wondered how it would be to use that, and to build a little fire in it – just a little fire – which would make everything seem a good deal more real, he thought, than his make-believe stove of blocks.

And pretty soon little Jack opened the stove door and looked in, and when he stirred the ashes there were still a few live coals there, and when he put in some shavings they blazed up, and when he put in some pieces of old shingles and things they blazed up too, and when he put in some of Mrs. Rabbit's nice dry wood the stove got quite hot!

Then little Jack Rabbit became somewhat frightened, for he had only meant to make a very small fire, and he thought this might turn into a big fire. Also, he remembered some things his mother had told him about playing with fire and about never going near a hot stove. He thought he'd better open the stove door a little to see if the fire was getting too big, but he was afraid to touch it with his fingers for fear of burning them. He had seen his mother use a stick or something to open the stove door when it was hot, so he picked up the first thing that came handy, which was the stick of sealing-wax. But when he touched it to the hot door the red stick sputtered a little and left a bright red spot on the stove door.

Then little Jack forgot all about putting up blackberries, admiring that beautiful red spot on the shiny black stove, and thinking how nice it would be to make some more like it, which he thought would improve the looks of the stove a great deal.

So then he touched it again in another place and made another spot, and in another place and made another spot, and in a lot of places and made a lot of spots, and he made some stripes, too – mostly on top of the stove, which was nice and smooth to mark on, though he made some on the pipe. You would hardly have known it was the same stove when he got all through, and little Jack thought how beautiful it was and how pleased his mother would be when she got home and saw it. But then right away he happened to think that perhaps she might not be so pleased after all, and the more he thought about it the more sure he was that she wouldn't like her nice red-striped and spotted stove as well as a black one; and, besides, she had told him never to play with fire.

And just at that moment Mrs. Rabbit herself stepped in the door! And when she looked at her red-spotted and striped stove and then at little Jack Rabbit, little Jack knew perfectly well without her saying a single word that she wasn't at all pleased. So he began to cry very loud, and started to run, and tripped over his blocks and fell against a little stand-table that had Mrs. Rabbit's work-basket on it (for Mrs. Rabbit always knit or sewed while she was cooking anything), and all the spools and buttons and knitting-work went tumbling, with little Jack Rabbit right among them, holloing, "Oh, I'm killed! I'm killed!" – just sprawling there on the floor, afraid to get up, and expecting every minute his mother would do something awful.

But Mrs. Rabbit just stood and looked at him over her spectacles and then at her red-spotted and striped stove, and pretty soon she said:

"Well, this is a lovely mess to come home to!"

Which of course made little Jack take on a good deal worse and keep on bawling out that he was killed, until Mrs. Rabbit told him that he was making a good deal of noise for a dead man, and that if he'd get up and pick up all the things he'd upset maybe he'd come to life again.

Then little Jack Rabbit got up and ran to his mother and cried against her best dress and got some tears on it, and Mrs. Rabbit sat down in her rocker and looked at her stove and rocked him until he felt better. And by-and-by she changed her dress and went to cleaning her stove while little Jack picked up all the things – all the spools and buttons and needles and knitting-work – every single thing.

And after supper, when he said his prayers and went to bed, he promised never to disobey his mother again.

A HOLLOW TREE PICNIC

THE LITTLE LADY AND THE STORY TELLER, AND THEIR FRIENDS

Not far from the House of Low Ceilings, which stands on the borders of the Big Deep Woods, there is a still smaller house, where, in summertime, the Story Teller goes to make up things and write them down.

And one warm day he is writing away and not noticing what time it is when he thinks he hears somebody step in the door. So then he looks around, and he sees a little straw hat and a little round red face under it, and then he sees a basket, and right away he knows it is the Little Lady. And the Little Lady says:

"I've brought the picnic – did you know it?"

"Why, no!" the Story Teller says, looking surprised. "Is it time?"

"Yes, and I've got huckleberries and cream, and some hot biscuits."

"Good gracious! Let's see!"

So then the Story Teller looks, and, sure enough, there they are, and more things, too; and pretty soon the Little Lady and he go down to a very quiet place under some hemlock-trees by a big rock where there is a clear brook and a spring close by, and they sit down, and the Little Lady spreads the picnic all out – and there is ham too, and bread-and-butter, and doughnuts and they are so hungry that they eat everything, and both dip into one bowl when they get to huckleberries and cream.

Then the Little Lady says:

"Now tell me about the Hollow Tree People; they have picnics, too."

"Sure enough, they do. And I think I'll have to tell you about their very last picnic and what happened."

Well, once upon a time Mr. 'Possum said that he was getting tired of sitting down to a table every meal in a close room with the smell of cooking coming in, and if Mr. Crow would cook up a few things that would taste good cold he'd pack the basket (that is, Mr. 'Possum would) and Mr. 'Coon could carry it, and they'd go out somewhere and eat their dinner in a nice place under the trees.

Mr. 'Coon said he knew a pleasant place to go, and Mr. Crow said he'd cook one of Mr. Man's chickens, which Mr. 'Possum had brought home the night before, though it would take time, he said, because it was pretty old – Mr. 'Possum having picked it out in the dark in a hurry.

So then they all flew around and put away things, and Mr. Crow got the chicken on while Mr. 'Coon sliced the bread and Mr. 'Possum cut the cake, which they had been saving for Sunday, and he picked out a pie too, and a nice book to read which Mr. Crow had found lying in Mr. Man's yard while the folks were at dinner. Then he packed the basket all neat and nice, and ate a little piece of the cake when Mr. 'Coon had stepped out to see how the chicken was coming along, and when the chicken was ready he cut it all up nicely, and he tasted of that a little, too, while Mr. Crow was getting on his best picnic things to go.

And pretty soon they all started out, and it was so bright and sunny that Mr. 'Possum began to sing a little, and Mr. 'Coon told him not to make a noise like that or they'd have company – Mr. Dog or Mr. Fox or somebody – when there was only just enough chicken for themselves, which made Mr. 'Possum stop right away. And before long they came to a very quiet place under some thick hemlock-trees behind a stone wall and close to a brook of clear water.

That was the place Mr. 'Coon had thought of, and they sat down there and spread out all the things on some moss, and everything looked so nice that Mr. 'Possum said they ought to come here every day and eat dinner as long as the hot weather lasted. Then they were all so hungry that they began on the chicken right away, and Mr. 'Possum said that maybe he might have picked out a tenderer one, but that he didn't think he could have found a bigger one, or one that would have lasted longer, and that, after all, size and lasting were what one needed for a picnic.

So they ate first one thing and then another, and Mr. 'Coon asked if they remembered the time Mr. Dog had come to one of their picnics before they were friends with him, when he'd really been invited to stay away; and they all laughed when they thought how Mr. Rabbit had excused himself, and the others, too, one after another, until Mr. Dog had the picnic mostly to himself. And by-and-by the Hollow Tree People lit their pipes and smoked, and Mr. 'Possum leaned his back against a tree and read himself to sleep, and dreamed, and had a kind of a nightmare about that other picnic, and talked in his sleep about it, which made Mr. 'Coon think of something to do.

So then Mr. 'Coon got some long grass and made a strong band of it and very carefully tied Mr. 'Possum to the tree, and just as Mr. 'Possum began to have his dream again and was saying "Oh! Oh! here comes Mr. Dog!" Mr. 'Coon gave three loud barks right in Mr. 'Possum's ear, and Mr. Crow said "Wake up! Wake up, Mr. 'Possum! Here he comes!"

And Mr. 'Possum did wake up, and jumped and jerked at that band, and holloed out as loud as he could:

"Oh, please let me go, Mr. Dog! Oh, please let me go, Mr. Dog!" for he thought it was Mr. Dog that had him, and he forgot all about them being friends.

But just then he happened to see Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon rolling on the ground and laughing, and he looked down to see what had him and found he was tied to a tree, and he knew that they had played a joke on him. That made him pretty mad at first, and he said if he ever got loose he'd pay them back for their smartness.

Then Mr. 'Coon told him he most likely never would get loose if he didn't promise not to do anything, so Mr. 'Possum promised, and Mr. Coon untied him. Mr. 'Possum said he guessed the chicken must have been pretty hard to digest, and he knew it was pretty salty, for he was dying for a good cold drink.

Then Mr. 'Coon said he knew where there was a spring over beyond the wall that had colder water than the brook, and he'd show them the way to it. So they climbed over the wall and slipped through the bushes to the spring, and all took a nice cold drink, and just as they raised their heads from drinking they heard somebody say something. And they all kept perfectly still and listened, and they heard it again, just beyond some bushes.

So then they crept softly in among the green leaves and branches and looked through, and what do you think they saw?

The Story Teller turns to the Little Lady, who seems a good deal excited.

"Why, why, what did they see?" she says. "Tell me, quick!"

"Why," the Story Teller goes on, "they saw the Little Lady and the Story Teller having a picnic too, with all the nice things spread out by a rock, under the hemlock-trees."

"Oh," gasps the Little Lady, "did they really see us? and are they there now?"

"They might be," says the Story Teller. "The Hollow Tree People slip around very softly. Anyway, they were there then, and it was the first time they had ever seen the Little Lady and the Story Teller so close. And they watched them until they were all through with their picnic and had gathered up their things. Then the 'Coon and the 'Possum and Old Black Crow slipped away again, and crept over the wall and gathered up their own things and set out for home very happy."

The Little Lady grasps the Story Teller's hand.

"Let's go and see their picnic place!" she says. "They may be there now."

So the Little Lady and the Story Teller go softly down to the spring and get a drink; then they creep across to the mossy stone wall and peer over, and there, sure enough, is a green mossy place in the shade, the very place to spread a picnic; and the Little Lady jumps and says "Oh!" for she sees something brown whisk into the bushes. Anyhow, she knows the Hollow Tree People have been there, for there is a little piece of paper on the moss which they must have used to wrap up something, and she thinks they most likely heard her coming and are just gone.

So the Story Teller lifts her over the wall, and they sit down on the green moss of the Hollow Tree picnic place, and she leans up against him and listens to the singing of the brook, and the Story Teller sings softly too, until by-and-by the Little Lady is asleep.

And it may be, as they sit there and drowse and dream, that the Hollow Tree People creep up close and watch them.

Who knows?