The Project Gutenberg eBook, Mother West Wind "Where" Stories, by Thornton W. Burgess, Illustrated by Harrison Cady This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 Title: Mother West Wind "Where" Stories Author: Thornton W. Burgess Release Date: December 7, 2005 [eBook #17250] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOTHER WEST WIND "WHERE" STORIES*** E-text prepared by Janet Blenkinship, Brian Sogard, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/) "Then there was a crash, and everybody's eyes flew open." FRONTISPIECE. See Page 243. BURGESS TRADE QUADDIES MARK MOTHER WEST WIND "WHERE" STORIES BY THORNTON W. BURGESS Illustrations by HARRISON CADY GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers New York By arrangement with Little, Brown, and Company Copyright, 1918, By Thornton W. Burgess. All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Where Grandfather Frog Got His Big Mouth 1 II. Where Miser the Trade Rat First Set Up Shop 17 III. Where Yap-Yap the Prairie Dog Used His Wits 31 IV. Where Yellow-Wing Got His Liking for the Ground 47 V. Where Little Chief Learned To Make Hay 61 VI. Where Glutton the Wolverine Got His Name 77 VII. Where Old Mrs. 'Gator Made the First Incubator 91 VIII. Where Mr. Quack Got His Webbed Feet 107 IX. Where Thunderfoot the Bison Got His Hump 123 X. Where Limberheels Got His Long Tail 139 XI. Where Old Mr. Gobbler Got the Strutting Habit 155 XII. Where Seek-Seek Got His Pretty Coat 169 XIII. Where Old Mr. Osprey Learned To Fish 185 XIV. Where Old Mr. Bob-Cat Left His Honor 199 XV. Where Dippy the Loon Got the Name of Being Crazy 213 XVI. Where Big-Horn Got His Curved Horns 229 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE "Then there was a crash, and everybody's eyes flew open" Frontispiece "Little Chief's father taught him how to make hay" 74 Peter noticed those feet the first time he met Mr. and Mrs. Quack 122 "Don't call me Striped Chipmunk, and don't call me Gopher!" said he 170 MOTHER WEST WIND "WHERE" STORIES I WHERE GRANDFATHER FROG GOT HIS BIG MOUTH Everybody knows that Grandfather Frog has a big mouth. Of course! It wouldn't be possible to look him straight in the face and not know that he has a big mouth. In fact, about all you see when you look Grandfather Frog full in the face are his great big mouth and two great big goggly eyes. He seems then to be all mouth and eyes. Anyway, that is what Peter Rabbit says. Peter never will forget the first time he saw Grandfather Frog. Peter was very young then. He had run away from home to see the Great World, and in the course of his wanderings he came to the Smiling Pool. Never before had he seen so much water. The most water he had ever seen before was a little puddle in the Lone Little Path. So when Peter, who was only half grown then, hopped out on the bank of the Smiling Pool and saw it dimpling and smiling in the sunshine, he thought it the most wonderful thing he ever had seen. The truth is that in those days Peter was in the habit of thinking everything he saw for the first time the most wonderful thing yet, and as he was continually seeing new things, and as his eyes always nearly popped out of his head whenever he saw something new, it is a wonder that he didn't become pop-eyed. Peter stared and stared at the Smiling Pool, and little by little he began to see other things. First he noticed the bulrushes growing with their feet in the water. They looked to him like giant grass, and he began to be a little fearful lest this should prove to be a sort of magic place—a place of giants. Then he noticed the lily-pads, and he stared very hard at these. They looked like growing things, and yet they seemed to be floating right on top of the water. It wasn't until a Merry Little Breeze came along and turned the edge of one up so that Peter saw the long stem running down in the water out of sight, that he was able to understand how those lily-pads could be growing there. He was still staring at those lily- pads when a great deep voice said: "Chug-a-rum! Chug-a-rum! Don't you know it isn't polite to stare at people?" That voice was so unexpected and so deep that Peter was startled. He jumped, started to run, then stopped. He wanted to run, but curiosity wouldn't let him. He simply couldn't run away until he had found out where that voice came from and to whom it belonged. It seemed to Peter that it had come from right out of the Smiling Pool, but look as he would, he couldn't see any one there. "If you please," said Peter timidly, "I'm not staring at anybody." All the time he was staring down into the Smiling Pool with eyes fairly popping out of his head. "Chug-a-rum! Have a care, young fellow! Have a care how you talk to your elders. Do you mean to be impudent enough to tell me to my face that I am not anybody?" The voice was deeper and gruffer than ever, and it made Peter more uncomfortable than ever. "Oh, no, Sir! No, indeed!" exclaimed Peter. "I don't mean anything of the kind. I—I—well, if you please, Sir, I don't see you at all, so how can I be staring at you? I'm sure from the sound of your voice that you must be somebody very important. Please excuse me for seeming to stare. I was just looking for you, that is all." A little movement in the water close to a big green lily-pad caught Peter's eyes, and then out on the big green lily-pad climbed Grandfather Frog. If Peter had stared before he doubly stared now, eyes and mouth wide open. Grandfather Frog was looking his very best in his handsome green coat and white-and-yellow waistcoat. But Peter had hardly noticed these at all. "Why, you're all mouth!" he exclaimed, and then looked very much ashamed of his impoliteness. Grandfather Frog's great goggly eyes twinkled. He knew that Peter was very young and innocent and just starting out in the Great World. He knew that Peter didn't intend to be impolite. "Not quite," said he good-naturedly. "Not quite all mouth, though I must admit that it is of good size. The fact is, I wouldn't have it a bit smaller if I could. If it were any smaller, I should miss many a good meal, and if I were forced to do that, I am afraid I should be very ill-tempered indeed. The truth is, I am very proud of my big mouth. I don't know of any one who has a bigger one for their size." He opened his mouth wide, and it seemed to Peter that Grandfather Frog's whole head simply split in halves. He hadn't supposed anybody in all the Great World possessed such a mouth. "Where did you get it?" gasped Peter, and then felt that he had asked a very foolish question. Grandfather Frog chuckled. "I got it from my father, and he got his from his father, and so on, way back to the days when the world was young and the Frogs ruled the world," said he. "Would you like to hear about it?" "I'd love to!" cried Peter. So he settled himself comfortably on the bank of the Smiling Pool for the first of many, many stories he was to hear from Grandfather Frog. "Chug-a-rum!" began Grandfather Frog. You know he always begins a story that way. "Chug-a-rum! Once upon a time the Great World was mostly water, and most of the people lived in the water. It was in those days that my great-great- ever-so-great-grandfather lived. Those were happy days for the Frogs. Yes, indeed, those were happy days for the Frogs. Of course they had enemies, but those enemies were all in the water. They didn't have to be watching out for danger from the air and from the land, as I do now. There was plenty to eat and little to do, and the Frog tribe increased very fast. In fact, the Frogs increased so fast that after a while there wasn't plenty to eat. That is, there wasn't plenty of the kind of food they had been used to, which was mostly water plants, and water bugs and such things. "Of course there were many fish, and these also increased very fast, and the big fish ate the Frogs whenever they could catch them, just as they do to this day. The big fish also ate the little fish, and it wasn't long before the Frogs and the little fish took to living where the water was not deep enough for the big fish to swim, and this made it all the harder to get enough to eat. The mouths of the Frogs in those days were not big. In fact, they were quite small. You see, living on the kind of food they did, they had no need of big mouths. "One day as a Great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather Frog sat with just his head out of water, wondering what it would seem like to have his stomach really filled, a school of little fish came swimming about him, and it popped into his head that if little fish were good for big fish to eat, they might be good for a Frog to eat. So he caught the first one that came within reach, and he found it was good to eat. He liked it so well that after that he caught fish whenever he could. Of course he swallowed them whole. He had to, because he had no chewing or biting teeth. "Now the Frogs always have been famous for their appetites, and Great-grandfather Frog found that it took a great many of these teeny weeny fish to make a comfortable meal. He was thinking of this one day when a larger fish came within reach, and almost without realizing what he was doing Great-grandfather snapped at and caught him. He caught the fish by the tail and at once began to swallow it, which, of course, was no way to swallow a fish. But Great- grandfather Frog had much to learn in those day, and so he tried to swallow that fish tail first instead of head first. He got the tail down and the smallest part of the body, and then that fish stuck. Yes, Sir, that fish stuck. The fact was, Great-grandfather Frog's mouth wasn't wide enough. It was bad enough not to be able to swallow all of that fish, but what was worse was the discovery that he couldn't get up again what he had swallowed. That fish was stuck! It would go neither down nor up. "Poor Great-grandfather Frog was in a terrible fix. Big tears rolled down his cheeks. He choked and choked and choked, until it looked very much as if he might choke to death. Just in time, in the very nick of time, who should come along but Old Mother Nature. She saw right away what the trouble was, and she pulled out the fish. Then she asked how that fish had happened to be in such a place as Great-grandfather Frog's mouth. When he could get his breath, he told her all about it—how food had been getting scarce and how he had discovered that fish were good to eat, and how he had make a mistake in catching a fish too big for his mouth. Old Mother Nature looked thoughtful. She saw the great numbers of young fish. Suddenly she reached over and put a finger in Great-grandfather Frog's mouth and stretched it sideways. Then she did the same thing to the other corner. Great-grandfather Frog's mouth was three times as big as it had been before. "'Now,' said she, 'I don't believe you'll have any more trouble, and I'm going to do the same thing for all the other Frogs.' "She did that very day, and from then on the Frogs no longer had any trouble in getting plenty to eat. So that is where I got my big mouth, and I tell you right now I wouldn't trade it for anything anybody else has got," concluded Grandfather Frog, as he snapped up a foolish green fly who came too near. "I think it is splendid, perfectly splendid," cried Peter. "I wish I had one just like it." And then he wondered why Grandfather Frog laughed so hard. II WHERE MISER THE TRADE RAT FIRST SET UP SHOP It was quite by accident that Peter Rabbit first heard of Miser the Trade Rat. You know how it is with Peter; he is forever using those big ears of his to learn interesting things. That is what ears are for; but there is a right way and a wrong way to use them, and I am afraid that Peter isn't always over-particular in this respect. I suspect, in fact I know, that Peter sometimes listens when he has no business to listen and knows he has no business to listen. Again he sometimes overhears things quite by accident when he cannot very well help hearing. It was in this way that he first heard of Miser the Trade Rat. Peter had crept into a hollow log in the Green Forest to rest and to feel absolutely safe while he was doing it. He had been there only a little while when he heard light footsteps outside and a moment later a voice which made him shiver a little in spite of himself and the knowledge that he was perfectly safe. The footsteps and the voice were Old Man Coyote's. Very carefully Peter peeped out. Old Man Coyote had sat down close by the log in which Peter was hiding. On a dead tree close at hand sat Ol' Mistah Buzzard, who had come up from way down south for the summer, and it was to him that Old Man Coyote was talking. "I was over by Farmer Brown's barn last night," said Old Man Coyote, "and I caught a glimpse of Robber the Brown Eat. What a disgrace he is to the whole Rat tribe! For that matter, he is a disgrace to all who live on the Green Meadows and in the Green Forest. He isn't much like his cousin, Miser the Trade Rat." "Mah goodness! Do yo' know Miser?" exclaimed Ol' Mistah Buzzard. "Do I know Miser? I should say I do!" replied Old Man Coyote. "I've tried to catch him enough times to know him. He kept a junk shop very near where I used to live way out west. Do you know him, Mr. Buzzard?" "Ah cert'nly does," chuckled Ol' Mistah Buzzard. "Ah cert'nly does. Ah never did see such a busy fellow as he is. Ah done see his junk shop many times, and always it done be growin' bigger. Ah wonders, Brer Coyote, if yo' ever heard the story of his Great-great-ever-so-great-gran'-daddy, the first of the family, and how and where he started the business that's been kept in the family ever since." "No," said Old Man Coyote, "I never did, and I've wondered about it a great deal." Peter Rabbit almost forgot that he was hiding. He was so eager to hear that story that he was right on the point of speaking up and begging Ol' Mistah Buzzard to tell it when he remembered Old Man Coyote. Just in the nick of time he clapped a hand over his mouth. It seemed to Peter a long, long time before Old Man Coyote said: "I'd like to hear that story, Mr. Buzzard, if it isn't too much to ask of you." "Not at all, Brer Coyote; not at all. Ah'll be mor'n pleased to tell it to yo'. Ah cert'nly will," said Ol' Mistah Buzzard, and Peter settled himself comfortably to listen. "Yo' see it was this way," began Ol' Mistah Buzzard. "Ah got it from mah gran'daddy, and he got it from his gran'daddy, and his gran'daddy got it from—" "I know," interrupted Old Man Coyote. "It was handed down from your greatest-great-grandfather, who lived in the days when the world was young and what you are going to tell me about happened. Isn't that it?" "Yes, Suh," replied Ol' Mistah Buzzard. "Yes, Suh, that's it. Ol' Mother Nature treat 'em all alike in those days. She's a right smart busy person, and she ain't got no time fo' to answer foolish questions. No, Suh, she ain't. So, quick as she get a new kind of critter made, she turn him loose and tell him if he want to live he got to be right smart and find out for hisself how to do it. Ah reckons yo' know all about that, Brer Coyote." Old Man Coyote nodded, and Ol' Mistah Buzzard scratched his bald head gently as if trying to stir up his memory. Peter Rabbit almost squealed aloud in his impatience while he waited for Ol' Mistah Buzzard to go on. "When Ol' Mother Nature made Brer Trade Rat in the beginning and turned him loose in the Great World, he was just plain Mistah Rat and nothing more, same as his no 'count cousin, Robber the Brown Rat," continued Ol' Mistah Buzzard. "He had to win a name for hisself same as ev'ybody else. He had mighty sharp wits, had this Mistah Rat, and directly he found he had to shift for hisself he began to study and study and study what he gwine to do to live well and be happy. He watched his neighbors to see what they did, and it didn't take him long to find out that if he would be respected he must have a home. Those without homes were mostly no 'count folks, same as they are today. "So Brer Rat made a nest close to the trunk of a tree on the edge of the Green Forest, a soft, warm nest, and in collectin' the stuff to make it of he learned the joy of bein' busy. Person'ly, yo' understand, Ah thinks he was all wrong. Ah never am so happy as when Ah can take a sun-bath with nothin' to do. But Brer Rat was never so happy as when he was busy, and when he got that li'l nest finished time began to hang heavy on his hands. Yes, Suh, it cert'nly did. Just because he didn't have anything else to do he began to add a little more to his house. One day he stepped on a thorn. 'Ouch!' cried Brer Rat, and then right away forgot the pain in a new idea. He would cover his house with thorns, leavin' just a little secret entrance for hisself! Then he would be safe, wholly safe from his big neighbors, some of whom had begun to look at him with such a hungry look in their eyes that they made him right smart uncomfortable. So he spent his time, did Brer Rat, in huntin' for the longest and sharpest thorns and in cuttin' the branches on which they grew. These he carried to his house and piled them around it and on it until it had become a great pile with sharp thorns stickin' out in every direction, and the hungriest of the big people of the forest passed it at a respectful distance. "When Brer Rat had all the thorns he needed and more, he began to collect other things and added these to his pile. Yo' see, he had found that it was great fun to collect things; to find the queerest things he could and bring them home and look at them and wonder about them. So little by little his house became a sort of junk shop, the very first one in all the Great World. Bright stones and shells, bones, anything that caught his bright eyes and pleased them, he brought home. When he was tired of huntin' fo' food or more strange things he would sit and gloat over his treasures and play with them. And then the first thing he knew he had a name. Yes, Suh, he had a name. He was called Miser. "Of course Brer Miser hadn't lived ve'y long befo' he found out that one law of the Great World was that things belonged to whoever could get them and keep them. He saw that some thought themselves ve'y smart when they stole from their neighbors. Brer Miser didn't like this at all. He was ve'y, ye'y honest, was Brer Miser. Perhaps he wasn't really much tempted, not fo' a long time anyway. "But at last came a time when he was tempted. Quite by accident he found one of Mr. Squirrel's storehouses. In it were some nuts different from any he ever had seen befo'. 'Brer Squirrel won't mind if Ah taste just one,' said he, and did it. It tasted good; it tasted ve'y good indeed. Brer Miser began to wish he had some nuts like those. When he got home he couldn't think of anything but how good those nuts tasted. He knew that all he had to do was to watch until Brer Squirrel was away and then go he'p hisself. He knew that was just what any of his neighbors would do in his place. But Brer Miser couldn't make it seem just right any way he looked at it. He was too honest, was Brer Miser, to do anything like that. "He was sitting staring at his treasures but thinking about those nuts when an idea popped into his head, an idea that made him smile until Ah reckons he most split his cheeks. 'Ah knows what Ah'll do,' said he. 'Ah'll just he'p mahself to some of those nuts and Ah'll leave something of mine in place of them. That's what Ah'll do.' "And that's what he did do. He picked out a bright shell of which he was very fond and he left it in Brer Squirrel's storehouse to pay fo' the nuts that he took. After that he always helped himself to anything he wanted, but he always left something to pay fo' it. It wasn't long befo' his neighbors found out what he was doing, and then they called him Miser the Trade Rat. Whenever anybody found something he didn't want hisself, he took it to the little junk shop of Miser the Trade Rat and traded it fo' something else, or left it where Miser would find it, knowing that Miser would leave something in its place. "And it's been just so with Miser's family ever since. There is one Rat who is a credit to his family instead of a disgrace," concluded Ol' Mistah Buzzard. III WHERE YAP-YAP THE PRAIRIE DOG USED HIS WITS Peter Rabbit had just had a great fright. He is used to having great frights, but this time it was a different kind of a fright. It was not for himself that he had been afraid but for one of his old friends and neighbors. Now that it was over, Peter drew a little breath of sheer relief. You see it was this way: Peter had started over for a call on Johnny Chuck. When he reached Johnny Chuck's house he found no one at home. At first he thought he would go look for Johnny, for he knew that Johnny must be somewhere near, as he never goes far from his own doorstep. Then he changed his mind and decided to wait for Johnny to return. So he stretched himself out in some tall grass beside Johnny Chuck's house, intending to jump out and give Johnny a scare when he came home. Hardly had he settled himself when he heard Johnny coming, and he knew by the sounds that Johnny was running from some danger. Very, very carefully Peter raised his head to see. Then he ducked it again and held his breath. Johnny Chuck was running as Peter never had seen him run before and with very good reason. Just a few jumps behind Johnny's twinkling little black heels was Old Man Coyote. It looked to Peter as if Old Man Coyote certainly would catch Johnny Chuck this time. He was so frightened for Johnny that he quite forgot that he himself might be in danger. Head first through his doorway plunged Johnny, and Old Man Coyote's teeth snapped together on nothing. Old Man Coyote backed away a few steps and sat down with his head on one side as he studied Johnny Chuck's house in the ground. It was plain to be seen that he was trying to make up his mind whether it would be worth while to try to dig Johnny out. Presently Johnny came half-way up his long hall where he could look out. Then he began to scold Old Man Coyote. Old Man Coyote grinned. "I give up, Johnny Chuck," said he. "You did well when you made your home between the roots of this old tree. If it wasn't for those roots, I certainly would dig you out. As it is you are safe. You remind me very much of your cousin, Yap-Yap the Prairie Dog, who lives out where I came from. There's a fellow who certainly knows how to make a house in the ground. He doesn't have to depend on the roots of trees to keep from being dug out. Well, I guess it is a waste of time to hang around here. You'll make just as good a dinner some other time as you would now, so I'll wait until then." Old Man Coyote grinned wickedly and trotted off. Now at the mention of Yap-Yap the Prairie Dog, the long ears of Peter Rabbit had pricked up at once. It was the first time he had heard of Yap-Yap, and when at last Johnny Chuck ventured out Peter was as full of questions as a pea- pod is of peas. But Johnny Chuck knew nothing about his cousin, Yap-Yap, and wasn't even interested in him. So finally Peter left him and went back home to the dear Old Briar-patch. But he couldn't get Yap-Yap out of his mind, and he resolved that the first chance he got he would ask Old Man Coyote about him. The chance came that very night. Old Man Coyote came along by the dear Old Briar-patch and stopped to peer in and grin at Peter. Peter grinned back, for he knew that under those friendly brambles he was quite safe. "I heard what you said to Johnny Chuck about his cousin, Yap-Yap," said Peter. Old Man Coyote looked as surprised as he felt. "Where were you?" he demanded gruffly. "Lying flat in the grass close by Johnny Chuck's house," replied Peter, and grinned more broadly than ever. "And to think I didn't know it!" sighed Old Man Coyote. "When I failed to catch Johnny Chuck, I thought I had missed only one dinner, but it seems I missed two. Next time I shall look around a little more sharply. Do you know, the sight of Johnny Chuck always makes me homesick, he reminds me so much of his cousin, Yap-Yap, and the days when I was young." "I didn't know that Johnny Chuck had a cousin until you mentioned it," said Peter. "Does he look like Johnny? Won't you tell me about him, Mr. Coyote?" "Seeing that I haven't anything in particular to do, I don't know but I will," replied Old Man Coyote, who happened to be feeling very good-natured. "Many and many a time I have chased Yap-Yap into his house. Seems as if I can hear the rascal scolding me and calling me names right this minute. He used to get me so provoked that it was all I could do to keep from trying to dig him out." "Why didn't you?" asked Peter. "Because it would have meant a waste of time, sore feet, and nothing to show for my trouble," retorted Old Man Coyote. "Yap-Yap never has forgotten what his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather learned when he first took to living on the open prairie." "What did he learn? Tell me about it, Mr. Coyote," begged Peter. "He learned to use his wits," replied Old Man Coyote, with a provoking grin. "He learned to use his wits, that's all." "Please tell me about it, Mr. Coyote. Please," begged Peter. "Once upon a time," began Old Man Coyote, "so my grandfather told me, and he got it from his grandfather, who got it from his grandfather, who—" "I know," interrupted Peter. "It happened in the days when the world was young." Old Man Coyote looked at Peter very hard as if he had half a mind not to tell the story, but Peter looked so innocent and so eager that he began again. "Once upon a time lived the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of Yap-Yap, the very first of all the Prairie Dogs, and his name was Yap-Yap too. He was own cousin to old Mr. Woodchuck, who of course wasn't old then, and the two cousins looked much alike, save that Yap-Yap was a little smaller than Mr. Woodchuck and perhaps a little smarter looking. "From the very beginning Yap-Yap was a keen lover of the great open spaces. Trees were all very well for those who liked them, but he preferred to have nothing above him but the blue, blue sky. It seemed to him that he never could find a big enough open space, so he never stayed very long in any one place, but kept pushing on and on, looking for a spot in the Great World that would just suit him. At last he came to the edge of the Green Forest, and before him, as far as he could see, stretched the Green Meadows. At least it was like the Green Meadows, only a million thousand times as big as the Green Meadows we are on now, Peter, and was really the Great Prairie. "Yap-Yap looked and looked, then he drew a long breath of pure joy and started out across the green grass. On and on he went, until when he sat up and looked this way or that way or the other way he could see nothing but grass and flowers, and over him was naught but the blue, blue sky. He had found the great open space of which he had dreamed, and he was happy. So he ate and slept and played with the Merry Little Breezes and grew fat. "Then one day came Skimmer the Swallow and brought him news of the hard times which had come to the rest of the Great World and how as a result the big and the strong were hunting the small and the weak in order that they themselves might live. When Skimmer had gone, Yap-Yap grew uneasy. What if some of the big and strong people he had known should come out there in quest of food and should find him? There was no place in which to hide. There was no cave or hollow log. "Yap-Yap looked at the strong claws Old Mother Nature had given him and an idea came to him. He would dig a hole in the ground. So he dug a hole on a long slant very much like the hole of Johnny Chuck; but when it was finished a little doubt crept into his head and grew and grew. What was to prevent some one who was very hungry from digging him out? So he moved on a little way and started another hole, and this time he made it almost straight down. Every day he made that hole deeper until it was many feet deep. Then he made a turn in it and dug a long tunnel, at the end of which he hollowed out a comfortable bedroom and lined it with grass. When it was finished he was quite satisfied. "'I don't believe,' said he, 'that any one will have the patience to dig to the bottom of this.' "So at night he slept in his bed at the end of his long hall far below the surface, but all day he spent above ground, for he dearly loved the sunshine. All went well until there came a time of heavy rains. Then Yap-Yap discovered that the water ran down his hole, and if he didn't do something, he was likely to be drowned out. Right away he set his sharp wits to work. He noticed that when the water on the surface reached the little piles of sand he had made, it ran around them. So he made a great mound of sand around his hole with the entrance in the middle and pressed it firm on the inside so that the rain would not wash it down in. Then, although the water stood all around, it no longer ran down in his house. In fair weather that mound was a splendid place on which to sit and watch for danger. So once more Yap-Yap was happy and care-free, all because he had used his wits. "And from that day to this the Prairie Dogs have made their houses in just that way, and no one that I know cares to try to dig one out," concluded Old Man Coyote. IV WHERE YELLOW-WING GOT HIS LIKING FOR THE GROUND Peter Rabbit was hopping along on the edge of the Green Meadows, looking for a new patch of sweet clover. It was very beautiful that morning, and Peter was in the best of spirits. It was good just to be alive. Every once in a while Peter would jump up and kick his long heels together just from pure happiness. He was so happy that he didn't pay particular attention to where he was going or what was about him. The result was that Peter got a fright. Right from under his very nose something sprang out of the grass so suddenly and so wholly unexpectedly that Peter very nearly tumbled over backward. He made two long jumps off to one side and then turned to see what had startled him so. But all he saw was an old feathered acquaintance headed towards the Old Orchard. He seemed to bound along through the air much as Peter bounds along over the ground when he is in a hurry. It was Yellow-Wing the Flicker. Peter grinned and looked a little foolish. He felt a little foolish. You know it always makes you feel foolish to be frightened when there is nothing to be afraid of. Peter watched Yellow-Wing until he disappeared among the trees of the Old Orchard, from which presently his voice sounded clear and loud, and in it there was a mocking note as if Yellow-Wing were laughing at him. Peter suspected that he was. But Peter was feeling too happy to mind being laughed at. In fact, he chuckled himself. It was something of a joke to be frightened by one who was so wholly harmless. Peter recalled how many times he had frightened other people and thought it the best of jokes. Peter went on until he found a new patch of sweet clover. Then he forgot all about Yellow-Wing. He was too busy filling that big stomach of his to think of anything else. When he couldn't find room for another leaf of clover he went home to the dear Old Briar-patch, and there in his favorite spot he settled himself to rest and think or dream as the case might be. Presently his thoughts returned to Yellow-Wing, and he chuckled again at the memory of his fright that morning. And then for the first time it struck Peter as queer that Yellow-Wing should have been out there on the Green Meadows on the ground. He often had seen Yellow-Wing on the ground, but until that moment there never had seemed anything queer about that. Now, however, it suddenly came to Peter that Yellow-Wing belonged in trees, not on the ground. Peter scratched his long left ear with his long left hind foot, which was a sign that he was thinking of something that puzzled him. "He belongs to the Woodpecker family," thought Peter, "and never have I seen any of his relatives on the ground. They get all their food in the trees. Now why is Yellow-Wing so different from his relatives?" The more Peter thought about it, the queerer it seemed that a Woodpecker should spend so much time on the ground, or visit the ground at all, for that matter. But just wondering about it didn't get him anywhere, and at last Peter decided that the only way to find out would be to ask questions. So Peter made up his mind to watch for Yellow-Wing and ask him all about it the first chance he got. The chance came the very next day in the very same place where Peter had been so startled. This time he was on the watch and saw Yellow-Wing very busy about something. Peter stole up within speaking distance. "Good morning, Yellow-Wing," said he. "I wonder if you will tell me something." It was Yellow-Wing's turn to be startled, for he had not seen Peter approaching. He half lifted his wings to fly, but when he saw who it was, he changed his mind. "It all depends on what it is you want me to tell you," he replied rather shortly. "It is just this," replied Peter. "Why do you spend so much time on the ground?" "That's easily answered," laughed Fellow-Wing. "I do it because it is the easiest way to get enough to eat." Peter looked as surprised as he felt. "I thought that all your family got their living in the trees!" he exclaimed. "All do but me," replied Yellow-Wing a wee bit testily. "But I don't have to do what they do just because they do it. No, Siree, I'm independent! Do you like ants, Peter?" "What?" exclaimed Peter. "I asked if you like ants," repeated Yellow-Wing. "I've never tried them," Peter replied, "but I've heard Old Mr. Toad say they are very nice." "They are," said Yellow-Wing. "They are more than nice—they are de-li-cious. It is because of them that I spend so much time on the ground. Ants changed the habits of the Flicker branch of the Woodpecker family. I wouldn't be surprised if we became regular ground birds one of these days." Peter looked puzzled. He kept turning it over in his mind as he watched Yellow-Wing plunge his long stout bill into an ant hill and then gobble up the ants as they came rushing out to see what the trouble was. "I don't see how ants could change the habits of anybody," he ventured after a while. Yellow-Wing's eyes twinkled. "Why don't you learn to eat them?" he demanded. "If you would, they might change your habits. The beginning of the change in the habits of my folks began a long time ago." "Way back in the beginning of things, when the world was young?" asked Peter. "No, not quite so far back as that," replied Yellow-Wing. "Great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, who was the first Flicker, was, of course, a member of the Woodpecker family, and he got his living in regular Woodpecker fashion. It never entered his head to look for food anywhere but in the trees, and I don't suppose that it ever entered his head to set foot on the ground. It was the same with his children and his children's children for a long time. "But though they lived as true Woodpeckers should, the Flickers always were a bit sharper-witted and more independent than most of their relatives. For one thing they had discovered that ants were fine eating and that great numbers of them were to be found running up and down the trunks of certain trees. So the Flickers used to look for these trees and feast on the ants. It saved a lot of labor. A stomachful of ants could be picked from the trunk of a tree in the time it would take to dig out one worm in the wood, to say nothing of the saving of hard work. "One day a few years ago my great-great-great-grandfather, so the story goes, had stuffed himself with ants from the trunk of a tree and had settled himself for a rest. From where he sat he could see a procession of ants going up and down the tree, and he got to wondering where they all came from and where they all went to. So he watched and presently discovered that that double line of ants led out along the ground from the foot of the tree. This made him still more curious and he followed it, flying along just over it. He had gone but a short distance when he came to a little mound of sand, and there the line of ants ended. Grandfather Flicker flew up in a tree from which he could look right down on that mound, and it didn't take him long to discover that those ants were going in and out of little holes in that mound. "'As I live, that must be their home!' exclaimed he. 'That place is alive with them. What a place to fill one's stomach! I never was on the ground in my life, but the next time I'm hungry, I'm going to see what the ground is like. I won't have to stay on it long to get my dinner here.' "Grandfather Flicker was as good as his word. When he was ready for another meal, he flew down to that ant hill. He found that when he plunged his bill into it, the ants fairly poured out to see what was happening, and all he had to do was to thrust out his long sticky tongue and lick them up. Never in all his life before had he filled his stomach so easily. After that, instead of wasting time hunting for worms and insects in the trees where he could find only one at a time, Grandfather Flicker kept his eyes open for ant hills on the ground. He taught his children to do the same thing. That was the beginning of the change of habits with the Flickers. Ever since we have spent more and more time on the ground, so that now we feel quite at home there. We still get some of our food in the trees by way of variety, and we make our homes there, but a good big part of our food we get just as I am doing now." With this Yellow-Wing once more plunged his bill into the ant hill and licked up a dozen ants who had come rushing out to see what was going on. And so once more the curiosity of Peter Rabbit was satisfied, and he had learned something. V WHERE LITTLE CHIEF LEARNED TO MAKE HAY No one in all the Great World thinks more of the present and less of the future than does careless, happy-go-lucky Peter Rabbit. Everybody who knows Peter at all knows that Peter doesn't waste any time worrying over what may happen in a day that may never be. So Peter isn't thrifty as are Happy Jack Squirrel and Chatterer the Red Squirrel and Whitefoot the Wood Mouse and Paddy the Beaver and Striped Chipmunk. "I've got enough to eat today, and enough is enough, so what is the use of working when I don't have to?" says Peter. "I don't believe in working today so that I won't have to work tomorrow, because when tomorrow comes there may be no need of working, and then I would feel that I had wasted all this good time today." No, Peter isn't the least bit thrifty. It is the same way with Peter's big cousin, Jumper the Hare. The truth is the whole family is happy-go-lucky. Happy Jack Squirrel says that every blessed one of them is shiftless. It does look that way. It is a pity that Peter and Jumper never have learned a lesson from Little Chief Hare, who is commonly supposed to be a relative of theirs, although, as a matter of fact, he is neither a Hare nor a Rabbit, but is a Pika, which is another family altogether. He is also called a Coney and sometimes the Calling Hare. But if you want sure-enough proof that he is neither a Rabbit nor a Hare, just watch him, if you are lucky enough to have a chance, cut and dry and store away a great pile of hay for winter use. No true member of Peter's family ever would think of doing such a thing as that, more is the pity. Peter never has seen Little Chief, because Little Chief lives high up on a mountain of the Far West among the rocks where Peter would never go, even if he could, but he has heard all about him. Old Man Coyote told him all about him, and he got the story from his grandfather, who got it from his grandfather, who had one time visited the great mountain where Little Chief's ever-so-great-grandfather lived in the very place where Little Chief lives now. Old Man Coyote had chased Peter into the dear Old Briar-patch one cold winter day, and as he peered through the brambles at Peter he noticed that Peter was very thin, very thin indeed. Old Man Coyote grinned. "I'm just as well pleased not to have caught you this time, Peter," said he. "You wouldn't make much of a dinner just now. When I dine I want something more than skin and bones. It must be that you are having as hard work as I am to get a living these days." "I am," replied Peter. "With all this snow and ice on the ground, there is nothing to eat but bark and such tender twigs as I can reach, and they are not very filling. But they'll keep me alive until better times come, and then perhaps I'll get fat enough to suit you." It was Peter's turn to grin. Old Man Coyote grinned back good-naturedly. "I should think, Peter," said he, "that when there is so much sweet grass and clover in the summer, you would make some of it into hay and store it away for winter, as Little Chief Hare does. There's the thrifty little hay-maker for you!" "Who is Little Chief, and where did he learn to make hay?" demanded Peter, his ears standing straight up with curiosity. Old Man Coyote likes to tell a story once in a while, and having nothing else to do just then, he sat down just outside the dear Old Briar-patch and told Peter all about Little Chief and his hay-making. "Of course," said he, "Little Chief's father taught him how to make hay, and his father's father taught him, and so on way back to the days when the world was young and Old Mother Nature made the first Pika or Coney, whichever you please to call him, and set him free on a great mountain to prove whether he was worthy to live or was so helpless that there was no place for him in the Great World. Now Mr. Pika, who was promptly called Little Chief, no one remembers now just why, was exactly like Little Chief of today. He was just about a fourth as big as you, Peter. In fact, he looked a lot like one of your babies, excepting his legs and his ears. His legs were short and rather weak, and his ears were short and rounded. He was very gentle and timid. He had neither the kind of teeth and claws for fighting nor long legs for running away, and it did seem as if Little Chief's chances of a long life and a happy one were very slim indeed, especially as it happened that he was set free to shift for himself just at the beginning of the hard times, when the big and strong had begun to hunt the small and weak. "For a while Little Chief had a hard time of it and so many narrow escapes that his heart was in his mouth most of the time. In trying to keep out of the way of his enemies he kept climbing higher and higher up the mountain, for the higher he got the fewer enemies he found. At last he came to a big rock-slide above where the trees grew, and where there was nothing but broken stone and big rocks. The sun lay there very warm, and Little Chief crept out among the stones to take a sun-bath; as he squatted there it would have taken keen eyes indeed to tell him from a stone himself, though he didn't know this. "After he had had a good rest, and jolly Mr. Sun had moved so that Little Chief was no longer in the warm rays, Little Chief decided to look about a little. It didn't take him long to discover that there were wonderful little winding galleries and hiding-places down among the stones. These led to little cracks and caves deep down in the mountain side. Little Chief was tickled almost to death. "'This is the place for me!' he cried. 'No one ever will think to look for me up here, and if they should they couldn't find me, for no one, not even King Bear, could pull away these stones fast enough to catch me. All day long I can enjoy the sun, and at night I can sleep in perfect safety in one of these little caves.' "So Little Chief made his home in the rock-slide high up on the mountain and was happy, for it was just as he thought it would be—no one thought of looking in that bare place for him. For food he ate the pea vines and grasses and other green things that grew just at the edge of the rock-slide and was perfectly happy. One day he decided he would take some of his dinner into his little cave and eat it there. So he cut a little bundle of pea vine and other green things. He left his little bundle on a flat rock in the sun while he went to look for something else and then forgot all about it. It didn't enter his head again until a few days later he happened along by that flat rock and discovered that little bundle. The pea vines and grasses were quite dry, just like the hay Farmer Brown's boy helps his father store away in the barn every summer. "'I guess I don't want to eat that,' said Little Chief, 'but it will make me a very nice bed.' So he carried it home and made a bed of it. There wasn't quite enough, so the next day he cut some more and carried it home at once. But this, being green, soon soured and smelled so badly that he was forced to take it out and throw it away. That set him to thinking. Why was the first he had brought in so dry and sweet and pleasant? Why didn't it spoil as the other had done? He cut some more and spread it out on the big flat rock and once again he forgot. When he remembered and went to look at it two or three days later, he found it just like the first, dry and sweet and very pleasant to smell. This he took home to add to his bed. Then he took home some more that was green, and this spoiled just as the other had done. "Little Chief was puzzling over this as he squatted on a rock taking a sun-bath. The sun was very warm and comforting. After a while the rock on which he sat grew almost hot. Little Chief had brought along a couple of pieces of pea vine on which to lunch, but not being hungry he left them beside him on the rock. By and by he happened to glance at them. They had wilted and already they were beginning to dry. An idea popped into his funny little head. "'It's the sun that does it!' he cried. "Up he jumped and scampered away to cut some more and spread it out on the rocks. Then he discovered that the pea vine which he spread in the sun dried as he wanted it to, while any that happened to be left in the shadow of a rock didn't dry so well. He had learned how to make hay. He was the first hay-maker in the Great World. He soon had more than enough for a bed, but he kept on making hay and storing it away just for fun. Then came cold weather and all the green things died. There was no food for Little Chief. He hunted and hunted, but there was nothing. Then because he was so hungry he began to nibble at his hay. It tasted good, very good indeed. It tasted almost as good as the fresh green things. Little Chief's heart gave a great leap. He had food in plenty! He had nothing to worry about, for his hay would last him until the green things came again, as come they would, he felt sure. "Little Chief's father taught him how to make hay." Page 67. "And so it proved. And that is how Little Chief the Pika learned to make hay while the sun shone in the days of plenty. He taught his children and they taught their children, and Little Chief of today does it just as his great-great-ever-so- great-grand-daddy did. I don't see why you don't do the same thing, Peter. You would make me a great deal finer dinner if you did." "Perhaps that is the reason I don't," replied Peter with a grin. VI WHERE GLUTTON THE WOLVERINE GOT HIS NAME Glutton the Wolverine is a dweller in the depths of the Great Forests of the Far North, and it is doubtful if Peter Rabbit would ever have known that there is such a person but for his acquaintance with Honker the Goose, who spends his summers in the Far North, but each spring and fall stops over for a day or two in a little pond in the Green Forest, a pond Peter often visits. This acquaintance with Honker and Peter's everlasting curiosity have resulted in many strange stories. At least they have seemed strange to Peter because they have been about furred and feathered people whom Peter has never seen. And one of the strangest of these is the story of how Glutton the Wolverine got his name. Of course you know what a glutton is. It is one who is very, very, very greedy and eats and eats as if eating were the only thing in life worth while. It is one who is all the time thinking of his stomach. No one likes to be called a glutton. So when Honker the Goose happened to mention Glutton, it caused Peter to prick up his ears at once. "Who's a glutton?" he demanded. "I didn't say any one was a glutton," replied Honker. "I was speaking of Glutton the Wolverine who lives in the Great Forests of the Far North, and whom everybody hates." "Is Glutton his name?" asked Peter, wrinkling his brows in perplexity, for it seemed a very queer name for any one. "Certainly," replied Honker. "Certainly that is his name, and a very good name for him it is. But then of course it is because he is a glutton that he is named Glutton. Rather I should say that is the reason the first Wolverine was named Glutton. The name has been handed down ever since, and it fits Mr. Wolverine of today quite as well as ever it did his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather." "Tell me about it," Peter begged. "Please tell me about it." "Tell you about what?" asked Honker, pretending not to understand. "About how the first Wolverine got the name of Glutton," replied Peter promptly. "There must have been a very good reason, and if there was a very good reason, there must be a story. Please, Honker,...