Part 13 (1/2)

I. MR. MOLE AND HIS RELATIONS

Moles do a lot of good work for the farmer. Not only were they ploughing and ploughing and ploughing the soil--over and over again--thousands of centuries before man came along to plant seed in it, but they are all the time eating, among other things, destructive worms and insects in the soil. They work all over the world, that is to say, in the upper half of it--the Northern Hemisphere; and there's where the biggest half of the land is, if I haven't forgotten my geography.

WONDERFUL LITTLE MACHINES ON FOUR LEGS

Closely related to the moles are the shrews--quaint little mouse-like creatures with long, pointed heads and noses that they can twist about almost any way in hunting their meals and finding out other things in this big world that concern them. On these funny, long noses they have whiskers like a p.u.s.s.y-cat; and that helps, too, when you want to keep posted on what's going on around you. Like the moles the shrews are found all over the Northern Hemisphere. What is known as the ”long-tailed shrew,” is the very smallest of our relations among the mammalia. Why, they're no bigger than the end of a man's little finger; and the smallest watch _I_ ever heard of was a good deal bigger than that. Yet, inside these wee bodies is as much machinery as it takes to run any other mammal--an elephant, say.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE COMMON AND THE SHORT-TAILED SHREW]

The shrews get around very fast, considering their size; and they're on the go all the time. I never saw such busy-bodies; nosing about in the old leaves and dead gra.s.s and under logs and boring into loose loam, punky wood, decayed stumps--anywhere you'd be likely to find a worm, a grub, a beetle, or a slug. Hard workers, these shrews, but _so_ quarrelsome! When two Mr. Shrews meet there's pretty sure to be trouble.

They're regular little swashbucklers among themselves; and--the queerest thing, until you know why--they don't seem to be afraid even of cats.

Fancy telling Cousin Mouse that! But it isn't because the shrews _wouldn't_ be afraid if the cats got after them, but because cats always let shrews alone. They don't taste good!

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CILIATED SHREW]

Shrews are so nimble on their tiny feet and so quick of hearing, they are very hard to catch. And please don't try! You simply _can't_ tame them, and in spite of the fact they're so fierce and bold at home--among their own kind--they're easily frightened to death. A shock of fear and that wonderful little heart engine of theirs stops short--never to go again.

MR. MOLE'S PAWS AND HOW HE WORKS THEM

But while the shrews can get around so much faster above ground the moles are the most remarkable travellers _under_ ground. The mole's paws, you notice, are turned outward, as one's hands are when swimming.

In fact he does almost swim through the soft, loose soil--so fast does he move along! His two shovels, with the muscles that work them, weigh as much as all the rest of his body. Why, he has a chest like an athlete! He pierces the soil with his muzzle and then clears it away with his paws. His skull is shaped like a wedge. He has a strong, boring snout and a smooth, round body.

This snout, by the way, has a bone near the tip. You see how handy that would come in, don't you? At the same time, although it's so hard--this snout of his--it's very sensitive, like the fingers of the blind; for Mr. Mole must always be feeling his way along in the dark, you know.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SECTION OF MR. MOLE'S CASTLE

This is a cross-section of a mole-hill, showing the central chamber and the rooms leading into it.]

The kind of moles you find in Europe live in what seem to be little earthen fortresses, and the tops, sticking above ground, make hillocks.

In each of these little forts there is a central chamber; then outside of this, running all the way around, are two galleries, one above the other. The upper gallery has several openings into the central chamber.

The galleries are connected by two straight up-and-down shafts. From the lower galleries several pa.s.sages, usually from eight to ten, lead away to where the moles go out to feed; and if there is a body of water near by--a pond or a creek, say--there's a special tunnel leading to that.

Mr. Mole works hard and he sleeps hard. The big middle room in his home is the bedchamber of Mr. Mole and his family. Usually he sleeps soundly all night, but occasionally, on fine Summer nights, he comes out and enjoys the air.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE COMMON AND THE STAR-NOSED MOLE]

You'd think he'd get awfully dirty, wouldn't you, boring his way along in the ground all the time? But he doesn't. His hair is always as spick and span as if he'd just come out of the barber-shop. Do you know why?

It's because he wears his hair pompadoured. It grows straight out from the skin. So you see he can go backward and forward--as he is obliged to do constantly in the day's work--without mussing it up at all. If it lay down, like yours or like p.u.s.s.y-cat's, it would get into an _awful_ mess! In France the children call Mr. Mole ”The Little Gentleman in the Velvet Coat.”

II. FOUR-FOOTED FARMERS THAT WEAR ARMOR

But, speaking of coats, I want to introduce you to a still more rapid worker in the soil, who wears a coat of mail. He is called the armadillo. There used to be a species of armadillo in western Texas.

Whether there are any there still I don't know,[19] but go on down to South America and you'll find all you want. The woods are full of them, and so are those vast prairies--the pampas. The plates in the armadillo's coat of mail are not made of steel, of course, but of bone.

These bony plates are each separate from the other on most of his body but made into solid bucklers over the shoulders and the hips. The armadillos have very short, stout legs and very long, strong claws, and how they can dig! They can dig fast in any kind of soil, but in the loose soil of the pampas they dig so fast that if you happen to catch sight of one when out riding and he sees _you_, you'll have to start toward him with your horse on the run if you want to see anything more of him. Before you can get to him and throw yourself from the saddle, he'll have buried himself in the ground. And you can't catch him; not even if you have a spade and dig away with all your might. He'll dig ahead of you, faster--a good deal faster--than you can follow.