Part 2 (1/2)
THE DUEL OF THE DORMICE.
Out in the fields, in the hollow of an old willow-tree, two Dormice slept the whole winter long. They neither ate nor drank, nor did they so much as raise their heads from their pillows during all this dreary time. A ray of suns.h.i.+ne, as the sun pa.s.sed right over their tree, would perhaps make one of them stretch out his paws; but as soon as the gleam had pa.s.sed and left them, he would curl himself up all the closer in his nest, and go faster asleep than ever.
But the sun came one bright spring morning, and shone on the Dormice so warmly, that they turned round in their bed, stretched their paws, rubbed their eyes, yawned, and at last woke quite up.
”It is summer-time at last,” said the elder Dormouse, as he took a nut from his store of provisions and cracked it, ”and we may now leave our winter's bed.” ”I don't believe it,”
replied the younger. ”The wind blows cold; I shall go to sleep again.”
”Ah, that's like your laziness,” rejoined the elder; ”sleep on; I'm off to the wood.” And so saying, he scrambled up the tree, then down the outside of the trunk, and so into the wide meadows.
The younger Dormouse went to sleep. He slept for an hour, then he woke again, and finding his companion gone, he turned to the food and ate a hearty meal; then he slept again, but the sun had made his bed too hot: so he presently woke and made another attack on the provisions; and this he did the whole day long, until, at evening time, all the corn and nuts which the two Dormice had so diligently collected in the autumn, were gone. Soon the moon rose, and the young one curled himself for sleep.
In the meantime the elder had wandered about the fields; but the earth was wet, and no corn or fruit was ripe, so at night he returned to his nest wet and hungry. He ran straight to the store-room for food; but what was his surprise when he found nothing left but a few barley-corns!
His cries woke his companion, from whom he demanded the provisions; the younger one muttered that he knew nothing about them, and pretended to sleep; but the unfortunate adventurer, driven to desperation by hunger, flew into a rage and struck the other with his claws: a fight ensued, and the whole neighbourhood was alarmed at the outcry.
Two Moles who were pa.s.sing by the foot of the tree, hearing this dreadful noise, called out to the combatants to stop.
The Dormice fearing it might be some of the Weasels who spoke, were silent instantly, and then the Moles bade them come out.
So the Dormice came down to the Moles; and when the Moles found that the silly creatures were bent on their quarrel, they insisted that the combat should be with swords.
Moreover, they offered to play the part of seconds, and to dig a grave for the vanquished.
To all this the Dormice consented; the Moles found an old trap, and from the iron parts they fas.h.i.+oned rude swords.
These they measured, and gave to the combatants; and then, with their long spades in their hands, they awaited the issue of the affray. It was fierce and desperate. The hungry one fought with fury, but he who had had a good feast was the stronger and the calmer: at last the younger one drove his sword right through the body of the elder; but the elder at the same moment clove his opponent's head asunder, and so they fell dead together. And the Moles dug a deep hole, and buried both the Dormice in the same grave.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE KITTENS AT TEA--MISS PAULINA SINGING.]
THE SIX KITTENS.
Once upon a time a cat had six kittens, whom she brought up in the most genteel manner. No one could say that their education was in any wise neglected, for besides being taught the ordinary duties of life by their mother, such as mouse-hunting, fish-stealing, and bird-catching, they received instructions in the arts of singing, and playing the harp and the piano, and were taught to waltz and dance the polka with every imaginable grace. Now when the kittens grew to be of age, it was their custom of an afternoon to spend some hours at tea and intellectual talk. The youngest always performed the duties of servant, while one of the elder ones would entertain the rest by playing airs from the latest opera, or singing a love-song, the music of which she had herself composed.
It is true some animals who dwelt close by complained of this music, and called it by all kinds of ill names; but that is ever the jealous way of the world: and the kittens frequently performed serenades in their garden by moonlight, when all who pa.s.sed by would stay to listen to their melody.
But to our tale. It happened that, one fine summer's afternoon, when the kittens were all enjoying themselves at tea; when Paulina, the eldest, was warbling some of her most delightful songs, and Violet, the second, was entertaining the rest, in an under tone, with a little bit of scandal about a neighbouring Tabby, whom she had seen coming home in a sad condition about five o'clock in the morning, when she, Miss Violet, was taking her early walk;--just at this moment there sounded a tap at the door, and presently in came Diana, the youngest sister, bearing in her hand more cakes for tea, and in the plate with them a note addressed to Miss Rose,--the next to Violet in age, and by most people considered the beauty of the family. Violet took the letter eagerly from Diana; but when she saw the address, she remarked that it was evidently a gentleman's handwriting, and tossing her head somewhat disdainfully, she handed it to Miss Rose, who blushed very much, and retired with it to the sofa. Rose opened the note with trembling paws, and a sweet smile played on her features as she read its contents; then, carefully folding it up, she observed to her sisters that it was merely an invitation for a walk, and springing on to the back of the sofa, she jumped through the open window, and retired to her own summer-house up a fine sycamore-tree in the garden.
This incident, as may be imagined, caused a great sensation among the sisters; and all wondered very much who could have been the writer of the note that had so evidently pleased Miss Rose. One hoped it was not from that scapegrace Tom who lived at the Farm-yard; another feared it might come from young Marten Sable of the Forest; and Violet demanded of her youngest sister what sort of person it was who had brought the note. Diana did not know, but believed it was a relation of old Mr. Weasel, who belonged to the same farm that Tom did. This set them all guessing again, for it was well known that Tom and Old Weasel did not speak to each other: and in the end they were all just as wise as in the beginning.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ENSIGN SQUEAKER AND MISS ROSE.]
About seven o'clock the same evening an attentive observer might have noticed Miss Rose emerging from her door very quietly, and making the best of her way to the green fields that bordered the sea-coast close by. An ill-natured person would have said that Miss Rose had taken especial pains with her toilet, and that she carried her parasol with a lack-a-daisical air; but Rose herself, at her last peep in the gla.s.s, had thought that she looked very nicely indeed; and so it would appear thought Ensign Squeaker (of the Household Pigade), who, with his regimental sword by his side, and his pocket telescope in his hand, sauntered along the pathway, _merely_ to enjoy the beauty of the evening, and inhale the fresh breezes from the ocean. How it happened that Young Squeaker and Miss Rose met at the corner of the cliff, just as the village clock struck the half-past seven, no one knows; certain only it is that they did meet; and that after the interchange of the usual compliments, Miss Rose accepted Mr. Squeaker's proffered arm, and that the pair wandered about by the sea-sh.o.r.e until the moon rose; and Miss Rose, in great trepidation at finding it so late, desired her companion to escort her home. Nor is it known what Mr. Squeaker said when he bade a fond adieu to his dear Rose, nor for how long after Rose sat in her arbour in the garden and watched the bats flitting across the moon.
It was noticed by the sisters that Rose was very quiet all the next day, and that at times a tear stood in the corner of her eye, which she would wipe away, sighing. Many were the sly allusions to the note of the previous afternoon and the long evening walk, and no one tormented poor Rose with her insinuations more than Paulina, who was for some cause in a most unusual flow of spirits. After tea, Rose took down her treasured volume, ”p.u.s.s.icat's Poems,” and retiring to the garden, read the tenderest parts. Violet, overcome with the fatigue of a recent mouse-hunt, went to sleep on the sofa; the younger ones busied themselves with their crochet and net-work; and Miss Paulina, saying she was going to call on a neighbour, with her best lace-bordered handkerchief in her hand, sallied forth and took her way towards the forest.