The Hollow Tree and Deep Woods Book Part 18

While others may sing of the pleasures of spring, Or winter or summer or fall, I'll sing not of these, because, if you please, I'll sing of just nothing at all.

Just nothing at all, because, oh, ho!

I'll sing of myself, an old black crow.

As black as a coal and as homely as sin-- What more can I tell you, I pray?

For when you have nothing to sing of, why, then, Of course there is nothing to say.

Nothing to say at all, oh, ho!

Except goodby to the old black crow-- The rollicking old black crow!

They made a good deal of fuss over Mr. Crow's poem. They applauded, of course, but they said it wasn't so at all, and that Mr. Crow was a good deal more than "just nothing." They said that it was he who had got up this party, and that he was the best man to plan and cook anywhere. Mr.

'Possum said he even liked Mr. Crow's April fool chicken pies, and then they all remembered and laughed, even to Mr. Crow himself. After that it was Mr. Squirrel's turn. Mr. Squirrel coughed twice and straightened his vest before he began, so they knew his poem wasn't to be funny.

THE FOOLISH LITTLE LAD.

BY MR. GRAY SQUIRREL.

Once on a time, the story goes, A silly squirrel lad One summer day did run away-- Which made his ma feel bad.

She hunted for him up and down And round and round she ran-- Alas, that foolish squirrel boy Was caught by Mr. Man.

For he had tried to climb a tree As Mr. Man came past.

"I'll make you climb!" said Mr. Man, And walked home pretty fast.

When he got there a boy came out As Mr. Man went in.

That silly squirrel soon was put Into a house of tin.

"Now you can climb!" said Mr. Man, But when he did he found That nice tin house, so bright and new, Turned round and round and round.

And there he climbs and climbs all day And never seems to stop, And I have heard my mother say He'll never reach the top.

When Mr. Squirrel sat down there wasn't a dry eye in the room, and even Mr. Dog outside was affected. He said he'd seen that poor little squirrel at Mr. Man's house turning and turning away in his tin wheel, and felt so sorry for him that two or three times he'd tried to get him out. He said, though, that Mr. Man had always caught him at it and that then they didn't get on well for a day or two. He was so tender-hearted, though, he said, that he couldn't help pitying the little fellow, climbing and climbing all day long and never getting anywhere. Mr.

'Possum shivered, and said it reminded him of bad dreams he'd had sometimes, when he'd eaten too much supper, and dreamed of climbing the rainbow. Then they all sat still and waited for Mr. Turtle, who came next.

MY SNUG HOUSE.

BY D'LAND TURTLE.

Oh, what do I care for your houses of wood, Your houses of brick or of stone, When I have a house that is cosy and good-- A beautiful house of my own?

And the doors will not sag and the roof will not crack Of the house that I carry about on my back.

It is never too large and 'tis never too small, It is with me wherever I roam.

In spring or in summer, in winter or fall, I always can find my way home.

For it isn't so hard to remember the track To the house that you carry about on your back.

Well, of course, everybody applauded that, and then it was Mr. 'c.o.o.n's time. Mr. 'c.o.o.n said he was like Mr. 'Possum. He wasn't much on poetry, and only had four lines. He said they were some like Mr. 'Possum's, too.

THE BEST THINGS.

BY Z. c.o.o.n.

I like the spring, I like the fall, I like the cold and heat, And poems, too, but best of all I like good things to eat.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LEANED OVER CLOSE TO THE BLINDS AND COMMENCED TO READ.]

That brought the house down, and the Hollow Tree people thought the entertainment was over. They were going to have supper right away, but Mr. Dog called out to wait a minute. He said he had a little poem himself that he wanted to read. So out of politeness they all sat still, though they didn't expect very much. Then Mr. Dog unrolled his poem and leaned over close to the blinds and commenced to read.

MY FOREST FRIENDS.

BY MR. DOG.

Oh, dear to me my forest friends, Especially Mr. Rabbit-- I love his poetry very much, And every gentle habit.

And dear to me is Mr. 'c.o.o.n, And also Mr. 'Possum; I hope to win their friendship soon-- 'Twill be a precious blossom.

And Mr. Crow and Robin, too, With fancy sweet and fertile, And Mr. Squirrel, kind and true, And likewise Mr. Turtle.

Oh, dear to me my forest friends, Especially Mr. Rabbit-- I love his poetry very much And every gentle habit.

Before Mr. Dog was half through reading the Hollow Tree people had gathered around the window to listen. By the time he got to the end of the third stanza he had to stop for them to cheer, and when he read the last one, Jack Rabbit pounded on the shutter with his fist and shouted, "Hurrah for Mr. Dog! Hurrah for Mr. Dog!" just as loud as ever he could, while all the others crowded up and shouted and tried to pound, too.

Well, maybe the shutter wasn't very strong, or maybe they crowded and pounded too hard in their excitement over Mr. Dog's nice poem, for all at once there was a loud crack and the shutter flew open and out went Mr. Rabbit right smack into the arms of Mr. Dog!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

I tell you that was pretty sudden and--Mr. Rabbit was scared. So were all the others and they were going to grab the shutter and close it again and leave Mr. Rabbit out there. But Jack Rabbit thinks quick.

"Oh Mr. Dog," he said, "that was the nicest poem I ever heard. Let me embrace you, Mr. Dog, and be your friend forever after!"

Then he hugged Mr. Dog just as tight as he could, and Mr. Dog hugged him, too, and shed tears, he was that happy. He had been wanting to make up with the forest people for a long time, but he hadn't expected this.

Then the others all saw how it was and they shouted, "Hurrah for Mr.

Dog!" again and invited him in. And Mr. Dog went in and they had the biggest supper and the biggest time that ever was known in the Hollow Tree.

And that's how Mr. Dog got to be friends with all the Hollow Tree people at last. And he stayed friends with them ever and ever so long--and longer--just as long as he lived, for the Mr. Dog that isn't good friends with them now isn't the same Mr. Dog. And he isn't as smart, either, for he can't write poetry, and he's never even been able to find the Hollow Tree, where the 'c.o.o.n and 'Possum and the old black Crow live together and every summer keep open house for their friends.

AROUND THE WORLD AND BACK AGAIN

Once upon a time, when Mr. Dog was over spending the evening with the Hollow Tree people, he told them that Mr. Man had said the world was round, like a ball. Of course this was after Mr. Dog got to be good friends with the 'Possum and the 'c.o.o.n and the old black Crow, and he often used to come over to the Hollow Tree, where they lived, for a quiet talk and smoke, and to tell the things that Mr. Man said, and did, and what he had on his table for dinner.

The Hollow Tree people liked to hear about Mr. Man, too; but when they heard what he said about the world being round they thought there must be some mistake in the way Mr. Dog had understood it. Mr. 'c.o.o.n said that it couldn't be so, for the edge of the world was just beyond the last trees of the big deep woods, and that he'd often sat there and hung his feet over and watched the moon come up. Mr. 'Possum said so, too; and Mr. Crow said that the other edge was over along the wide, blue water, where Mr. Turtle lived, and that of course the water was flat, as everybody could see. Anyway, it would spill out if it wasn't.

But Mr. Dog stuck to it that Mr. Man had said just what Mr. Dog had said he said, and that, what was more, Mr. Man had said that the world turned over every day, and that the sun and moon and stars all went round it.

And Mr. Man had said, too, that people sometimes went around the world, and didn't turn over or fall off into the sky when they were underneath, but kept on, and came up on the other side, right back to the very place they started from.

Well, that made them all wonder a good deal more than ever; and Mr. Jack Rabbit, who came in just then for the evening, said he shouldn't be a bit surprised if it were true, for he'd often noticed how the seasons went round and round, and he thought, now, they must travel around the world some way, too. He said he'd composed some poetry on Spring as he came along, and that now he understood some lines of it better than he had at the start; for, of course, when poetry just comes to anybody, as it does to Mr. Rabbit, it isn't expected that even the poet himself will understand it very well at first.