The Tale of Frisky Squirrel Part 4

XIII

Fun on the Milldam

There was something about the dam across Swift River that Frisky Squirrel simply couldn't keep away from--after he had forgotten, somewhat, his fright at the gristmill. Only a few days pa.s.sed after Frisky had run home from the mill in a panic, before he was back again. He liked to run across the top of the dam and look down at his reflection in the water on one side. Here and there a narrow stream spilled over the top of the dam. Frisky felt very brave as he leaped over those little rivulets. And he loved to watch them as they fell in thin, silvery cascades upon the rocks far below. It was great sport.

One day when Frisky reached the dam he heard a dog bark not far away.

It was the miller's dog. He had seen Frisky as he crossed the road.

And he at once hurried toward him.

Frisky Squirrel was annoyed. He had just been thinking what a good time he was going to have. But when that dog started to bark Frisky knew that his fun was spoiled. He wasn't frightened. Oh, no! But he was sure that the dog would not go away until _he_ did.

"Well, I'll just take one run across the dam," Frisky said to himself.

"I'll stay on the other side of the river until he grows tired of waiting. And then I'll come back."

He hurried on to the bank of the river; and in a few moments he was skipping along the dam. The dog was still barking. And Frisky looked around at him. To his great surprise, there was the dog following him, right along the top of the dam. But even then Frisky was not frightened. He simply hurried a little faster. He had not dreamed that the miller's dog would chase him across Swift River. But there he was.

And he was running fast, too.

Then something happened that really frightened Frisky Squirrel. At first he could hardly believe it. But it was true. It really was another dog that was barking--another dog that was waiting on the other side of Swift River. And almost as soon as Frisky saw him, that other dog started right across the dam, to meet Frisky!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fun on the mill dam]

There was no time to lose. Frisky had to make up his mind very quickly. He gave just one look at the deep mill pond. He could swim--if he had to. But he just hated to get wet. And he knew that the dogs were much faster swimmers than he was. So he looked away from the water with a shudder. And he peeped over the steep side of the dam and gazed at the rocks below, where the water splashed into countless drops.

Those rocks were a long way beneath him. But there was one thing about Frisky Squirrel--he never was the least bit dizzy, or afraid, when he looked down from high places. Perhaps there were too many other things to be afraid of--such as c.o.o.ns and foxes--and dogs.

The miller's dog was drawing nearer now, because Frisky had stopped.

And the dog from the other side of the river was only about six jumps away!

Frisky Squirrel didn't wait another instant. He jumped right down the face of the dam. Where he had stood a moment before the two dogs came together with a b.u.mp. Probably they would have started to fight, if they had not been so interested in Frisky Squirrel. There they stood, with their necks stretched out over the edge of the dam, watching Frisky as he went rolling and tumbling down to the bed of the river.

And when they saw him pick himself up and go skipping from stone to stone until he reached the sh.o.r.e and scampered away, they looked very foolish indeed.

In fact, they felt foolish, too. And without saying one word they turned about and each crept back to his own side of Swift River.

XIV

Mrs. Squirrel Has a Visitor

Fatty c.o.o.n was very hungry. And he stole along through the woods very quietly, hoping to find something to eat. To his great joy, it was not long before he discovered Mrs. Squirrel's home. He crept up to the nest silently; for he hoped to catch Mrs. Squirrel and Frisky inside.

But Mrs. Squirrel and her son were both away.

Fatty was disappointed. But he made up his mind to go into the house anyhow, to see what he could find there. So he pushed through the narrow doorway. It was a tight squeeze; but Fatty managed to get inside. And there he found a fine lot of beechnuts, which Mrs.

Squirrel had brought home and stored, in order to have something to eat during the winter.

Fatty c.o.o.n just loved beechnuts. And he squatted down on the floor and began to eat. He ate and ate until he was half-buried in beechnut-sh.e.l.ls. And he never stopped until he had finished the very last beechnut. He wished there had been more, though you would think he had had quite enough, for Fatty's sides bulged out so that he was rounder than ever. He smiled as he thought of the surprise Mrs. Squirrel would have when she came home and found her winter food all gone. And then he stood up, shook the sh.e.l.ls out of his coat, and started to climb through the doorway.

Fatty was still smiling as he stuck his head through the opening in the tree. But all at once his smile faded away. You remember that he had had hard work to squeeze through the narrow doorway when he entered the house? Well, now his sides stuck out so far that he couldn't get through it at all. He tried and tried; but though he struggled hard, Fatty found that he simply could not squeeze through.

He had stuffed himself so full of beechnuts that he was too big to get out of the hole. And there he was--caught fast by his own greediness!

Yes! Fatty c.o.o.n was a prisoner.

Fatty had smiled because he thought Mrs. Squirrel would be surprised when she came home. And he had not been mistaken about that. When Mrs.

Squirrel and her son Frisky scampered up the tree about sundown that evening they had the surprise of their lives--though not just the sort of surprise Fatty had expected.

They looked in through their doorway and scolded. And they ordered Fatty to get out of their house at once.

He would have been glad enough to leave, you may be sure. But he couldn't go just then. And at last Frisky Squirrel and his mother had to go and spend the night in the house of a friend.

When they came back to the old hickory tree the next morning Fatty c.o.o.n had gone. He had tried the whole night long to get through the doorway. And at last--just as the sun was rising--he managed to slip out.

Mrs. Squirrel knew that Fatty had had a hard time, because he had left a good deal of his fur behind him. It clung to the sides of the doorway. And Mrs. Squirrel spent half the day picking it off and throwing the beechnut-sh.e.l.ls out of her house. She was a very neat housekeeper; and she was quite annoyed to find her house upset.

As for Frisky, he began to bring home another store of nuts that very day. After what had happened neither he nor his mother had any fear that Fatty c.o.o.n would ever trouble them again.

XV

Helpful Mr. Crow

Frisky Squirrel's mother had often told him not to have anything to do with Mr. Crow. "He's such a tricky old fellow!" she said. "He seems to have nothing to do but get folks into trouble. Don't go near him, and don't have anything to say to him."

Now, I'm sure Frisky Squirrel wanted to mind his mother. But he couldn't help feeling that she was mistaken about Mr. Crow. He was so solemn, and he always looked so like a preacher--for he usually wore shiny, black clothes--that Frisky Squirrel thought him a very nice old gentleman. And he told such interesting stories, too! Frisky could listen to him by the hour.

So, in spite of his mother's warnings, whenever he met Mr. Crow Frisky Squirrel would always stop and ask the old gentleman how his cold was.

You see, Mr. Crow's voice was never what you would call _clear_. You might say that there was a decided croak in it. And very often, even on hot summer days, he would have a m.u.f.fler wound about his throat.

It happened that one day when Frisky came across Mr. Crow in the woods, something reminded Mr. Crow that he knew where there were plenty of b.u.t.ternuts--just waiting to be eaten.

"Is that so?" Frisky exclaimed. "Have you had some of them?"

"No! I don't care for b.u.t.ternuts," Mr. Crow said, with a slight cough.

"I've always considered them bad for my throat. I've made it a rule never to eat them. You don't happen to like them, do you?"

Now, if there was one thing that Frisky Squirrel liked a little better than anything else, it was b.u.t.ternuts. And when he answered Mr. Crow's question he was so excited that his voice shook just the least bit.

"I'm _very_ fond of them," he said.

"Well, well!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "I'm glad I happened to mention the matter. They're there--heaps of 'em--great brown piles of 'em--thousands of 'em!"